Taking into account the fact that he was a grandee, however, he was next to broke. A star-fief can produce enormous profits, but maintaining and running one also takes eye-watering amounts of money. Amounts of money Jint didn’t have.
Not having had occasion to use any of it, the lion’s share of Jint’s funds were in his savings. And all of it would get blown immediately operating the Baucbiruch for a single day. Yet lack of funding was not that much of an issue. Most newly appointed grandees faced the same troubles, after all. Financing a new territory-nation was an extremely solid investment, so normally, there was no shortage of lenders — in fact, lenders would come like a swarm of locusts, whether or not their services were asked for. Except now, it was wartime. The Abh had two sides to them — the mercantile race, and the war-making race. And this was the season for the latter side to stand out. Outside of the very eccentric, people were more concerned about the tides of war than increasing their fortunes.
But that wasn’t all, for unlike other fiefs, the Countdom of Hyde was by no means a secure investment. Depending on the fruit of battle, the countdom might even have to be abandoned again. And if that happened, each lender’s investment might ultimately go to waste. Due to those factors and more, Hyde would have trouble getting financing, despite having just returned to Empire control.
It was probably fortunate, then, that Jint had inherited his noble rank under the guardianship of the King of Clybh, Dubeus (otherwise known as Lafier’s father). The Royal House of Clybh was awash in monetary resources. Naturally, it wasn’t interest-free — it looked as though no matter the circumstances, if they were to neglect potential profits, it would wound their pride as a mercantile race — but still, they were lending him capital at an extraordinarily low interest rate, considering the state of affairs.
Needless to say, it was not a custom of the Royal House of Clybh to send the Royal Princess just because they’d agreed on a loan. In addition, in Jint’s view, Lafier lacked a sense for money, which was unbefitting of a member of a mercantile race’s Imperial Household, and made her not so useful as a representative of the interests of the Royal House, either. If they’d really wanted someone to accompany him for the stated reason, they’d have chosen a servant vassal who was knowledgeable about accounting. There was no way the Royal House of Clybh lacked a single expert on economics.
In short, Lafier’s title as the Royal House of Clybh’s representative was secondary to her real role. In reality, she was merely helping her family’s enterprise as a side goal (however ineffectively) while on what was primarily a personal trip. Her actual title might be something along the lines of “Jint’s travel companion” (which, Jint mused, might just be the dullest and most trifling duty in all Lafier’s years). Then again, he figured that with a lifespan that wearisomely long, a less intense period like this wouldn’t be so bad.
“Won’t you be bored at the meeting, though?”
“We Abliars are accustomed to boredom.”
“Oh yeah, guess so.” The souls of the Abliars were clad in the blazing armor of imperial wrath, or so rumor had it. Yet they made sure to do right by dealing with the tedious functions that attended the Imperial Household as well. “Maybe that’s a boon you gained from your training from an early age. I shudder to think how much effort was spent beating a spirit of patience into you, given your clan’s innate disposition.”
“What are you trying to say?” Lafier’s eyebrows were at that dangerous angle.
“I’m saying it must be hard to become Emperor.”
“I don’t think that’s what you were getting at.”
“I’m sure you’re just imagining things.”
“If we weren’t just about to conduct public business, I’d have you try to prop up your body weight with your right pinky toe.”
Jint could think of a handful of clever comebacks, but he knew enough to seal those remarks deep into the recesses of his heart. “Guess public business is good for something, then,” he said, in lieu of other options.
As they headed for the conference room, Jint wondered how Sobash and Ecryua were doing.
“Ileesh Portal in E-minus ten seconds. Eight, seven, six...” said the Navigator, the countdown filling the otherwise empty bridge.
Sobach Üémh Dor Ïuth had thought the countdown always amounted to the same no matter who did the counting, but now he’d changed his mind. That woman’s voice was made for countdowns. There was no emotion to it whatsoever.
“...three, two, one, passing through.”
Cheers all throughout the ship, and the bridge was no exception. After a brief span of open elation, the bridge personnel came to Ship Commander Sobash to voice their congratulations. But those remarks were short, and Sobash himself kept his reply to a short nod. There was still work to do.
Ecryua alone was detached, aloof. The sopaïc (raid ship) Flicaubh had now completed its familiarization voyage, returning to the imperial capital of Lacmhacarh. This meant that the Flicaubh was now full-fledged. And although his title wouldn’t change, Sobash too felt as though he’d be regarded as a “full-fledged” commander, now that the Flicaubh was officially the first ship under his beck and call.
Raid ships were an all-new type of vessel within the Star Forces. Though assault ships had been deemed overly fragile, eliminating them entirely and replacing each with a patrol ship wasn’t a cost-effective strategy. That was why this new class of ship was conceived — essentially taking patrol ships and leaving their mine deployment capabilities on the cutting room floor. More accurately, they were closer to gairh oba (heavyweight assault ships), but their principal weapons were EM cannons, just like patrol ships.
The great debate on whether to dub them
