Duhier didn’t dislike her, but he wasn’t terribly fond of her, either. He felt she was treating him like a special guest. And this very moment was no different. While she had called him “my subordinate,” her tone was somewhat jokey. Duhier got the feeling she didn’t think of him as her subordinate, or as a comrade-in-arms.
“I have two corrections for you,” said Behrsoht.
“Yes, sir?” Bhonh’s tawny brown eyes fell on the Ship Commander.
“First of all, I’m talking to my subordinate. I’m not talking to your subordinate. Don’t be so egocentric.”
“That’s true, but—” began the Senior Communications Officer with the royal blue hair.
But Behrsoht interrupted her. “Second of all, I am not ‘picking on’ him.”
“We have a difference of opinion,” said Bhonh. “If you’re not picking on him, sir, then what are you doing? I can’t imagine you’re teaching him anything.”
“I’m just following clan tradition.”
Duhier was taken aback. “Are you a Sporr, Ship Commander?”
There was no way. Even collateral descendants of the Sporr line often called themselves by that name. They weren’t like the Imperials — they didn’t forbid the Sporr surname to people outside the direct line, like Imperials did with the Abliar surname.
“I am, in a way,” said Behrsoht, vaguely.
Duhier demanded an explanation with his eyes.
“My family tree split off before the founding of the Empire, so I can’t strictly say I’m part of the clan,” said Behrsoht defensively.
“You’re not a Sporr in any way, shape, or form,” said Bhonh sharply.
Duhier speculated his ancestors had been in the engine division of the city-ship Abliar. The Sporrs were descendants of the person who had been head of the engine division during the era of the Empire’s founding. At the time, a different clan had been in charge of each of the divisions within the gargantuan ship that the entirety of Abhkind lived aboard. If the Behrsoht family line derived from a worker in the engine division, then Behrsoht family traditions may play up their connection to the Sporr clan. And in an Abh sort of way, that constituted a blood relation. Of course, given their family lines split more than a millennium ago, this was something of a stretch even by Abh standards.
“But they say that the ranks of the engine division people were decided based on how skillfully they teased the navigation division guys.”
“My clan has never heard tell of any such notion,” said Duhier.
“They just never noticed,” Behrsoht asserted.
“Even so, the circumstances are different now,” said Bhonh.
“How could I possibly neglect my clan’s traditions at the hands of current circumstances or whatever?”
“Forgive me, sir, but someone in a ship commander’s position doesn’t get an opportunity to exhibit their clan’s traditions very often,” chided Bhonh.
“So what? It’s not my clan’s style to let their traditions fade away just because there aren’t any opportunities.”
“If that really is a tradition in your clan, Ship Commander, then that’s splendid,” she said, her tone dripping with suspicion.
For a while after, Behrsoht and Bhonh engaged in a verbal dust-up; they were clearly enjoying themselves. Duhier didn’t really get it, but maybe it aided their digestion, or effected some other such mysterious boon only those two could appreciate. Meanwhile, the other starpilots were either holding pleasant conversations of their own, or silently tucking in. Perhaps they were used to the Ship Commander and Senior Communications Officer’s bickering. Duhier had nobody to talk to, so he was among the latter.
“What’re you drinking, Linewing?” Behrsoht accosted him.
“My drink, sir?” Duhier felt ambushed. His gaze fell to the cup in his hand. “It’s hot peach juice.”
“You sure like strange stuff.”
“Is that so?” he replied casually. “My sister loves it, actually.”
“Your sister being Fïac Lamhirr?” said Behrsoht, startled.
“I don’t have any other siblings.”
“Ah. By the way, would making fun of Fïac Lamhirr’s tastes in beverages get under her skin?”
“I’m fairly certain she wouldn’t like her tastes in anything getting mocked, sir.”
“I see. Well, guess I’ll try some, then.”
Duhier didn’t know what to say, or how to react. He couldn’t say “feel free” without seeming like he was picking a fight, but it would be weird to say, “please don’t.” Thankfully, Duhier didn’t need to react, as Behrsoht’s interest shifted to another topic.
At last, the meal was over, and the tea arrived.
“We have to enjoy eating all together like this while we still can,” said Behrsoht, who had recently taken to ending every meal with those words. “What are your plans today, Vice Captain?”
“Today is the day I retrieve the cargo,” replied Deca-Commander Crobosec, the ship’s Vice Commander.
“Ahh, okay,” said Behrsoht, arms folded.
In a prior battle, the Caïsaumh had used up around half of its mines. They had to be replenished before the next engagement, and the day to do so had come around.
“Um...” Duhier stood up resolutely; Behrsoht looked at him quizzically. “May I be allowed to pilot?”
Unlike assault ships or patrol ships, where the steerer’s skill was directly related to the battle, it was thought that any Flight Branch starpilot could pilot a battle-line ship. Steering wasn’t left to the Ship Commander or to the Senior Gunner, but to a low-ranked position named Deputy Navigator. Furthermore, today’s flight would not be a battle flight.
