A War Most Modest (JNC Edition) Read online

  “That’s the one. They most likely won’t let us talk to Fïac Lartnér, either. I mostly just use it to complain about the food.”

  “Okay, fine, so then one of us fakes being sick, or we cause a fire, or...”

  “Gotta say, boy, I was hoping for a lot more from a limber young lad like you.”

  “It’s no good?”

  “It ain’t no good, no. No idea why, but I’m as hearty as they come. Never been sick in my life, really. Then I fall ill right around when you’re here? My son has many faults, but he’s no fool. It’d raise his guard for sure.”

  “What if I do it, though? Pretend I’m frail and prone to sickness...”

  “Hmmm... But that’s assuming he cares whether ya live or die anyhow.”

  When Jinto realized how true that was, he plunged into a very black mood.

  “He probably wishes I’d just bite it already, too,” said Sruf, driving the final nail.

  “I guess starting a fire’s a dumb idea, too, then...”

  “So it is.” The former baron nodded gravely.

  They were at an impasse, unable to come up with anything else. Jinto thought he’d need a change of pace before the answer could come to him.

  Jinto bade him adieu and exited out into the hall.

  He made a revolution walking around the central pond while admiring the flowers. Situated at the pond’s very center was a circular islet, narrow enough to squeeze in at most ten people. A white bridge in the shape of a rainbow spanned the expanse, though it was probably just a model.

  He peered into the pond, curious whether any creatures dwelled in its depths, but he couldn’t spot anything swimming. Alas, no bright ideas bubbled up in his mind, and he soon grew tired of staring at the pond’s waters.

  He turned his gaze up to the ceiling. It was a dome, about 500 dagh tall at its highest point, and painted sky blue.

  Squinting, he could make out a faint line etched in the dome’s apex. A circular line. Too like an entrance.

  “Lonh-lym raica!” cried Jinto to the old man in the living room.

  “What?” He stepped in and stood beside Jinto.

  “What is that?” Jinto pointed up at the circle. “That pressure door-looking circle, see it?”

  “Oh, that.” He nodded. “That there’s the baudec (round hatch) that leads to the pier.”

  “To the pier? But this isn’t the spaceport zone...”

  “This whole sector was originally a welcoming hall for guests of honor. Used to be an elevator tube on that island and everything,” he said, pointing.

  Now that he’d mentioned it, Jinto saw how the hatch was located exactly above the islet.

  “It was designed to allow visitors to relax upon touching down through contact with some surface-world nature. My mother, she loved the whole concept. Thing is, the occasion never came. Nobody ever stopped by. So my sad sack of a son converted the place into my prison. He took down the elevator, leveled half of the hall, and tacked on some new rooms.”

  “Is that hatch still operational?”

  “You bet it is. And if it’s operable manually, then we can open it from the inside. We’d need to destroy the safety, but that shouldn’t be too hard. But what are ya cooking up in that head of yours?”

  “Isn’t it obvious!?” he shouted feverishly. “That’s our way outside!”

  “Outside? ‘Outside’ is space. The vacuum of space.”

  Jinto’s silence lasted mere seconds. “Then we walk along the mansion’s roof until we make it to the connecting vessel. Next, we enter the vessel for a bit, and then head back toward the orbital estate...”

  Pity gleamed in the former baron’s eyes. “There ain’t any gonœc (pressurized clothing) around here. Or have the Abh managed to suffuse all of space with breathable air while I’ve been stuck here struggling to kill time?”

  “W-wait, hold on,” said Jinto, refusing to give up, “they say people can survive for a short amount of time in a vacuum...”

  “And do ya know where the vessel’s parked?”

  “Yeah, at the spaceport, of course... Oh.”

  “So ya see now,” said Sruf. “The port’s a long ways away from here. You could be infused with all of humanity’s good luck and stamina, and it’d still be impossible.”

  “But what if it’s moored someplace close by? Can’t rule it out...” Jinto clung to his last mad shred of hope for dear life. “Let’s scout it out, and check to see if it’s closer than not...”

  “Sorry, but that ain’t in the cards. The elevator had the air lock room in it. The instant we open that hatch, this zone’s air’ll leak out.”

