Banner of the Stars: Volume 4

Prologue

How many times has it been? How many funerals have I had to attend, and how many more must I in the future?

So wondered the twenty-seventh Emperor of the Humankind Empire of Abh, Ablïarsec Néïc Dubreuscr Dreuc Ablïarser Lamagh. She was aboard the Star Forces Flagship-cum-Imperial Empress’s Ship, the Gaftnochec, which was making for the Rüé Ibéic (Imperial Mortuary Hall) in the capital of Lacmhacarh at extremely low speeds.

While in empires past, the so-called emperor’s ship may have steered clear of warzones, in this, the Humankind Empire of Abh, it was constructed with battle readiness in mind. As such, it was traditional to assign a state-of-the-art patrol ship to the Emperor or Empress. That was why the Gaftnochec was now a Caü-class patrol ship, which had the specifications for a fleet flag ship — only this patrol ship had a Jade Throne in place of the Commander-in-Chief’s Seat.

The Empress’s personal quarters aboard ship were officially the chicrh ghaharérr (commander-in-chief’s room). She couldn’t speak for other militaries, but within the Imperial Star Forces at the very least, it was the most spacious and luxurious space a soldier could expect in the field of battle. Her quarters were elaborately decorated, but not to the degree that it stood out, relatively speaking. In fact, considering this was where the sovereign of the empire of one trillion subjects went to unwind, it was positively gloomy and austere. Yet to her, the room felt like a paradise. Being Empress was exhausting work, especially during wartime. Any place she could spend some time by herself was precious.

She’d be even more pleased if she could go unmolested by urgent reports, but alas, that was too much to hope for. Subtle floor vibrations told her they had moored alongside their destination. Lamagh put down her bluish cup and rose to her feet.

The door opened, and there stood a personal transporter and several chamberlains.

"Your Majesty," said the Head Chamberlain, with a reverential bow of the head.

Lamagh returned the gesture of respect with a nod and mounted the transporter. Thus was she forced to put her paradise behind her.

The transporter moved smoothly down the hall, the walls depicting a pleasant prairie. One honor guard NCC was stationed every one thousand dagh in order to present arms.

Lamagh was back on her earlier train of thought: Somewhere in planar space, a funeral might be happening right now. A funeral without a mortuary hall. The warships of the Star Forces are the best possible coffins in the soldiers’ eyes, no matter how old or beat-up they become. Some may regard the fact they must share their coffin with others a fly in the amber, but they’re a minority. After all, most view getting to share their coffin with family a reason to rejoice. And I doubt anyone would object to the notion that the people they encounter on a ship can be counted as family. We don’t need some overblown sealing of vows; boarding a ship means living and dying alongside the rest of the crew and passengers — especially in times of war.

And this was an era of war. Even now, all throughout planar space, fleets from both sides were laying into each other, and countless rousing death rites were being conducted.

This was the biggest of all the many funerary halls that floated through space in Lacmhacarh, the Birautec Carsarr Gereulacr (Capital of the Kin of the Stars) — and the biggest in all the Empire. Aside from those who had received imperial sanction, only the members of the Imperial Family, or "Imperials," could use the Imperial Mortuary Hall.

The Abh were areligious, but they did observe the occasional ceremony that had a touch of spirituality to it, and funerals were the prime example. The funerals of pious land peoples were much simpler, on the whole.

However, Abh funerals were not truly religious. Abh mourning admitted no intervening god or gods. They were farewell ceremonies, meant solely for those who knew the deceased.

At last, the transporter passed through the lock gate of the Gaftnochec, and into the funeral hall. Its main hallway was vividly arrayed with images of the stars. The Abh may have been partial to art of planetary-surface nature for decorating ships’ interiors, but they believed the celestial fabric more fitting for the dearly departed.

By the opened door stood a handful of people, who, upon seeing Lamagh, bowed from the waist. A starpilot with blue-brown hair stepped forward from among them. His rank insignia showed him to be an associate commodore. He was Chidoryac Baurgh Sidec Sœrh, the day’s chief mourner.

"I’m honored Your Majesty has graced us," he greeted.

It’s just a pity it’s under these circumstances, she replied. We would not dream of missing the funeral of Our right hand.

I’m sure my father would be delighted to hear those words.

We aren’t so sure, she smiled, stepping off the transporter.

