The Immortal Empire – Episode 8: Sub-Ether Space

"Gene, we're about to drop out of sub-ether warp back into real space."

Gene Starwind didn't bother opening his eyes as Jim Hawking stood up by his station on the bridge. "Gene!" he repeated.

"I heard you Jim, relax!" He finally opened one eye as Jim sat back down at his station. "Didn't you say that traffic at this checkpoint on the border was so bad it can get backed down for days?"

"Gene!"

That got him to open both eyes, as he glanced around the bridge, then back at Melfina. "What is it, Mel?"

In her tank, Melfina was smiling. "You actually paid attention in class!"

Gene stared at Melfina gloomily for a few minutes before turning around. "Great, Melfina's got a sense of humor now. This is your fault, Gilliam."

"I really don't understand the implication of that…"

"Anyway, Jim, you said so yourself—Aisha might still be stuck at the border waiting through customs. That'd save us a lot of trouble."

"How, exactly?"

Gene raised a finger. "Use your imagination, James. While we're waiting to be processed, you hack into the main computer for the customs station and check for on their lists. The Ctarl-Ctarl Empire's obsessive bookkeeping does our work for us!"

Jim looked at him unimpressed. "Gene, it really doesn't sound like you've thought this through."

He stared at him, apparently confused. "Whaddya' mean? I got us a job, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, and to be honest I am impressed by that, even if it isn't a great one."

"So what's the problem?"

Jim frowned. "You still don't think this is a little extreme? Going all this way just to stop Aisha…"

"Just?" Gene asked, leaning out of his seat.

"Fine, fine, I get the point!"

In her glass cylinder, Melfina opened her eyes. "Returning to normal space in three…two…one…"

Gene at least managed to sit upright at his station as the normal starfield appeared before them. Squinting, Jim could make out a clearly artificial line of lights in the distance—the artificial space stations and asteroid platforms of the Earthling side of the Demilitarized Zone.

"Putting us on an approach vector to next available transit point."

"Good, Melfina. Keep everything by the book, I don't want any problems with the Space Forces or anyone else over here." Gene's tone had changed radically, the indignant frowns and smirking gone from his face. "Jim, you better be ready to accept communications—I don't think Suzuka's going to grace us with her presence yet."

"Right…" In spite of himself, Jim was impressed. "But this isn't over!" he added quickly as he sat back in his station.

"Whatever. Melfina?"

"We've received a vector from the automatic guidance and I'm bringing the ship in, but traffic does look pretty bad."

Gene cocked his head. "Gilliam, you don't have any experience with cross the border by any chance, do you?"

The voice of Gilliam II rang through the bridge. "I'm afraid not, Gene. In fact, this is strange…"

"Huh?"

"Not only do I not have any past experience, I must admit that my databanks are deliberately devoid of information on the Demilitarized Zone as a whole."

"Wait, what? I thought you were a military AI!" Gene asked, turning to Jim. "That is weird, right?"

"Definitely weird."

"I'm just as surprised as you are. It looks like my databanks were purposefully denied information in this area."

Gene groaned. "Great. Thanks, Space Forces. Thanks, Kei Pirates. And thanks, Professor Khan."

"Maybe it was some sort of security precaution?" Jim speculated.

"How so?"

"Well, here's a thought—maybe the original creators of the Outlaw Star didn't want it entering the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire?"

"From what I remember from your boring history lessons, that would make sense, but you have to admit there's something very weird about…" Gene stopped when a shrill alarm interrupted him. "Damn it, what is it now?"

"We've been pinged," Jim said, recognizing the alarm.

Gene calmed down. "By another ship?"

"No, I mean, not exactly," Melfina explained.

Gilliam continued for her. "It appears there was a waiting real space message beacon somewhere in the vicinity encoded to this ship specifically. Shall I patch through the encoded message we just received?"

A moment of silence followed, though all three of them were thinking the same thing.

"It's got to be Aisha."

"You know what this means, right bro?"

"That we're on the right track?"

"That she knows we're following her," Jim grunted back. "Put it through, Giliam."

"Very well."

As Gilliam II's computer systems began the decoding process, the door to the flight deck swung open and Suzuka entered, sitting at her station. "We've arrived, I take it?"

Gene shushed her in gest. "It looks like Aisha left us a message beacon," Jim explained.

After a few more seconds of computer decoding, a video window appeared under Gilliam's circular interface over the forward screen. It was Aisha Clan-Clan, standing in her amusing-looking food service delivery uniform, or at least the top half of it, since that was all that was visible. She looked angry.