  “We’ll just shut it again!”

  “Don’t be stupid. Think about the air current that’d produce. It’s a manual hatch, so it ain’t powered by anything. Closing it again is outta the question. Besides, that idea hinges far too much on blind luck. You can put your own life on the table, but I wouldn’t. And you’re the one who hates gambling, ain’t ya?”

  “Uh-huh.” Crestfallen, Jinto slumped to the ground at the pond’s edge. Despair racked his mind. Would he be forced to play nice with this old man, always to be trapped in the palms of the Baron of Febdash? The former baron was pleasant enough, but Jinto wasn’t about to sign up to share the rest of his life with him.

  Plus, there was Lafier to think about. Was she all right? If the Baron had any sense to speak of, he’d never lay a finger on a royal princess of the Empire. And yet... would a sane person detain a soldier in the middle of a mission?

  “That’s it... the vessel just needs to come to the hatch,” Jinto muttered, half to himself. “To us.”

  “Clearly. That’s what the hatch is there for. For boarding. But how’ll we get it here? Have ya got some mystic powers as-yet unraveled by man?”

  “Would you shut up and let me think!?” Jinto snapped. Taken aback himself, he looked up at the former baron. “I’m sorry, I got carried away...”

  “It’s okay,” said the old man calmly. “I was being snarky, despite my years. I’m sorry, boy. I know this is a pressing crisis to you.”

  “That’s right. This is important,” Jinto concurred.

  “In any case, ya oughtta forget about the hatch. Got any other ideas?”

  “Best not move!” said Lafier, brandishing her phaser. “This place is now under Star Forces occupation!” And there was Seelnay, training her own gun right beside her.

  The homemakers’ office was quite spacious. One wall was was projecting a vista with the star of Febdash at the center, while ever-shifting numbers and graphs danced across another. Meanwhile, three servants were working three rows of consoles.

  “What in the stars!?” The lady (who seemed to be the supervisor) cast her eyes on the intruders. “Fïac Lartnér. Along with Seelnay.”

  “Hands up, Greda!” yelled Seelnay.

  “What’s the meaning of this nonsense!?” Baffled, Supervisor Greda watched Seelnay intently.

  “I am a Trainee Starpilot of the Imperial Star Forces, Ablïarsec Néïc-Dubreuscr Bœrh Parhynr Lamhirh.”

  “Yes, I’m well aware,” said Greda, visibly flummoxed.

  The other two were wearing the same expression. They glanced at each other, then shot Seelnay an inquisitive look, as if to say: What is this farce? Is this the kind of prank Imperials entertain themselves with? How excessive. How deeply unamusing.

  It was all too clear that the servants here hadn’t come to grips with the situation, either. Yet Lafier could hardly back down now.

  Sensing her own resolve to fight was dangerously close to flagging, Lafier rekindled it by declaring: “The Star Forces have hereby seized the Gandhorh Garicr Lymect Faibdacr (Homemakers’ Office of the Febdash Baron’s Estate). I require all of you to raise your hands and stand up slowly.”

  They did as they were ordered.

  Lafier advanced incrementally away from the door, her back to the wall. There was no way to know when the Baron would arrive with armed backup.

  Seel
nay tightly flanked Lafier with a poise that belied the fact this was her first time holding a weapon.

  “Your Highness, Fïac Lartnér,” Greda started, “Why are you doing this? If you have some task to carry out, surely you could have simply ordered us directly?”

  “Then here are my orders. I demand to be allowed contact with the former baron. Better yet, I demand he and Ïarlucec Dreur Haïder be freed.”

  Greda’s face immediately stiffened. “That is prohibited, and I’m afraid that I’m not authorized to grant that request.”

  “In that case, you can see why I needed to take this place by force, gosucec rann (servants, plural),” said Lafier. “I enjoin you to forget the Baron’s orders and get to it. Now.”

  “Don’t move, Cfaspia!” shrieked Seelnay, firing her phaser out of nowhere.

  The laser missed its mark completely, hitting the projection of the blazing star of Febdash on the wall like a bull’s eye instead.

