“Number one, space-time fusion, enemy number 907 terminated. Number two, space-time fusion, enemy number 632 terminated. Numbers six and seven, too...” So droned the monotonous voice of the surveyor Communications Officer on the bridge of the battle-line ship Caïsaumh — who just so happened to be Duhier.
Duhier was restlessly moving his tongue as he gazed at the space-time bubbles overlapping each other on the planar space map.
“...Number eleven, space-time fusion. Enemy number 915, no change. Ah, there it goes. Number twelve, space-time fusion, enemy number 336...”
“So far, so good,” said Hecto-Commander Behrsoht.
“Yes, sir. Quite so,” agreed Cazzubh.
Duhier felt hollow. The mines were certainly blowing up enemy “ships,” the ripples of space-time particles spreading across planar space, but the enemy ships were mostly mines themselves. At least this meant their allies were protected, which was of some comfort.
“Is it all clear on your end?” asked Behrsoht.
They could hardly ignore a question asked by their Ship Commander. The starpilots on the bridge were endeavoring to make sure all was going smoothly at their respective posts.
“All right, next time we’re unleashing the rest of the payload. Any marks around?”
Typically, battle-line ships couldn’t choose their prey. Squadron Command selected their targets, and they simply fired as they were told.
“Not yet,” said the Senior Communications Officer, Bhonh.
“What are you doing? Why don’t you try shooting as you like from time to time?”
“Please don’t say things you know I can’t do, sir. It’d give everyone false expectations,” said Bhonh. “Ah, the flagship just gave us a target.”
“That right? Then input the specifications,” he ordered, bored.
“Input complete,” said Cazzubh.
“Now for sequential space-time splitting.”
“Splitting now.”
The mines had been catapulted beforehand, and were waiting within the Caïsaumh’s space-time bubble. With his orders, they began to split off into their own pockets of space-time, one after the other.
“Number twenty-one, space-time splitting, number twenty-two, space-time splitting,” Duhier read aloud.
Time ticked blandly on as the Caïsaumh fired the remainder of its ammunition.
Duhier’s eyes fell on the planar space map once more. The mines fired by each of the ships in the strike sub-fleet Gudersec raced toward the enemy ships. The patrol ships and assault ships deployed in front started moving, but it was a hair too late. They slipped into the swarm of mines and pressed the assault.
Enemy ships fired their mines. Many of the blips on the map representing space-time bubbles overlapped.
“Number twenty-four, space-time fusion, enemy number 117 terminated. Number twenty-five, space-time fusion, enemy number 532, no change. Number twenty-six, space-time fusion...” Duhier continued listing off the fruits of battle disinterestedly.
In the aftermath of the mine-on-mine crossfire, allied patrol and assault ships sailed at high speeds through the frothing fabric of planar space.
Eventually, every one of the mines had ceased to exist.
“We’re receiving a retreat signal from the squadron flagship,” reported Bhonh.
Duhier glanced at the planar space map. The squadron flagship was already about to draw back.
“All right, that’s a wrap for today,” said Behrsoht, stretching. “Total mobile-state, course: 95. Follow the squadron flagship.”
“Are we withdrawing from the battlefield, sir?” asked Duhier.
“What, you think there’s something left to do for a battle-line ship without any mines?” said Behrsoht, surprisingly gently.
“No, sir,” said Duhier.
Fierce combat was still underway far ahead of them. But in that warzone, a giant battle-line ship could only serve as a decoy. And currently, the Star Forces were not hard-up enough to have to rely on decoys. Any way they sliced it, their orders were sound. Besides, given their orders came from Squadron Command, the Ship Commander didn’t have a choice in the matter.
But Behrsoht’s gleeful tone of voice gave Duhier some pause.
Then Duhier felt guilty — now he was just inventing things to dislike him over. Those with the Abliar surname were taught not to levy irrational charges against superiors, as there might be superiors who, out of deference to Imperials, took those charges to heart. Though Duhier was pretty sure that wasn’t a problem when it came to Behrsoht.