"Gene Starwind. If you're seeing this, you must not have bothered listening to the letter I wrote you here on Heifong, and you've probably roped the rest of the crew into this as well," the video said. Gene rolled his eyes as it continued. "So I'm going to give you one last chance: turn around from the border and go back to Heifong and leave me alone!"

"Dream on, Aisha."

"Gene, it's a video recording," Jim grumbled. "It's not live."

"This is your last warning Gene!" the video of Aisha declared, as she checked the wristwatch visible on her arm, not covered by the brightly colored uniform.

"Yeah, right, what's some month-old video recording gonna' do?"

"I'm not joking, Gene!" Aisha's voice warned, as if the video could predict what he'd say.

Jim looked visibly worried. "Gene, maybe we should listen to her…"

Even Suzuka looked bewildered. "Is it possible that…"

On the screen, Aisha looked away from the screen, her expression becoming even colder. "This is Captain-Lieutenant Aisha Clan-Clan of the Ctarl-Ctarl Imperial Navy! I repeat, my name is Aisha Clan-Clan of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire," she barked in a military fashion.

"Uh, Gene…" Jim's voice began cracking.

"What is it?"

"Gene, she's…"

"The message, it's broadcasting on all frequencies!" Melfina gasped.

"I have located the missing Space Forces military vessel, designated the XGP-15A-II, now registered as the Outlaw Star! It is the red-colored grappler ship with dimensions comparable to a light cruiser, located at this border checkpoint! Furthermore, I believe this ship has direct experience and first-hand knowledge of the enormous treasure known as the Galactic Leyline!"

"Oh, you bitch," Gene announced, sounding as much impressed as angry.

"Gene…"

"Gene, we're being pinged by a checkpoint security squadron! They're now on approach!"

"Gene!" Jim repeated.

"Melfina, bring the Newton reactor to full power! Everyone, buckle yourself in!"

"The Munchausen drive is still outside of safe operation parameters, Gene! It can't be activated again!"

"Gene," Suzuka said, now shouting. "For once, please don't do anything rash."

It was her first task upon arriving aboard the navy's current flagship, the Orta Tomoyotomoyo: though she was Crown Princess of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire—in effect, the second highest authority in the Hashiyo-Hashiyo Royal Family, higher even than her own mother—Fatima Marin Hashiyo Bakr Novo-Novo still was subject to the physical identity check all other civilian and military personnel traveling with the armed forces were subjected to. The physical identity profile was only notable because it was the most tedious and, perhaps, the most embarrassing of those checks.

"Your Highness, if you'll step forward," a navy sub-lieutenant announced at a private security checkpoint, private in the sense that besides the princess, there were only five other officers present, three women and two men.

Princess Fatima stepped forward onto the circular dais in the middle of the room, surrounded by six concentric precisely-machined tracks in the floor. Without waiting for the instruction, she kicked off her shoes and began pulling off her royal regalia, a set of heavy green and tan robes worn by both herself and the sovereign on occasion. She was down to pulling off the low-cut black body stocking she wore underneath the regalia when the navy personnel behind the computer station whispered among themselves and the sub-lieutenant—the attendant and minder assigned to her by the navy—spoke up.

"That won't be necessary ma'am, your…undergarments…shouldn't interfere with the scanner. Please try and remain still, Your Highness."

Putting a hand on her hip, the princess didn't flinch as three pairs of mirrored scanner panels extended swiftly from the ringed tracks and began to hum audibly. Besides being a useful piece of medical technology, the micrometer-wave full body scanner was used by the Imperial Navy, and the Empire as a whole, as a near foolproof biometric authentication device, as one of the technicians was quietly explaining to another, apparently a trainee.

"Even monozygotic twins, who invariably shared the same sex and genetic makeup, and are more common in our species than others—about one in every seventy deliveries—aren't perfectly identical from a physical standpoint. Certain characteristics like unique scars, stature, weight, et cetera, can distinguish them."

"And like all military personnel in the Empire, my physical profile is constantly updated in the military's database, isn't it?" the princess asked indignantly, interrupting.

"Y-Yes, Your Highness."

The scanning arrays began to slowly rotate around her in their circles, producing a perfect digital reproduction of her body, minus her clothing, on the technicians' screens.

"I'm still going to get my blood scanned anyway," she muttered.

"That's correct, Your Highness."

"That wasn't a question, Sub-Lieutenant."

The digital reproduction was completed, and the arrays halted. The technician being trained raised his visor. "Subject is a female in early adulthood and is approximately one-hundred and sixty-four centimeters tall, approximately fifty-three kilograms in weight, with long, dark brown hair."

Fatima chuckled until another officer quickly nicked her in the neck with a blood scanner shaped like a handgun. "Ow!"

The officer stepped away and checked the display on the scanner. "A correct match, ma'am."