  “Dammit!” The servant named Cfaspia trained the gun she’d drawn from under her console on Seelnay. Lafier wasted no time shooting Cfaspia’s hand.

  “Yargh!” It dropped from her grip. Seelnay darted to pick it up off the floor and proffer it to Lafier.

  The royal princess stole a glance at it, and ascertained that it was a paralyzer gun.

  Lafier signaled Seelnay with her eyes: If there are any other weapons, you’d best ferret them all out. Seelnay copied loud and clear, and proceeded to separate the ladies from their respective consoles so she could carefully inspect them.

  “Tell us what’s going on, Seelnay!” said one of them.

  “You won’t believe it, Arsa...” The two were friends, and so Seelnay happily launched into an explanation.

  “Do it now,” said Lafier, gun still square on Greda.

  Greda was wide-eyed with disbelief. “You really mean it, don’t you, Your Highness.”

  “I know not what rumors you may have heard about the Abliar family, but we do not fire at people for fun,” she replied.

  “I understand.” A sigh. “I understand, Your Highness. However, I regret to inform you that it isn’t possible to open the door to the Retirement Zone.”

  “Is that true?”

  “It’s no lie. Without my lord’s permission, we can’t open it, not even from here. Not unless my lord comes here, uses his own EM crest-key, and enters the saigh cimena of his own volition.”

  “And there’s absolutely no other way?” pressed Lafier.

  “I swear it,” Greda affirmed.

  Though Lafier had no recourse to detect whether she was telling the whole truth.

  “Then what of communicating with them? You can’t tell me that’s prohibited, too.”

  “You may, by all means.” Greda threw up her hands and stepped away from the console.

  “Please wait a moment while I connect you.”

  “No sudden movements, no funny business.”

  “Yes, I know.” Slowly, Greda sidled aside, and reached for the phone. Unlike most other phones, it was fixed to an otherwise barren wall.

  It was then the door opened.

  Lafier flashed the muzzle in its direction.

  “There you are, Fïac Lartnér!” The Baron barged inside, a handful of armed servants at his call. Peering into the muzzle pointed his way, he froze in place, stupefied.

  “What excellent timing, Baron,” said Lafier. “I was just informed that your compuwatch is what we need to free Jinto. I suggest you cooperate.”

  “What are you doing!? Shield me!” he barked at his small contingent. Arms brandished and at the ready, the servants formed a wall between him and Lafier.

  “You can’t be serious!” cried Seelnay. “You’d dare point guns at Her Royal Highness!?”

  The servants flinched at that remark, wincing for all to see.

  “Seelnay, you traitor!” The Baron thrust an accusatory finger at her and opened his mouth as though to issue an order. Lafier promptly stepped in front of her to protect her.

  “Imperial citizen Faigdacpéc Sélnaïc is under my guardianship now.”

  Seelnay gasped behind her, overjoyed. “I’m so happy, Your Highness!”

  “Damn!” The Baron’s visage twisted into something less handsome. “Your Highness, I am appalled! Did I not give you the most royal of receptions!?”

  “And now I’d appreciate being allowed a royal exit. You can have my sincerest gratitude after we’ve peacefully taken our leave.”

  “I cannot allow that. And I do believe I’ve told you why.”

  “I believe I told you, Baron: I’m getting out of here, one way or the other. Now bring Jinto to me, and posthaste.”

  “You must mean Lonh-Ïarlucec Dreur Haïder,” said the Baron, his brows knitted with resentment. “I cannot.”

  “Why?”

  “My father is currently catering to him.”

  “Then let me convene with your dear father.”

  “That, too, is not to be.”

  “And why might that be!?”

  “That might be due to family matters whose details I feel no obligation to reveal. Not even to a highly insistent royal princess such as Your Highness.”

  “I have no interest in your family matters! I just want to see Jinto!” Lafier’s sight, the red dot on the Baron, flew up to his head. “If it’s a fight you want, Most Honored Baron, shall we get started?”

  “You’d never!” he spat. “If you kill me, then there’ll be no freeing Ïarlucec Dreur Haïder!”

  “‘Freeing’ him, Baron? So, he is being imprisoned.”

