This startled Duhier. He doesn’t know the contents of the Fleet Commander-in-Chief’s secret orders, does he? Of course, thinking it through more coolheadedly, he knew that was scarcely possible.
“That sounds like fun,” said Bhonh. “Unfortunately, though, our break time begins when we dock at the canteen.”
“What’s unfortunate about that? That’s fine by me.”
“What indeed?” sang the Senior Communications Officer.
“Well, whatever. When are we arriving at the canteen?”
“In twenty-two hours.”
“I see. Linewing Abliar, go spread the joyous news to the crew.”
Duhier did just that.
Twenty-four hours later, Duhier was there at the mobile canteen, which was named the Dauc Slycr. As construction had begun a mere week ago, there were many as yet unfinished sections. Unlike his Ship Commander, Duhier hadn’t made any reservations, opting instead to stroll aimlessly around.
He found where The Swallow lay, and walked in a direction leading expressly away from it. Just as Behrsoht had predicted, the canteen town was jammed with soldiers. The Dauc Slycr was small, given the sheer number of warships to accommodate. Passing through one of the brand-new avenues, he stumbled on an area that looked timeworn and old. They’d probably linked up a portion of a canteen town that had outlived its usefulness. That was where Duhier encountered a cafe by the name of The Cat’s Cradle, which he proceeded to enter. He ordered some hot peach juice and had them add a few drops of white spirits. He was on break; he could indulge a little.
The cafe was moderately crowded, but there wasn’t a single familiar face among the customers. Yet they knew who Duhier was. He was an Imperial, and the Empress’s grandson at that. Not one of the soldiers was ill-mannered enough to call out to him.
Duhier felt relaxed for the first time in a while, but that didn’t last for long.
“Mind if I sit here?” Bhonh had a hand on the seat in front.
“No, of course not,” he said, smiling in resignation.
“You don’t seem very pleased.”
“No, I’m just surprised. Do you not have any plans of your own, Senior Communications Officer?
“Plans? Not with how sudden this furlough was,” she laughed lightly, before ordering some coffee.
“I suppose,” said Duhier, as conversation filler. He didn’t know what to talk about. He decided to wait for her to bring something up, seeing as she must have started this conversation for a reason.
The coffee arrived. “I’ll be out of your hair in no time, so let’s chat for the time being.”
“Yes,” he replied meekly.
“You’re not terribly sociable.”
“I’m an Abliar.”
“Makes sense.” She sipped her coffee.
Duhier drank of his peach juice.
“Linewing,” she said, finally getting to the heart of the matter.
“What is it?”
“You’re not fitting in, aboard the ship.”
“So it seems,” he nodded. There wasn’t a moment he hadn’t felt that way.
“That’s not a good thing.”
“It’s not.” Duhier braced himself for a lecture.
“But it’s not a bad thing, either.”
“It isn’t?” Duhier wasn’t expecting that.
“It isn’t. There are starpilots who adapt to military life from the outset, that much is true. But I’d say the vast majority don’t. You’re in that majority. That’s all I want to say. It’s neither a good nor a bad thing.”
“Which type were you, Vanguard?”
“I’m in the minority. I was raised on a battleship. A battle-line ship named the Taircéth. I was aboard the Taircéth since the age of three, and the starpilots, NCCs and company doted on me. Which is why, when I graduated from academy and boarded a warship, it felt like coming home.”
“But ma’am,” said Duhier, “I recall you saying you didn’t like a starpilot’s life.”
“I don’t. A warship is my old home. But just because it’s my old home doesn’t mean I necessarily like it. I think there are plenty of other potential livelihoods more enjoyable than being a soldier, though maybe they’re not what they’re cracked up to be. The point is, I’d be a beginner at any other way of life. I’m not confident I could ever get used to anything besides being a starpilot.”
“I see.”
“So you don’t need to try too hard to ‘fit in,’ Linewing.”
“Is that how I appear? I’m ‘trying too hard’?”
“No, it’s not.” She rested her chin on her hands. “When people feel like they don’t fit in, normally they either try to blend in somehow, or turn their backs completely. You’re just detached.”
“I don’t mean to come across that way.”
“I understand that. I’m sure you were just conducting yourself as you deemed reasonable. That’s what being detached is.”
So that’s how others see me, is it? This was news to him.
“Okay, so, what I want to say is that while I don’t mind if you stay that way, there’s something I’d like you to keep in mind.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t look down on it.”
“On what?” Duhier tilted his head in puzzlement.
“On the small little microcosm you currently belong to. The mood on the Caïsaumh isn’t the greatest. It’s so-so. I’ve served on a few different ships, so take it from me. And there must be a lot of things that can bug you. I don’t blame you if you don’t like the feel of the community aboard the Caïsaumh. That’s your right. Just don’t regard it with contempt.”
Duhier fixed his gaze straight into Bhonh’s tawny brown eyes. “I’ll do my best not to.”
“This isn’t some kind of goalpost for you to try for,” she said, her tone turning severe. “These are orders from your superior officer.”
Duhier grew increasingly bewildered. When it came to his outer demeanor, he could always do as ordered. But how was he expected to manage his inner emotions?
“I’ll do my best. That’s all I can tell you.”
“You’re an Abliar and can tell no lies, eh? Just tell me one thing.”
“Yes.”
“Do you already hold us in contempt?”
“No, not at all,” Duhier replied.
“That so. I’m relieved.”
“Please let me ask a question of my own.”
“By all means.”
“Have you ever looked down on a ship’s crew, Vanguard?”
“Have you ever questioned whether the Empire should be respected or disdained?” she asked in reply.
“No, ma’am. There’s no need to entertain such a question.”
“To me, a warship and the Empire are the same. My true home was the Taircéth, but that ship no longer exists. Now, all warships are a home to return to for me. The Empire that I know, I know solely through its warships. In my eyes, to scorn a warship’s community is to scorn the Empire.”
“I understand.”
“And yet you still can’t promise me anything other than that you’ll try, correct?” she asked, with impish eyes.
“That is correct,” Duhier nodded.
“Thought so.”
Suddenly, a female voice spilled through the loudhailers: “Attention! Attention! This is the Command Center of the newly formed fleet. We have special news, so please listen wherever you may be. This news is for the soldiers of Twin Thorns Fleets 11, 12, 13, and 14.”
Duhier was listening carefully. Bhonh and the other customers had stopped chatting and had pricked up their ears.
“Moments ago, the name of the operation we will be carrying out was decided,” resounded the female voice. “The name of the operation is Gycnerh (Snow Crystal). I repeat. The name of the operation is Snow Crystal. In accordance with Empire custom, our fleet will also heretofore be named the Byrec Gycnerr. The Fleet Commander-in-Chief is Former Roïglaharérh Byrer Borperr (Twin Thorns Fleet Vice Commander-in-Chief) cum Glaharérh Byrer Lobina Borperr (Twin Thorns Fleet 13 Commander-in-Chief), Imperial Admiral Cohtponee. As for the command center, the command center of Twin Thorns Fleet 13 will take it over; consider this a lateral move. The details of the mission and the order of battle will be made known to you later on. That is all from Snow Crystal Command.”
“The Snow Crystal Fleet...” Bhonh shook her head. “The Ship Commander’s going to hate that name.”