2
Carina Korhil
Strictly speaking, the ship didn’t need a large crew: a captain, a first mate, two deck officers, three servants, two cooks and three mechanics. All it needed to run was a single mechanic and one decent pilot. The rest were simply… the trappings.
But with us came a coterie of Lord Rahan’s personal guard, as promised, eight soldiers to accompany Neira and myself.
The lord’s men were covered head to toe in the burgundy red armor that’d become synonymous with Rahan’s house, Doksu. Their featureless helms were lesser reflections of Rahan’s own typical mask.
They spoke only when spoken to and kept a strict military discipline at all times while on duty—said duty being to guard me. It was reassuring but also dreadfully boring in terms of conversation.
I was grateful for Neira’s presence, and her insistence on accompanying me once she found out, stating that she hadn’t unpacked from her previous journey and was thus more than ready for this one.
The passing of time was… strange on a ship, I found. Our journey would take an approximate time of five days or so. But how does one measure days when there’s no sun rising or setting? No moon overhead? Just a blanket of stars.
The ship tried to simulate day and night cycles, with the interior halls going from lit to simple gloom lighting, but there was no gradual change like the lighting over a planet as the sun moved. No dusk and dawn. Just day and night.
It felt beyond strange, and after a handful of cycles, I found myself disoriented by it.
Regardless, I tried to keep to my sleep schedule. I woke sharply and putting myself to sleep at relatively the same hour every night, filling my days with reading briefs and intelligence reports on both House Gilson, and their capital, Urun.
I woke up on the “morning” of the third cycle as I always did, proceeding to clean myself up, washing my mouth, showering, brushing my hair. I didn’t consider myself particularly vain, but I always took pride in my raven hair.
Finally, after some time, I was done, dressing in a simple set of clothes, a blouse and red, loose pants, finishing with comfortable shoes rather than ones designed to impress, for today my appearance need not be so elaborate.
Opening the door to my room, I was not surprised to find someone waiting for me.
“Ahh,” I said in greeting, nodding once. “Madam Woolsey.”
“My lady Carina.” Woolsey bowed.
She was a thin crone, her skin wrinkled and creased like old leather, hair steel wire grey and lips eternally set in a disapproving purse.
“Master Deckard is gathering his materials and will meet us shortly. We are ready for today’s practice.”
I nodded; today’s “practice” would be occupying most of today and tomorrow.
Because as short notice as this may have been, I needed at least some semblance of preparation to meet with the head of House Gilson.
Two of the soldiers guarded the hall, both offering sharp salutes. The blood red eagle of the house crest stood out sharply in the white hall and white uniforms.
My advisers, two of them, Madam Woolsey and Master Deckard, hovered around me at all hours like tutors or hornets; questioning, reminding, prodding, drilling.
They wanted decades of history crammed into my skull in a matter of days.
Reaching the ship’s on-board lounge, the door opened with a hiss, admitting us into a room that seemed out of place in this vessel. Gone were the sterile white walls and sloping curves outside; rather, varnished red wood, oiled leather, and a faint scent in the air lingered within.
The stark difference between this space and the rest of the ship was a holdover from a past age, inspired by the “bars” of Old Earth, the ancient homeworld. The wood was real but was harvested from trees that had never even been in the same solar system, let alone under the same sky. The leather, similarly, was cured from animals that would resemble nothing from Old Earth.
But even more startling than the abrupt change from one atmosphere to the other was the unexpected occupant resting within.
“Neira?”
My handmaiden didn’t move from her “sleep,” and it was then I noted the small band of metal, nearly hidden under her blonde hair, coiled around the back of her head so its edges rested just at the edge of her temples.
Looking closer now, I noted the rapid eye movements under her closed lids; a quick tensing and loosening of the muscles around her eyes, forearms and lips, fingers twitching at the armrests with the beginnings of neuro-arrested movements.
Mistress Wolsey scoffed, and even a deaf man could have heard the derision in her voice. “Fool girl, wasting time again with frivolities.”
