It wasn’t as though Lafier was the foremost candidate for the next emperorship, either. There were plenty in the Eight Houses who were closer to the Throne than her. And Duhier had only just taken his first timid, tentative step toward that office. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be Emperor to begin with. His father Dubeus, King of Clybh, once said: “While Imperials are born with a variety of obligations, becoming the Emperor isn’t one of them. After all is said and done, there’s no shortage of candidates.” At the time, Duhier hadn’t felt particularly strongly about what he said one way or the other — he already knew, after all. In fact, he’d even wondered why his father would say something so obvious. Yet now that he was living among people who hadn’t had much chance to interact with Imperials, the weight behind those words had become clear. It seemed that people, when near an Imperial, ended up psyching themselves up thinking that Imperial might become the next Emperor for them. None were ill-mannered enough to express that directly, but under all of that unspoken pressure, Duhier could very well end up regarding vying for the Throne as an actual duty.
Duhier remained silent. He could sense no one was expecting him to chime in, which was a relief.
Bhonh suddenly frowned and lightly held her circlet. “Ship Commander.”
“Is it a message?” asked Behrsoht.
“Yes, sir. Just a moment.” Bhonh strained her frocragh.
“Is the message from that bubble?” he asked, his command baton pointing at the bubble of an allied carrycraft on the planar space map. It wasn’t unusual at all for a carrycraft to be on a battlefield, but it was in a noticeably odd position.
“It is, sir,” nodded Bhonh. “It’s for you, from Fleet Command. I’ll forward it to your wristgear.”
“A direct message from Fleet Command? For me?” he murmured, peering down at his wristgear. Then he snorted. “Senior Communications Officer, send an inter-bubble communication to Squadron Command.”
“What should it say, sir?” said Bhonh.
“On the orders of Fleet Command, this ship will be acting of its own accord.”
Bhonh briskly executed her orders. “Message sent.”
“Now then, Linewing Abliar, any idea where we’re headed?”
“No, sir. I don’t know,” he replied emotionlessly. He kept the “how could I possibly know” bottled up inside.
“Ship Commander, we got an inter-bubble communication from Squadron Command,” reported Bhonh. “They’re permitting us to go solo.”
“Senior Navigator, fuse space-times with the carrycraft Tocrurec at once.”
It must have been the Tocrurec that had sent the inter-bubble communication.
“Could it be your long-time dream is about to come true, Ship Commander?” teased Bhonh.
“My long-time dream? What do you mean?”
Bhonh made to reply.
“On second thought,” said Behrsoht, waving a hand, “don’t answer that. I already know.”
“So, is it coming true?”
“No. Fleet Command won’t go out of its way to grant the dream of a small man like me.” Behrsoht looked at the Senior Communications Officer. “You look like you’ve got something to say.”
“May I mutter it to myself?” she asked quietly.
“You may, as long as it’s somewhere I’m not,” he said magnanimously.
“Can it be somewhere other people are?”
“Don’t ask for permission to speak ill of me behind my back.”
“You’re right, I shouldn’t do such a thing. I won’t ask permission.”
“I can’t put my finger on why exactly, but I’ve got the odd sensation I just got categorized as an also-ran.” Behrsoht sat down in his Ship Commander’s Seat. “Now to our next mission — transferring Linewing Abliar to the Tocrurec.”
“Me, sir?” said Duhier, surprised.
“Correct,” nodded Behrsoht. “Fleet Command has issued a summons for you.”
“A summons?” Why am I just parroting him? he admonished himself.
“I take it you’ve got some inkling as to why?”
“No, sir,” he shook his head.
“Come now, you’re young; there’s no need to hold back.”
“I’m not holding back, sir.” Duhier was perplexed.
“You ought to pout and say, ‘there’s no honking way.’”
“They didn’t teach any such mode of etiquette at the academy, sir.”
“I know that. I’m a graduate, too.”
While Duhier affected an overserious, stuffy personality as a shield, inwardly he heaved a heavy sigh. Honestly engaging with this Ship Commander would chip away at his sanity.
“In any case, just go show your face and come back.”
“Do you have an inkling as to why, Ship Commander?”
“I do,” he said confidently.