Chidoryac’s father was named Chidoryac Baurgh Sidec Chidh. Until very recently, he had served as the Imperial Chancellor. Not one to attach much importance to the concept of taking breaks, he tended to frown upon time spent unproductively — even if the one doing so was the Empress herself.

Knowing the man, he’d probably think the Abh Empress ought to be too ruthless to be wasting her time reminiscing about the dead.

But she also knew that even he hadn’t been able to resist the urge to devote himself to his flowerbeds from time to time.

The venue was circular, and at its center lay the coffin of the Bauchimh Raica (Former Chancellor). Lamagh kicked off the floor; the gravity control wasn’t on. With the practiced poise of an Abh, she flew to the casket’s side. Cylindrical in shape, the transparent coffin cradled the man who was Chancellor. He looked no different from how he had before.

Lamagh said her goodbyes, before allowing the next attendee to say theirs. This place was special; even the Empress was paid no higher respect than any other. It would not do for the center of attention to be someone other than the deceased.

She found her seat, hooking her toes onto a protrusion on the floor to prevent herself from floating up and away.

Fretfully, a Lander came closer through the use of a sryrec (glide-aid). There were quite a few Landers at the venue — the Former Chancellor himself was from a landworld, and many among the bureaucrats who were his subordinates lacked the gene for blue hair. That being said, this man was not a citizen of the Empire, either; he was Teen Quihahn, Ambassador of the Hania Federation.

"Your Majesty." Teen attempted to land near Lamagh. He moved fairly deftly, for a Lander.

However, a nacébriac (chamberlain guard) casually stepped in the way, hand firmly on the grip of a lightgun, to prevent Teen from getting too near.

We thank you for showing up for Our vassal’s sake, Mr. Ambassador, said Lamagh tersely.

It’s no trouble. His Excellency was a friend of mine, and one whom I respected greatly, he said, his voice dripping with heartache. If he was acting, he was a masterful performer. I don’t deserve such thanks.

Is that so? Then instead of thanks, We offer you Our condolences.

I am much obliged. Teen bowed deeply, causing him to trip a little. Also, please forgive me, Your Majesty, but could you possibly spare me a little of your time later?

It seemed this was the real reason he’d come to her. If he wanted someone to talk about his late friend with, there were definitely more suitable conversation partners than her.

We’re afraid this isn’t the time, she stated coldly. We would be quite pleased if you could refrain.

I humbly beg Your Majesty’s pardon, but I implore you. It is for the sakes of both our nations, he said, refusing to back down.

"Those are matters to discuss with the Chancellor." The former Chancellor’s death may have been sudden, but the appointment of the new one had been conducted without delay. The Üalodh Gaicer Scofarimér (Ambassadorial Agency Director), Brahsh, had been promoted to the role.

The Ambassadorial Agency was the government office in charge of diplomacy, but there was only one nation with which the Empire had relations. As such, they ought by all means to know the Hania Federation in and out.

"Regrettably, it appears His Excellency the Chancellor won’t lend an ear to a petty official."

"Is that so? For according to the reports We’ve received, the Chancellor has taken quite an amount of time for you."

Yes, he has. But time is all he has given me, he griped.

There was no guarantee you would get the results you wanted.

True, Your Majesty, but...

"We may be Empress, she admonished, but We hesitate to intrude upon the duties of Our retainers. And We would be pleased if you took that into account."

I have taken it into account, but I implore Your Majesty all the same.

The chamberlain guard gave her a look: Do you want me to shoo him off?

Lamagh answered with a gesture of the finger: This is nothing. The gesture was so subtle, Teen likely didn’t notice.

If you don’t mind conversing on your feet, then We shall allow it this once.

Thank you, Your Majesty. I am delighted to hear that.

However, you had best not misconstrue this as your having been granted a new privilege.

I understand. Teen glanced at the chamberlain guard. Now then, I believe I should give this space to someone better suited than I.

Lamagh had to hold down the urge to say That would be best. "Very well. Later, after the funeral is over, We shall take you to the ship on Our transporter."

For a fleeting moment, he was silent. He was probably less than pleased how brief that was. The Ambassadorial Agency was in the Imperial Palace. They could have returned there together on the Gaftnochec, which would give him adequate time to talk to her. Yet the Empress had no intention of extending the Ambassador such special treatment.

If he was as displeased as Lamagh surmised, Teen didn’t show it. "It would be my honor. I am most grateful, Your Majesty."

