Banner of the Stars: Volume 5

By Hiroyuki Morioka and Takami Akai

The unthinkable has happened: the imperial capital is under siege by the Three Nations Alliance thanks to a surprise attack, which will divide the Empire in two. The Empress and the Empire’s paltry forces at the scene must rally in a bid to evacuate what people and structures they can, and buy time for the capital’s relocation. Lafier and Jint are charged with saving the Empire’s culturally significant artifacts, even while Lafier’s brother Duhier is stranded behind enemy lines.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J-Novel Club
• Release date: Oct 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781718342644

Book preview

Prologue

The words operation or strategy stood for many different kinds of battle plans, from those prepared by Central over long stretches, to the ideas that came to on-site troop commanders on the fly.

In the Empire’s case, important operations were called rüé cfazaitec (imperial missions). And as a rule, when it came to imperial missions, war departure ceremonies were conducted in the Imperial Palace for Fleet Command. It was on these occasions that, as custom had it, the Empress herself bestowed the fleet banner to the Commander-in-Chief, and communicated the mission verbally.

The first official business of Ablïarsec Néïc Dubreuscr Duhirh, Viscount of Wemdyse, had been to attend one of these war departure ceremonies. Of course, as Duhier was very young, he had not been charged with any sort of essential duty. He had just stood there in the Audience Chamber like some sculpture. Yet he remembered the scene vividly. He had not been the only young Imperial present.

Imperial law stipulated twenty years old as the age of maturity, but it was different for Imperials, who would not be recognized as adults until they were ordained as starpilots, their age notwithstanding. The oldest minor in the history of the empire (name withheld to uphold the honor of that particular royal family) had been seventy-two. Said minor had continually refused to enter an academy, and ultimately met their demise through a rather dull accident. In addition, Imperial minors were categorized into three stages. Needless to say, the stage closest to adulthood was enrollment at an academy. The obligation incumbent on the smallest Imperial children was to grow up vigorous and healthy. There were some who said they had a second duty — namely, to be adorable — but that opinion wasn’t terribly popular. After all, if that were the case, what duty would be left for the cats?

The kids occupying the stage between those two were tasked with suffering through these important ceremonies. As such, all of the youths of the Eight Royal Families were in attendance — the point of which Duhier still could not figure out. Upon reflection, perhaps it was a ploy to pressure them into enrolling in an academy sooner rather than later — that is, if they wanted to escape this drudgery. One or more of their ancestors assuredly feared the appearance of a descendant who would tarnish the surname of Abliar by indulging in indolence and running away from their responsibilities indefinitely. And while there was the aforementioned Abliar that died as a seventy-two-year-old minor, it probably did more or less have the effect they were hoping for. It was just so, so boring. They were forced to stay still for an amount of time that was by no means short. To a seven-year-old, even just a single hour was 1/61,320th of their whole life, and it usually took longer than just an hour. And he was forced to spend a not insignificant fragment of his life without the slightest movement. It was torture, plain and simple.

Duhier ended up looking up at the ceiling, from which hung countless crest banners, each representing a star system governed by a lord or lady, (also known as a liege). Before he knew it, he was searching to see if there was a banner depicting the eight-headed dragon with a handful of five-petaled yellow flowers — Duhier’s own banner. The same coat of arms was applied to various articles in his daily life, such as the tableware or his toys. But his search for the Glac Bœrr Üémdaiser (Banner of the Viscount of Wemdyse) was cut short by a powerful elbow to the side.

His older sister, the Viscountess of Parhynh Ablïarsec Néïc Dubreuscr Lamhirh, had been standing beside him. She hadn’t said a word, and her jet-black eyes were facing straight ahead, but the intent behind that blow was clear. Duhier corrected his wandering gaze and tried his best not to move. Back then, Duhier couldn’t even fathom defying his sister, for she disdained a rebellious little brother even more than a wimpy cat.

Duhier may have feared her, but that didn’t mean he disliked her. In fact, he rather missed having opportunities to defy her (there hadn’t been many as of late).

The youngest Imperials were facing each other in the Hall, lined up in two rows. Those older than them were standing right by the stairs. Eight specially selected honor guard NCCs from all over the Star Forces stood on the stairs, looking down on the Imperials. At the top of the stairs was placed the Jade Throne, and several chamberlains were waiting to either side of it. And on that throne, the bearer of the circlet featuring the eight-headed dragon — Empress Lamagh — was seated in total stillness .