"Why didn't you do that in the first place?"

"Again, Your Highness, we use multipart identity confirmation," she repeated.

The crown princess hissed at them angrily. After meticulously redressing herself, the officer in charge began her tour of the of the Orta Tomoyotomoyo, showing off the most obvious features of the flagship of the Imperial Navy's Royal Combined Fleet. Fatima was most familiar with the ships in the 181st Royal Taskforce, whose flagship was the HIMS Orta Gonogono, a large but otherwise typical old battleship, commissioned before Fatima was born. The Orta Tomoyotomoyo was just four years old, the second in the line of Musashisashi-class super-dreadnoughts.

"As you may have guessed, the Big 'O'—I'm sorry, the Orta Tomoyotomoyo—is several times more massive than the navy's battleships, but is not simply a scaled up version of a battleship. Its internal layout has substantial difference, because its strategic role is substantially different. Whereas..."

"Whereas a conventional battleship line forms the core of a taskforce, and may expect to be reinforced by other taskforces as necessary in war time, a peacetime military grouping of warships on assignment cannot expect to be reinforced, and must be an entirely self-reliant in foreign territory. That necessitates a fully independent flagship," Fatima recited thoughtlessly.

Her minder looked surprised. "Yes, exactly."

"We make national military policy, we should at least try and have an understanding of it," she told him with a smirk. "Why don't you show me the fighter compliment?"

"Of course, Your Highness."

As a super-dreadnought, the ship was an anomaly in the Imperial Navy for another reason—it carried its own fighters, rather than relying on a separate line of carriers. Particularly in peacetime, the military was less interested in spending money on comparatively inflexible spacecraft carriers than massive dreadnoughts for flag officers or multi-role destroyers and cruisers.

"You might be surprised to know that since the Third Dynasty began, the empire has only commissioned fourteen super-dreadnoughts prior the introduction of the Musashisashi-class. Four were lost in combat. Another was damaged beyond repair in an accident. The remainder were salvaged or recycled, with one of each class being converted into a museum ship that was distributed throughout the provinces," the officer explained to an uninterested Fatima, who was leaning over the railing to get a better look at the spacecraft on the hangar floor below.

"Your Highness…"

"Yes, I know, museum ships, thank you. Who is that tall woman?" she asked, gesturing.

Shuffling forward in his green coat, he glanced over the railing and frowned. "I….actually don't know," he confessed. "She's not one of our pilots."

The tall woman was standing by a large two-seater fighter that was in the process of having additional booster equipment mounted onto it, making an already impressive spacecraft even more massive, while only partially detracting from its aesthetically pleasing curved and swept surfaces. Fatima was studying a different kind of curve: those of the woman's vacuum-sealed pilot suit, made of centimeter-thick, shiny synthetic purple and white material that didn't leave much of its wearer's body to the imagination. It was the opposite of the bulky space suits worn by civilians, and more like the bodysuits worn by enlisted sailors.

And what a dynamite body, she thought. It was no exaggeration to call her tall—she just cleared two meters in height, though her pilot suit included large extensions under her heels, like platforms, used to house powerful electromagnets. Fatima was more impressed by the long legs that led up from those heels up to her muscular hips, then a slender waist under a remarkable chest. As she waited by her fighter, the pilot gave an attractive tug of the suit's high collar underneath her chin, inadvertently shaking her chest.

"Your Highness?" the officer asked.

"You're still here?" the crown princess asked.

The fair-skinned pilot turned in the other direction, revealing her straight, dark hair with a blue tinge in it in two long tails that reached her knees. She was more alluring than Fatima thought a naval pilot would be, cramped alone into the cockpit of a war machine. What a shame about that stern-looking face.

"Captain Clan-Clan, please report to the nearest officer's terminal, you have an out-of-ship call waiting."

Captain Clan-Clan looked away from the crane slowly lowering a pair of auxiliary fuel tanks onto the ship's dorsal surfaces, in the direction of the public address system, completely missing the crown princess standing quietly by the lift with an irritated sub-lieutenant waiting behind her. With unexpected grace for a woman of her stature, she made a straight line for a computer terminal fixed to a retractable metal post extended from the hangar floor, avoiding the numerous obstacles of unattended equipment in her way, and picked up the handset.

"Navy Captain Kalin Saylanin, of the Clan-Clan Family, giving voice authorization."

Stroking her chin, Princess Fatima watched the captain take her call while her minder impatiently tapped one of his boots against the floor.

"Your Highness, we really need to…" the sub-lieutenant began, stopping after the crown princess gave him a look—a closed-mouth smile, head titled, eyes almost squinting—that sent a shiver up his spine. The look continued until the captain hung up the handset with an audible click and Fatima spun around, hands behind her back, silently following the pilot back to her spacecraft.

