Apparently, she’d been chosen as a candidate for the role of brilliant commodore. “An honor,” said Sobash.
“You’re a good egg,” said Atosryua, impressed.
“You don’t think it’s an honor, Commandant?”
“Well, a little,” she acknowledged. “What do you think?” she asked Ecryua.
Ecryua scanned the venue. “Is Captain Abliar the only one being shown favoritism?”
“So you noticed,” she replied, surprised. “While there aren’t any Imperials in my squadron, all of the commanders have some connection to the Imperial Family.”
“So it’s not just a place for Fïac Lartnér specifically,” said Sobash
“Right. No one knows yet how useful trample-blitz squadrons will be. If they end up being the principal force of the Star Forces, then Imperials will be stationed in them one after the other. Needless to say, by that time there will be more than one such squadron. At the moment, we’re testing these so-called ‘raid ships.’ And once the test phase is over...” Atosryua gulped down her glass. “We’ll be the ones made into test tools, with the Imperials as examinees.”
“Ah. That doesn’t sound all that pleasant, certainly.”
“In more gloomy news — well, gloomy for me — is that, going by her rank, Her Highness won’t be made into a raichaicec saubr (squadron commandant) just like that. She’ll probably be the Ship Commander of a newly made ship first. In other words...”
“In other words?”
“I’ll be Her Highness’s superior.”
“You’ve been her superior before, ma’am. Surely you’re used to it?”
“Being the superior of a candidate for Emperor is exhausting. I’m more than happy having it done just once in my life. I’d much rather be her subordinate,” said Atosryua, brushing her hair up. “Of course, she’ll be outstripping me in rank soon enough either way. And if she doesn’t, then Fïac Bœrh Parhynr was never going to become Empress anyway.”
“I don’t think they promote Imperials any faster than they promote gentry, ma’am.”
“Oh no, the promotion criteria won’t change. Or at least, as far as I know, they won’t. But the Abliar Clan knows how to make excellent soldiers.”
“That may be, but you’re far from talentless yourself, Commandant,” said Sobash, and he meant it. There was no doubt in his mind that Trample-Blitz Squadron 1 would be an indispensable asset to the Star Forces. Too indispensable to be leaving in the hands of a third-rate commander, no matter her connection to the Royal Princess.
“Thank you.” She smiled — likely, the smile of a woman who knew he wasn’t just flattering her. “That said, if she’s only as competent as I am, she’d make for a feeble empress, especially since the Empire’s at war right now.”
“Even if Fïac Lartnér were to become heiress to the throne, she would accede only after the Crown Prince does.”
“So? Are you saying the war will be over by then?”
“I don’t think that idea’s too off the beaten path.”
“I guess it is possible. But the chances are high the war will still be on. Distressingly high, I’d say. I hate to think how I might not ever be able to live out my days in peace in my capital manor in Lacmhacarh before I die,” Atosryua lamented.
“There may come a time when having ever known an age of peace will be a huge privilege.”
“I’ve never really known one,” said Ecryua, taking the two aback. The way she saw it, the war had basically started by the time she’d reached adulthood. As of now, she had spent most of her life outside of wartime, but the day would come where she felt like the greater half of her life was caught up in unquiet strife. That was, if she lived to see that day.
“Well, Vanguard Ecryua,” said Atosryua, her smile not abating, “peace is a tedious affair. At the end of the day, we Abhs are a strange and incorrigible race given to war, and who yearn for the blood and plasma of the battlefield. Looking back, I feel like before the war, half of me was asleep. And now, I feel like my whole body’s not only awake, but fuller than ever. But you know, the tedium of peacetime can be fun in its own way. As long as neither of you falls in battle, you won’t be dying of age by the time the war ends who knows how many decades or even dozens of decades from now. Once it’s over, come hang out at my place. I’ll teach you how to have fun during peacetime.”
“Okay,” said Ecryua, looking down and blushing.
“The future’s going to be littered with children who have never known peace,” said Atosryua as she scanned the venue. “If we survive, I’ll hold a truly lavish banquet. I don’t mind if I borrow enough to leave my descendants in debt for ten thousand years — it’s going to be a fete to remember. And I’ll be teaching the kids who have only ever known war how to indulge in the joys of boredom.”
“That sounds like cause to get up in the morning,” said Sobash.
“It is. And it’ll be doubly important, given that if the Empire takes hold of victory, humanity will likely never wage war again.”
“What about the Hania Federation?” Ecryua reminded her.
“The chances they stay independent and neutral until the end of the war are almost zero,” Atosryua declared. “Either the Three Nations Alliance goes back to being the Four Nations Alliance, or they capitulate without fighting. Even if, hypothetically speaking, they do remain neutral, they could never hope to compete with the Empire after it’s annexed the territories of the Three Nations. One way or the other, the Age of Boredom will come. And while I won’t say it’ll last until the end of the universe, we might just have to weather a hundred million years making some non-war-related