She started to walk forward, no doubt intent on waking Neira from the fugue of the Neuro-VR device before I held out my hand, quietly commanding her to hold.
Stepping forward, I reached down, my hand gripping Neira’s, and felt the muscles there jump at the unexpected contact, her brow scrunching up in confusion at what might have been, from her perspective, overlapping, dissonant sensations, before easing in realization.
I heard Master Deckard step into the room behind us, the older man muttering to himself about something or other as Neira began the process of disentangling her neurons and nerves from the illusion.
As soon as her eyes opened, rapidly blinking away the last vestiges of her fugue state, I saw her startle. “Oh! Lady Carina, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s all right, Neira,” I said, then took a look at the time log on the side of her headband, now freed from her hair. “I would, however, be interested to know what simulation you were so vested in you remained engaged with it for nearly twelve standard hours.”
I saw her blanch. “T-twel—No. I’ve only been here since seven thirty!”
“It’s seven fifteen, you foolish girl,” Madam Woolsey snapped.
“Mistress Woolsey, if you please,” I warned.
Neira looked uncomfortable, shifting in her seat. “I-I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized time had gotten so far away from me.”
I nodded, feeling my curiosity pique. “Perhaps you’ll show me later,” I urged. “But for now, don’t worry yourself.”
She stood up, and it was with some alarm I noted that her stance was somewhat shaky when she did. Had her leg fallen asleep?
“I must apologize again,” she insisted. “I-is there anything you’re doing now that I can help with? I will attend to my duty to you immediately.”
She offered a bow; I was willing to let her sleep, but if she was that eager…
I offered a shrug. “Master Deckard and Mistress Woolsey will be getting me up to speed on House Gilson and the capital city of Urun.”
“And as the one who will be formally attending her during her visit, you will be required to show some etiquette,” Woolsey snapped waspishly. “So, yes. You will be staying, and you will be listening to these lessons yourself as well.”
Neira did not protest or balk in any way. Nodding once firmly, she placed the headband by a small side table next to the chair she’d been occupying.
I stepped back, watching as she got to her feet to make certain she wouldn’t trip over her likely numb legs.
She didn’t, and so with an easy air of confidence, we stepped forward towards the two teachers as Master Deckard finished setting up his holo device on the main table.
The old man cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. Master Deckard was a balding man, with only a shaggy frame of salt and pepper hair, far more salt than pepper by now, adorning the crown around his head. His dome was otherwise shiny. He wore thin, wireframe glasses, and he had a very kindly face, more suited to teaching preschool children than university students.
Looking at us, he offered a timid smile. “Right then. My lady Korhil and Lady Pelegos.” He pressed a button on his remote; the small holodisk formed a vibrant image of a planet over the table. “This is Urun.”
The orb seemed to have no oceans, though that was only at a glance. The whole world was a crisscross of rivers, lakes, streams, and channels. The winding serpent rivers, I’d heard them called once. Urun was a planet of lush forests and deep jungles. The southern half of the planet consisted of bogs and swamps that early settlers had gotten lost in, dying by the droves in their attempts to map and explore it, even with the technology of the day.
With another click, the image shifted, from a planet to a city.
It shone like red gold.
“This is the city of Urun,” he continued and then smiled towards us, though his eyes were fixated on me in particular. “What can you tell me of these? The planet and the city.”
“The planet of Urun was the capital of the entire Akhet sector before the emergence of the Shroud. It was the central administrative and industrial power during the reign of the Federation.”
“And since the Shroud’s emergence?” Madam Woolsey demanded.
I felt myself frown. “The city of Urun itself is the largest on the planet and the second largest in the sector by population. Resting over a bedrock of granite, it is the only large-scale settlement that can be built. Most others past a certain size would crumble into the marshes and riverbanks. They hold an… eclectic mix of industrial pragmatism and arts and music as key facets of their culture. The latter being a holdover from the days of the federation and the former being a cultural shift in the more recent times.”