“You look disgruntled, Fïac Lartsor,” said Behrsoht, smirking.
Duhier couldn’t bring himself to like that smirk. “Not at all, sir,” he denied.
But clearly, Behrsoht didn’t believe him. “Don’t get so down.”
“I’m not down.”
“Do you need to shoot down everything your Ship Commander says?” he smiled wryly.
“I apologize, sir.”
Behrsoht didn’t seem that displeased. “Listen here, Linewing Abliar. You can say what you want, but you’re a special breed.”
“Yes, sir,” Duhier acknowledged readily.
At least within the bounds of the Empire, Imperials were indeed special. Not so special they were wont to turn up their noses and throw the military into disorder, of course, but they couldn’t play down the fact they alone enjoyed the right to potentially accede to the Jade Throne. At the end of the day, it behooved them to simply think of that right as another one of their talents. And the Star Forces didn’t necessarily view concealing one’s talents as a virtue.
“Which means we who have been assigned next to you are also special,” he boasted.
“No, Ship Commander, sir,” Duhier replied reflexively. “I’ve simply been assigned under you, not the other way around.”
“Sure, on the surface,” asserted Behrsoht.
“And in reality,” contradicted Duhier promptly.
“Is that so?” said Behrsoht unconfidently.
“I believe so, sir,” said Duhier, though he felt his own confidence flagging.
“Does it even matter?” said Bhonh.
“It doesn’t matter to you whether you’re special or not?” asked Behrsoht, mystified.
“I know I’m special,” she replied dismissively. “I don’t need more proof of that.”
“Now you’re just shifting the topic.”
“That was not my intention, sir,” she said, nonplussed.
“See, we’re talking about different kinds of ‘special.’ You’re talking about the ‘everyone’s an individual’ kind. And I know we’re all special that way, obviously. We’re all Abhs here. The kind of special I’m talking about is, well... how do I put it... it’s about our status within the Empire, so, in short, I, uhh...”
“So you’re interested in career progression, Ship Commander, sir,” she summed up.
Behrsoht looked at her like she was a decorous cat. “You’re not?”
“No, sir,” said Bhonh flatly. “I’m just fulfilling my duty as gentry because the Empire is at war. There are far more fun things in the world than riding on a warship.”
“I know that, but...” he said deflatedly. “Don’t you at least want to get to a point where you can set your own marks?”
“No, sir. No matter who we kill, they’re people I’ve never met,” she said bluntly.
Behrsoht looked taken aback. “You’re being quite... well, to-the-point...”
“That’s what war is.”
“I don’t want to be told what war is by a soldier who doesn’t want to rise up in the ranks.”
“And I don’t want to be the person to tell you. I’m just clarifying what I think. Plus, when a soldier starts thinking about the nature of war, I don’t think any good will come of it most of the time. At any rate...” But Bhonh clipped her words there.
“What?”
“It’s nothing. I was just about to say something very impolite to a superior officer.”
“Then mutter it to yourself so I can hear.”
“It’s a small man whose dream is to just be a raichaicec saubr (squadron commandant),” she whispered, but loud enough for him to hear.
“That’s not my dream. It’s just a stepping stone, the low end of what I’d like to be. What I will be, barring a premature death. As if my dream could be so paltry.”
“Please don’t reply to somebody talking to herself. Besides...” For a fleeting moment, Bhonh shot a meaning-laden look Duhier’s way, only to look hurriedly away when she realized she was doing that.
“Well, I’ll give you this,” said Behrsoht, who stared at Duhier without any such self-consciousness, “it’s silly to be talking about promotions in front of the kid who could be sitting on the Jade Throne one day.”
The Throne, huh... If Duhier said he’d never thought about it, he’d be lying. At the same time, whenever he pictured the eight-headed dragon-engraved circlet that was the symbol of the Emperor or Empress, he invariably also saw his sister Lafier in his mind’s eye. He couldn’t imagine her paying homage to him one day.