Even as the two spoke, more mourners were paying their respects. By the time the number of people by the casket had grown sparse, some voices were ringing out. Those voices weren’t saying anything; they started off as quiet moaning. Lamagh, too, added her voice, laced with grief, to the chorus.

When no one else was leaping toward the casket, the moaning wrapped the hall like an undulating wave. What had started as a handful of disconnected voices had become a lovely harmony.

This was the Bar cicoth (Abh elegy) — a song to send off a fellow Abh in beautiful fashion. Among landworlders, there were many who wished to be interred in the soil of their home planets. Chidoryac Baurgh Sidec Chidh was not one of them. He had chosen to be regarded as an Abh even during the ceremony that would cap off his life, and the Empire obliged him with the greatest esteem. Indeed, this mortuary hall was for national-level funerals, and even among Imperials, not all had their funerals conducted here.

As the elegy reverberated through the hall, a shining black cylinder descended and covered the transparent coffin. This was the shell that would shelter the Former Chancellor’s corpse for several hundreds of millions of years. Once the coffin was completely encased, the cylinder rose up gradually, for loading into the EM cannon. The volume of the Abh elegy rose with it.

The coffin now loaded, the cannon breech closed, and the very next instant, the mortuary hall fired the casket toward the center of the galaxy. Its speed was reduced by the giant mass of the hall, creating a pleasant mock-gravity, which pulled everyone down. Their heels went THUD against the floor, their cue to quiet down the singing. The funeral had concluded.

Lamagh gazed at the closed cannon breech for a while. How many more times must I watch this exact scene play out...?

Then she kicked against the floor and flew toward the exit, where the Hanian Ambassador was waiting.

Chapter 1: Tlachoth Üécr Sauder Cemarer (Battle of the Kemar Portal-Sea)

"Five minutes until space-time fusion."

Ablïarsec Néïc Dubreuscr Bœrh Parhynr Lamhirh, the second-ever Ship Commander of the raid ship Flicaubh, nodded to signal she’d heard the announcement loud and clear.

The voice of Ecryua, the Vice Captain-cum-Navigator, echoed through the bridge. It sounded surprisingly calm, considering the space-times they were fusing with were those of the enemy’s mobile space-time mines.

"An inter-bubble communication from Squadron Command," reported the Communications Officer, Rearguard Starpilot Yatesh. "It says, ‘switch over to single-ship bubbles. 1107.’"

Send them the roger-that signal, Lafier nodded. She checked the time on her wristgear. 1107 was the squadron’s standard time — 11:07.

The corps that the Flicaubh belonged to, Trample-Blitz Squadron 1, was currently four-ships-to-a-bubble, and charging against the thick space-time particle current emanating from the Mugh Saudelacr Érucfar (Central Disc Sector of Milky Way Portals).

"Vice Captain, said Lafier, space-time splitting, 1107."

How reckless, she muttered, as she prepared for splitting.

Lafier agreed. Splitting into single-ship bubbles would increase their maneuverability, but it would weaken their defenses. They were forced to plunge into a barrage using a frailer formation.

Can we just avoid them? asked Ecryua. If they could, then they could make up for the lack of defenses with their newfound maneuverability.

No, said Lafier promptly. If we dodge them, the reinforcements will have to deal with them.

Trample-Blitz Squadron 1 was at the head of the assault sub-fleet Bosurec, with the four assault squadrons that were Bosurec’s principal forces in back.

Assault ships were weak to mines. Typically, a saubh mésgér (escort squadron), specializing in anti-mine defense, would be deployed in front of the assault squadron, but not this time. The escort ships had taken heavy losses in the preceding battles, and it seemed the command center’s policy was to save them for later use.

In place of the usual ships, the raid ships of the Trample-Blitz Squadron and the patrol ships of the Recon Squadron would be their shield. Such was the Glagamh Byrer’s (Fleet Command Center) strategy.

"Splitting in ten seconds, announced Ecryua. Eight, seven, six, five..."

Lafier rose from the seat of the Ship Commander and drew forth the control gauntlet. The senses of the ship flowed into her through her access-cable, but she felt a strange unease from how she wasn’t piloting. However, she would have to get used to this discomfort. Unless she got demoted, she wouldn’t be steering a warship through her own control gauntlet ever again.

"Now splitting," said Ecryua, disinterestedly.

The four raid ships separated, each now