  “Hmph. Fine, I’ll tell Your Highness what you want to hear. I have indeed imprisoned Ïarlucec Dreur Haïder. I admit it. But need I remind you? This is my mansion. You have no right to find fault with the way I run my own house, Fïac. Nor any right to harm me!”

  “Oh, I can harm you. And I promise you I’ll rescue him, even if you make it happen the hard way. Because all I need is to shred this mansion of yours to ribbons.”

  That was no bluff, either. Lafier had never been one to utter anything she had no intention of following through on.

  The Baron, for his part, could sense the depth of her determination. Voice verging on shrill, he replied: “Very well. I too am an Abh noble. I do not yield to intimidation. Do what you will, Royal Princess.” But he was feeling the pressure. His eyes scanned the room.

  All of the servants, including those guarding him, were in a dither; in their world, a clash between Abhkind was vanishingly rare. Had the interloper been some normal gentry, they would not have had such cause to waver, but when it came to the bearer of an Imperial’s titles, they hesitated to so much as point a paralyzer gun her way.

  Among their number, Seelnay alone was in high spirits.

  “Your Highness, it looks like Faigdacpéc Arsa will be joining our side!” she reported. “In exchange for employment by the House of Crybh!”

  “Sure.” Lafier nodded, eyes never straying from the Baron. “I shall accept her on the same terms I accepted you.”

  The Baron stamped his feet: “This is a flagrant violation of all that is decent! You’re all traitors, every last one of you!”

  “Is your little tantrum over now, Baron?” Lafier trigger finger tensed. “I expect you to open the door to the Retirement Zone, or the Prison Zone, or what have you, before the count of three.”

  “I refuse!” And with that, he turned tail.

  Lafier hesitated and lost her chance to shoot. That moment was all it took for him to flee. The rest of his guard followed after him, and soon they were all gone.

  “Wait!” Seelnay made to give chase.

  “It’s okay, Seelnay,” said Lafier, stopping her. If she had made good on her promise to shoot him, the servants defending him would hardly have remained so docile. They would definitely have thrown themselves into battle to protect their lord. With only two phasers to their many, their prospects for victory had been hazy.

  “Yes, Your Highness. What do we do now?”
r />   “What do you two plan to do?” Lafier sized up the pair who had yet to plant their flag.

  Greda faltered in her response. “I... My duty is to protect this place, so... as long as my lord is absent, I can and shall accede to Your Highness’s orders.”

  “Well, count me out!” said Cfaspia, cradling her own injured hand. “I’m a servant of the Honorable Baron, and always will be!”

  “Makes sense. You were always one of his favorites,” said Arsa. That barb was almost dripping with years of pent-up resentment.

  “Why don’t you run right off to your beloved Baron, then?” Seelnay jeered.

  “That’s enough, gosucec rann.” Lafier stared and Cfaspia and stated, “You need medical attention, so leave us.”

  Cfaspia stood up and, with still-defiant eyes, gave her a bow. “Your Highness’s comportment is beyond the pale.”

  “To me, your lord’s actions were well beyond it.” Done with her, Lafier shooed her away.

  Cfaspia tucked in her chin with irritation and exited the room.

  “Now if you would carry out your orders,” Lafier addressed Greda. “And tell me, do you know where the Baron went?”

  “I’ll run a search, Your Highness,” said Arsa, who begun working her console’s controls.

  “Your Highness, they’re on the line,” said Greda, handing her the phone, an audio-only model.

  “Is this the former Baron of Febdash?” asked Lafier. But it was not Sruf’s voice that greeted her.

  “That you, Lafier?”

  “Jinto!” Lafier shocked even herself with her near-squeal. “Are you okay!?”

  “Yeah, I guess I’m fine. How’re things on your end?”

  “I’m all right. But never mind that, you need to be on guard! The Baron might be headed toward you.”

  “The Baron? To do what?”

  Lafier couldn’t be sure whether he was just that dense, or whether he was the type to take things so calmly that it circled right back around to candidacy for natural selection, but she decided she’d interpret that reply in the more flattering way.

  “I admire your unflappability, Jinto, but most likely, to kill you.”