At such times, it was common enough for people to push the pilot’s seat on newly assigned linewing starpilots, even aboard assault ships and other similar ship types. That being said, it was only seen as “pushing” it on them from the perspective of veteran starpilots. Piloting battle-line ships and supply ships was far from exhilarating, but it did make for good experience for a fresh new starpilot, and Duhier was happy to seize this chance.
“I like that expression, Linewing. Almost makes me want to hand down the order,” said Behrsoht.
“So...”
“But that’ll be a no.”
“Could you kindly tell me why?” urged Duhier. While it was strictly forbidden for an Imperial to brandish their authority as such, a request this innocuous ought to have been granted to a novice starpilot without fuss.
“I see no need to do so,” said Behrsoht flatly.
“Understood.” Duhier saluted. Requesting anything more would be crossing the line. “Please excuse me.”
“Oh, you didn’t do anything that needs excusing,” he grinned. “Any ambitious linewing would make the same request.”
Duhier’s dislike of the man only deepened.
It was difficult to resupply mines, which were a battle-line ship’s principal weapon. As for why, it was, of course, because they were huge. There was a time when that wasn’t such a liability, since once a battle-line ship had fired off all of the mines that had lined its belly, it could just return to the capital for resupplying. But now that the battlefield had spread so wide, that was no longer an option. Nowadays, if battle-line ships returned to the capital after every battle, it would hobble the war effort. Plus, forcing supply ships to make constant round trips was also inefficient. The mines loaded onto a single supply ship were capped at a single battle’s worth, so making them do the trip was only marginally better than making battle-line ships do it.
As a result, the Empire adopted a new method — bringing mine plants near to the war front. A mine plant had been constructed in the Ercohn system as well. Transport ships loaded with materials processed by nearby star systems and parts that couldn’t be self-made (such as space-time bubble generators) were always by their side, and battle-line ships awaiting resupply were drifting hungrily around the vicinity.
The Caïsaumh pushed through the line of ships. The vessel’s compucrystals information-linked with those of the factory, thereby forming a single compucrystal net.
As a small token of rebellion, Duhier had his circlet connected to the ship’s exterior spatiosensors.
“This is Elcohn Arms Factory 102.” A starpilot with the mine factory had appeared on the screen. “Battle-line ship Caïsaumh, please switch to remote control mode.”
“Roger,” said Behrsoht. “Do it.”
This was Duhier’s duty: switching control of the ship to remote access.
“See, Fïac Lartsor? This is what ‘piloting’ entails. They won’t let you do any subtle movements. Boring, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Duhier, but he didn’t mean it. At present, Duhier’s frocragh could clearly make out the mooring position directed by the factory. The image of the ship lined up with his spatiosensory perception. His control gauntlet-equipped left hand moved unconsciously — not that it was currently functional, of course. It was practically decorative.
The Caïsaumh propelled itself a short distance, as though in response to Duhier’s hand, and entered inertial navigation.
“Battle-line ship Caïsaumh, please prepare for mines to be loaded.”
“All right, we’re running on schedule.” Behrsoht stood up. “Senior Gunner, bare all thrusters.”
“Roger,” replied Deca-Commander Cazzubh.
“And Deputy Communications Officer, get that hand out of the gauntlet.”
“Yes, sir,” said Duhier, blushing. Did he really have to say that in front of everybody?
“You’re not going to ask why?” said Behrsoht.
“No, sir.”
“Well, I’ll tell you anyway. It’s because that’s just being snide.”
“I understand, sir.” Duhier couldn’t decide whether to ask his pardon, until eventually, he added an “I apologize.”
“Don’t do it again.”
Meanwhile, the Caïsaumh slowly closed the distance with the mine factory. Several supply ships were attached to an enormous tube — that was how Elcohn Arms Factory 102 appeared. Yet that tube wasn’t where the Caïsaumh was headed. Near the factory, groups of mines by the ship’s worth were floating, bound within brutal-looking structures. They were Elcohn Arms Factory 102’s storage spaces.
In the Caïsaumh’s case, it was not necessary to carry on a whole ship’s worth, as nearly half of the vessel’s current load remained. They had bundled together the necessary number in advance. The Caïsaumh proceeded to anchor by the structure.
“Loading has commenced,” came a message from the factory.
The mines had yet to be filled with antimatter fuel. Since it was so dangerous, antimatter needed to be poured in right before firing. A small transport vessel clung to the mines, loading them onto the battle-line ship one by one.
Maybe I can ask to pilot that transport ship, thought Duhier.
Thus did the battle-line ship Caïsaumh fit itself for combat. Fifty-two hours later, it set off in the direction of the Central Disc Sector, as part of the main force of Twin Thorns Fleet 13.