Duhier glanced her way. Even if I become Emperor, I bet the only special privilege I’d get is the ability to stay seated during these boring ceremonies. Ever since then, he’d never once harbored any desire to obtain the emperorship.

Of course, he’d only sneaked the most fleeting of glimpses at his grandmother, and that was because he was unsure his ribs could take another of his sister’s elbows.

His line of sight was now occupied by Lamdaigh, the Bœrh Spyrr (Viscountess of Spyrh) of the Royal Family of Wesco. This was solely due to the fact that she happened to be right in front of him. Behind her, the distinguished persons of the Empire could be seen. They had formed a line with quite some distance between them.

"Crown Prince-cum-Imperial Fleet Commander-in-Chief, King of Barkeh Ablïarsec Néïc Lamsarr Fïac Dusanr."

So said the Scadoriac (Ceremony Master), cluing Duhier into who had entered. The moment Duhier sensed Dusanh’s presence through his frocragh, the Rüé Oll (National Anthem) commenced. The Crown Prince’s long robe billowed as he passed in eyeshot of the Imperials and proceeded toward the throne, taking no notice of his surroundings as he was followed by his staff officers, whose names the Ceremony Master called out as well.

At last, Duhier was released from the grinding tedium of staring at Lamdaigh’s face. Focusing on the ceremony was his next obligation.

At the base of the stairs, Dusanh bowed deeply. Lamagh stood up straight.

"We hand Our decree down to you, Imperial Fleet Commander-in-Chief," said the Empress. "You are to form the Byrec Ronïaürr (Quicksand Fleet) and serve as its Commander-in-Chief as well."

I accept Your Majesty’s decree with reverence, said Dusanh.

The chamberlain carrying the crest banner came to the Empress’s side, and she received it. It was the banner of the Quicksand Fleet.

Come, the Empress ordered.

Dusanh ascended the stairs and was granted the crest banner.

Following that, the rite whereby he was handed the operational writ by the Director of Military Command was conducted. Naturally, this writ was also a formality. Their mission was written in concise terms on a paper made of plant-based materials and stamped with the Empress’s signature and gnafass (handstamp), all in ink. The actual contents of their mission were much more voluminous, and were recorded and transmitted by electronic means.

"Grand Commodore Kenesh," called the Military Command Director, Imperial Admiral Sœdac (Sehda).

A female starpilot stepped forward from among Dusanh’s staff officers. Her countenance was a stern one, but she was wrapped up in something of an aura of uneasiness. She was to become the new fleet’s Chief of Staff.

A long time later, Duhier would learn this was Sehda’s last task as Command Director. So lucky, he thought. He had been 13 or 14 at the time, and he was forced as always to be an unmoving statue at each ceremony. He’d brooded over how his life hadn’t even really started yet. He was bound to his duties as an Imperial for what seemed like an eternity, and that thought depressed him with regularity.

Now that some of the rites had concluded, the Empress spoke: "The likelihood of a battle breaking out during this operation is exceedingly low. We fully expect from the Commander-in-Chief that one will not occur. Incorporate that isolated world as a territory-nation without harming the new fief or its people, and of course, without harming Our ships."

"So in other words, if a battle were to break out, that in itself would be a defeat for the Empire?" asked Dusanh.

"It would be your defeat, King of Barkeh. There is no such thing as defeat for the Empire. All We are saying is that if you should somehow need to open hostilities despite Our overwhelming military strength, then Our disappointment would be something to behold."

"How parsimonious of Your Majesty," he smiled.

We must all distinguish between when to be ‘parsimonious’ and when to be extravagant. When We determined the fleet’s composition, We were quite extravagant.

"Now then, Your Majesty, I promise the Empire the surest of victories."

We knew from the beginning that you haven’t the ears to hear Our justification.

Dusanh just bowed courteously.

"We hereby declare that Cfazaitec Ronïaürr (Operation Quicksand) is underway." Lamagh held up her Rüé Greuc (Imperial Command Baton). "Sathote Frybarari (victory be the Empire’s)!"

"Sathote Frybarari!" said everyone in the Hall in unison.