I paused, thinking about the planet, or more accurately the state of Urun itself. “Since the emergence of the Shroud, standard Federation FTL travel methods have been ineffective. It has fractured the Geon sector into the control of the houses of respective planetary systems. Urun’s wealth, central location, and administrative logistics allowed it to seize rapid control of many of its neighbors, including the industrial planet Tormund, rapidly arming itself and converting its economy into a military one.”
“Correct!” Master Deckard beamed.
I felt myself smiling back; then—
“Now what is the right answer?” Madam Woolsey demanded.
My smile slipped from my face, confusion holding me before I turned, looking towards Neira, who looked as confused as I was.
“I… don’t follow.”
The woman scoffed. “You’re here on a diplomatic mission, Lady Korhil. What exactly does diplomacy entail?”
I could feel my lip curl. “You’d like me to word it… more flatteringly.”
“As flattering as one could be when reminding them that they’re no better than the rest of the houses, fighting for scraps.” Woolsey chortled. “No. You will tell them what they wish to hear, that they are the rightful governors of the Geon subsector. It’s everyone else who are rebels.”
I felt myself frown. “It seems very much like kowtowing.”
“It is,” she answered with an easy shrug.
“This is a delicate assignment,” Master Deckard cut in, though his eyes were fixed downward. “The lord Korhil needs the support of House Gilson to avert war.”
They were right… of course. My pride had no place here. “Of course.”
With another click of his remote, the image shifted again, now to a young man.
Younger than me by three years, I recalled, fine aristocratic features framed red eyes and a smile with the barest hint of arrogance shone through the stilled image. Fair blond hair was held in place by, of all things, a crown resting over his head.
It was a simple, thin circlet of gold, but that was indeed a crown.
“Who is this?” Master Deckard asked.
“Alexandre Gilson,” I answered. “Head of House Gilson. He ascended to leadership of the house when he was thirteen, eight years ago, and has ruled it since.”
“Describe his foreign policy.” Wolsey’s smirk was a sardonic thing, as though she were enjoying an inside joke.
“Expansionist,” came the easy answer. “He rapidly expanded Urun’s military when he took control. Using his conquests to pay for the expenditures.” I frowned.
“What’s that on your mind, girl?” Woolsey needled.
I began to pace. “A sudden thought: why did he stop? By all accounts, he could have continued the momentum of his conquests. None of his neighbors had a military to match, nor could they raise one up in time.”
“No single neighbor, no,” Master Deckard corrected gently.
I blinked. “They were banding together to stop him?”
“It never got that far.” Woolsey shrugged. “But the threat, I imagine, was there. Perhaps he felt consolidation of what he’d acquired was more important. He is young still, and he can begin his conquests again once he has a solid foundation. It might also be that his economy was beginning to buckle under the strain. Five years of war, even for an industrialized war economy, would be difficult to sustain given our current logistical realities.”
Master Decard nodded in agreement towards her before he cut in. “The population may have also been exhausted by the fighting,” He wagged a single finger. “Even the most zealous of populations can only take so much war before they wish no more of it.”
That made sense but… “It just seems odd to simply… stop.”
Those same neighbors could decide to attack before you can consolidate. The economy could still be sustained through the foreign annexations. The people’s discontent rarely boils over so quickly.
Woolsey shrugged. “A question you can ask him, perhaps. But do not think he’s been idle since he declared an end to foreign conquests. By all accounts, House Gilson has been expanding on many fronts since then. Its military has hardly stagnated; its treasury has grown, and its diplomatic overtures, if not more aggressive, then certainly are no less… eager. My guess, by war or by handshake, he’ll have more planets in his grip before too long.”
(X)(X)(X)
One aspect I will say has been rather fun in delving into original work is the World building aspect. Not something you can delve in so deeply in Fanfics for the most part.Anywho, read, review and all that good stuff :)