“What is it, sir?” he blinked.
“It’s your Fïac title that sets you apart. Unless you’ve got other special characteristics to boot?”
Duhier certainly couldn’t think of another reason they’d be calling for him. That being said, Imperial or not, he’d never heard of Fleet Command summoning a mere linewing.
“I just don’t know that being an Imperial is ‘special’ enough for Fleet Command, sir.” Yet his thoughts belied his words: What else could possibly be ‘special’ about me apart from that?
“All that’s certain is that this isn’t just some courtesy call,” said Behrsoht.
It would never occur to higher-level officers of the Star Forces to go out of their way to pay respects just because a grandson of the Empress happened to be around. The whole idea was an affront to the Abliar name.
“Yes, which is why I have no idea what this is about,” he said frankly.
“Hmm.” Behrsoht stroked his chin. “Looks like some sort of super special circumstances we’re not privy to are wrapped up in that special status of yours, giving rise to special reasons the likes of a Hecto-Commander who only dreams of being a squadron commandant shouldn’t poke his nose into.”
I wonder, agreed Duhier.
“Space-time fusion with the Tocrurec in seventy minutes,” said the Senior Navigator. The Glagac Byrec Lobina Borperr (Twin Thorns Fleet 13 Flagship), the Chaicaü, had sortied from the Ercohn Portal, but it was positioned far behind the war front. And the number of ships taken alongside it was so small, one would never think it was a fleet flagship. But the fact that carrycrafts fused with and split off from its space-time with frequency spoke to its being the flagship of a fleet in combat.
The carrycraft Tocrurec came alongside the Chaicaü, which was a patrol ship that was remodeled to serve as a fleet flagship. Squadron flagships had to participate in combat themselves, and squadron command centers didn’t have enough staff to be distinguishable from other ships. Sub-fleet flagships, meanwhile, needed bigger command center installations, so patrol ships for use as flagships were mass-produced for them. When it came to fleet flagships like the Chaicaü, however, sub-fleet flagship installations weren’t enough. Yet there was not enough need for fleet flagships to justify mass-production. As such, they simply implemented large-scale remodeling to patrol ships that were formerly sub-fleet flagships. They required enough space to carry six conveyance ships, and to contain conference rooms and other various divisions and departments (along with the living quarters of command center personnel), setting aside the space needed to house twelve giant mines.
In truth, not even that was enough, which was why the Chaicaü’s interior was constructed as something of an answer to the age-old question, how many features could one cram into a small space?
Duhier walked down the Chaicaü’s complex pathways. A personal transporter was too extravagant for a lowly linewing. Besides, as Fleet Command, they must have gotten many visitors from outside using transporters.
Guard NCCs were standing sentry here and there. Granted, it was almost inconceivable a hostile would somehow infiltrate the place, so this was less about security and more about giving guard NCCs something to do. Also, it was necessary to furnish a fleet command center with a large number of guard NCCs in case some crisis took place.
Eventually, he arrived in front of the entrance to the Commander’s Bridge, defended by honor guard NCCs. These were specialists in both security and ceremony, and they were selected from among guard NCCs and airship NCCs. Naturally, there was a tension in the air about them; it seemed they’d known of Duhier’s coming — and his status — beforehand.
“Apologies, Linewing,” said one of them, “but as per my duties, I must perform a body check.”
“I hold your duties in high esteem,” he replied. It was a canned phrase. He submitted himself without fuss to the body check, which was over in no time.
“Please excuse us. We shall lead your path.” The honor guard turned his back to him.
The door in front opened. The honor guard NCCs guided him as they walked their distinctive walk. After several steps, one of them raised their voice: “Linewing Abliar has arrived.”
The top brass of Byrec Lobina (Fleet 13) were here at the command center bridge. Almost everyone here had been working in the military since before Duhier was born.
“Well met, Linewing Abliar,” saluted a woman with lips the color of fresh blood from a space on the floor a tier higher than Duhier. She was Star Forces Admiral Cotponic, the Fleet Commander-in-Chief.
“Commander-in-Chief, ma’am,” said Duhier, saluting again.
“Guide Linewing Abliar to the Commander-in-Chief’s office,” she ordered an honor guard.