Duhier had also joined in the hail, but he feared his voice had been a little quiet. He braced for another blow to the ribs, but fortunately his sister refrained from elbowing him.

Afterward, the Quicksand Fleet headed for the star system later named the Countdom of Hyde, and just as the Empress desired, the Empire incorporated a new territory-nation without a battle breaking out.

Though it was a wartime operation, the Operation Snow Crystal of the present day was thought to be much the same — no plans to engage in battle were included in it. Each of the troops and units of the Snow Crystal Fleet would soon learn how wrong they had been. In the case of the strike sub-fleet Gudersec, they found out at the Üéch Sauder Dininr (Portal-Sea of Dineen) in the Hania Federation.

Chapter 1: The Lomtuchoth Frybarer (Failure of the Empire)

"A space-time bubble has emerged from the Saudec Dininr (Dineen Portal)," reported Senior Communications Officer and Rearguard Starpilot Bhonh on the bridge of the Caïsaumh, a battle-line ship belonging to Squadron 1 of the strike sub-fleet Gudersec. "Based on its mass, it is probably the patrol ship Gaimdigh."

"Wait, it’s not a conveyance ship?" asked the Ship Commander, Hecto-Commander Behrsoht.

No, sir, said Bhonh. Based on its mass, it can’t be.

They’ve already come floating back up? he moaned. Why don’t they try being enthusiastic about their work, given they’ve only occasionally got things to do?

"Is that a question for the Gaimdigh?"

It’s not a question. I’m just blasting them.

As the Gudersec was a strike sub-fleet, it comprised mostly battle-line ships. But a corps of only battle-line ships would be less than ideal in a variety of ways. As such, two old-model patrol ships under the direct supervision of Glagamh Ïadbyrer (Sub-Fleet Command) had been inserted. The Gaimdigh was one of them, and had rushed into the Dineen Portal under orders to scope out the other side. Battle-line ships had inferior maneuverability and weren’t suited for 3-space recon, which was where patrol ships came in.

You can criticize them, sir, said Bhonh, but they’re the ones who have been working the most as of late.

The Caïsaumh’s Deputy Communications Officer, Duhier, was suddenly apprehensive. And though he couldn’t pinpoint why he felt anxious, it seemed all the personnel on the bridge were feeling the same way. Bhonh’s wise-cracking could be thought of as a sign of that tension.

Normally, strike sub-fleets did not act independently. They were generally paired up with assault or recon sub-fleets as part of a larger fleet. This was because battle-line ships were frail warships; if a strike sub-fleet hypothetically entered combat against an assault sub-fleet, the former had virtually no chance of prevailing. Even while the assault ships’ numbers were in the process of diminishing thanks to the initial bomb strike, they would still infiltrate the enemy’s bubbles and consign the battle-line ships to oblivion. Despite their giant size, battle-line ships had precious little by way of firepower besides their mines.

And yet, the Gudersec was currently all alone — evidence that the danger level was thought to be low.

"We’ve received an inter-bubble communication. The bubble has been confirmed to be the Gaimdigh," said Bhonh. "A small-mass bubble, presumably a conveyance ship, has split from the Gaimdigh. Ah! Several bubbles have emerged from the Portal!"

Behrsoht bolted to his feet. "Stage 1 War Preparations! All hands on duty! Navigator, shift the bubble to total mobile-state and set a 180-degree course! Just get us away from the Portal!"

Roger!

The alarm began sounding.

Prepare to fire! ordered Behrsoht. "Fill the mines up with antimatter fuel!"

Roger! said Deca-Commander Cazzubh (Cazzuv), the Senior Gunner. Filling the mines.

"Deputy Communications Officer," whispered Bhonh.

Yes, ma’am? Duhier looked up at her.

"I’m leaving the inter-bubble communications to you."

Yes, ma’am, said a grateful Duhier. It would have been unbearable to have nothing to do in a situation like this. "I will monitor inter-bubble communications."

"Our orders from the flagship?" asked Behrsoht, wasting no time. He was looking straight at Duhier.

Duhier strained his froch. The inner surfaces of the bubbles in the direction of the flagship were dead silent. None yet, sir.

Behrsoht clicked his tongue. Whatever. We’re going to torpedo them. I want you firing those mines the second they’re filled up.

But we’re not sure if they’re the enemy, said the Vice Commander, Deca-Commander Crobosec.

Once a mobile space-time mine was fired out into space, it was practically impossible to retrieve. Consequently, very particular regulations dictated the firing of mines, and at the moment, those conditions had yet to be met.

You think those things are here to welcome us? said Behrsoht.

The chances they aren’t the enemy are nonzero, said Crohbos.

"No, they are zero, said Behrsoht quietly. And this is coming from the king of indecisiveness, who takes half an hour to agonize over what to order as an apéritif. I am asserting without the tiniest sliver of hesitation that that is the enemy. They want us dead. The malice pointed squarely at us is palpable."

"Shooting mines at them so readily without first confirming their identity..."

"So readily? If those things are mines, then this ship will be the first to get hit," said Behrsoht.

You’re mistaken, sir, said Bhonh.

What was that? He raised a displeased eyebrow.

"The first is the Gaimdigh!" The bubbles that appeared from the Dineen Portal were fusing one after the other with the patrol ship’s bubble. "The Gaimdigh’s bubble is now gone. It likely exploded, sir," continued the Senior Communications Officer, stating what everyone on the bridge already inferred.

Behrsoht snorted. "Hurry up and fire the mines!"

This time, Crohbos did not object.

Mine 1 filled. Firing now, said Cazzuv.

Just then, Duhier sensed a ripple in the bubble’s inner surface through his frocragh. He’d been waiting for this. "An inter-bubble from the flagship!"

What is it? said Behrsoht.

The chain of space-time particles emitted by the flagship was more of a code than a straightforward transmission.

An order to assemble, he reported.

Tsk. Taking their sweet time, I see. Has the assembly point been designated?

Just a second. Duhier focused his frocragh. But it was just the same code over and over again. No, sir, no specification.

Well, I guess they can’t formulate a strategy during a situation like this, said Behrsoht, in consideration of Command’s current predicament. Stay the course.

Are you ignoring the assembly order, sir? said Crohbos.

"I’m not ignoring anything. There was no specification as to the time, so I can’t be said to have ignored it. I’m issuing commands as the circumstances demand. If we edged up to the flagship now, what do you think would happen? This ship would blow, and then we couldn’t ever assemble. Now that’s disobeying orders. Use your head a little, Deca-Commander. And another thing — being the Vice Commander doesn’t mean your job is to constantly raise objections."

Looks like I’m not the only one who isn’t getting on with the Ship Commander, thought Duhier.

With the Portal at the center and from the Caïsaumh’s viewpoint, the flagship was at a ninety-degree angle from them. That meant that if they tried to approach the flagship, they would have to intersect with the swarm of enemy mines.

"I’m making escaping from the enemy mines’ range our top priority for the time being. Behrsoht shifted his gaze back to Duhier. Deputy Communications Officer, inform Fleet Command."

Roger. Duhier composed a short message and showed it to him. Will this be all right, sir? Behrsoht nodded, so Duhier encrypted it and sent it over to the flagship.

Meanwhile, the Caïsaumh’s mines were fired one by one, though they remained within the ship’s bubble. In addition, the distance between them and the enemy mines was decreasing by leaps and bounds.

Will we make it? Behrsoht asked Bhonh.

"If the enemy mines’ specs are what we think they are, then we should make it."

"What you think they are? he said in disgust. I want a plain yes or no. Have Hania’s mines not been looked at?"

Even if they have, sir, that information isn’t on the ship. Besides...

What?

The Senior Communications Officer just went ahead and said it: They might not be Hanian mines, sir.

Silence.

"...You’re right. If they’re, say, those long-range PSSU mines, then are we cooked?"

They would catch up with us, yes, said Bhonh.

"Half of the mines ready to fire," said the Senior Gunner. Continuing to eject them.

Got it. For now, I want us torpedoing them with that half. Set your targets and prioritize the ones coming for us.

Setting targets. Cazzuv’s finger danced in his control gauntlet.

A handful of bubbles on the map of planar space started flickering — they had become targets.

Our counter-attack’s full of holes, groaned Behrsoht.

This is all this ship can manage alone, sir, said Cazzuv.

It can’t be helped. Behrsoht drew