"That's a very impressive weapon, Captain," she declared, making her appearance known.

Captain Clan-Clan spun around and with impressive poise gradually realized who she was looking after a few uncomfortable seconds, only to have the sub-lieutenant shout in an inappropriate loud voice. "Introducing Her Highness, Crown Princess Fatima!"

"I think she knows who I am, Sub-Lieutenant," Fatima added snidely.

Kalin snapped to attention. "Captain Kalin Clan-Clan, One-Eighty-First Royal Taskforce's First Strike Fighter Squadron, Your Highness!"

"Yes, and I know your name too, I heard the announcement," she muttered, running a hand through her hair. "Sub-Lieutenant, would you give me a moment to speak to Lady Kalin?" She turned her head again, mimicking her earlier look. "Or should I just make that an order?"

The sub-lieutenant saluted and left with equal parts frustration and relief. Similarly, the hangar's other occupants took it as a hint to preoccupy themselves as the diminutive princess stood by the statuesque pilot. "So, your spacecraft…"

"Actually, it isn't my normal ship. I normally pilot a Type Two Modification Three Fighter-Bomber, this is a Type Two Modification One Training Fighter. I'm…actually on courier assignment, transporting a citizen back from a trade mission in the Outer Periphery."

"Aisha Clan-Clan." Fatima got to enjoy Kalin's eyes open wide before she explained. "Her name's been thrown around on occasion at court. Nothing bad, I promise."

Lady Kalin sighed. "Navy Fighters aren't really intended to traverse the whole empire on their own power, so this extra equipment is necessary for me to return to Home."

"If you've been ordered to personally escort her back to the capital, that means they're taking this business of Lady Aisha's repatriation seriously." The crown princess looked at Lady Kalin, this time with a more noble, kingly expression, her earlier grin absent. "I'm sure you'll complete this assignment to the best of your ability, Captain."

"Thank you, Your…Your Majesty."

"It's 'Your Highness', but don't worry about it. I take it you'll be departing when we exit sub-ether space?"

"Well…yes, which is why we've finally become the equipment mounting procedure." Lady Kalin's attractive expression twisted. "I asked for them to begin this process earlier so I could conduct a full inspection of the boosters, the auxiliary fuel tanks, the sensor suite, but I…"

She stopped when the crown princess reached up and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Your…Highness?"

She clearly had something in mind, though she didn't remark on it. "Thank you for imparting your wisdom to me, Captain. You seem very well informed about auxiliary fuel tanks," she said with an almost sweet smile.

She suppressed shudder. Was that a joke about my chest? How do you even ask a princess that?

"I'm sure we'll bump into one another again before your departure."

"I'm sure we will, Your Highness."

Lady Kalin remained at attention until the crown princess had exited the hangar, when a hangar crewman warily touched her on the arm. Her muscles visibly relaxed underneath her suit after she saw him.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "I-…well, I mean…wow! That was Princess Fatima! I didn't even know someone from the Imperial Family was aboard the ship, much less the crown princess."

"Can you please just get me a glass of water?" she asked, her voice still strained.

After returning to her stateroom via the ship's transit system, a few thousand meters from the hangars, Princess Fatima sat behind her desk, hands clenched together, waiting for the maid who entered in a Terran-style black uniform and a white apron.

"Your Highness?"

"Summon the ship's chief political officer. I want him to supply a secure comm cube immediately."

"Yes ma'am, but—don't you have all the comm cubes necessary for the summit with the Kata-Kata on hand?"

Fatima looked up from her desk and was about to give one of her smiles when the maid visibly shuddered and immediately scrambled out of the room. "I'll find him immediately, Your Highness."

Crossing her legs and arms, the princess leaned back in her luxurious chair. Kalin and Aisha Clan-Clan. I don't believe in coincidence, so if this is your doing, Koboro-Koboro—well, I'll play your game.

Terms to Know:

Ctarl-Ctarl Imperial Navy - The Ctarl-Ctarl Empire's principal military space forces, and the largest naval force in the known universe by combined fleet tonnage.

- Chief Political Officer - A civilian official from the empire's War Ministry given a provisional military rank assigned to warships of battleship-tonnage or higher, equal to that of the chief executive officer. The CPO's responsibility to ensure obedience to the civilian leadership hierarchy.

- Imperial Navy Fighter Corps - The fighter arm of the Ctarl-Ctarl space fleets. As the Imperial Navy no longer operates planet-based fighter squadrons (which are part of planetary defense forces), it is a small, elite force.

Novo-Novo - The immediate surname of the royal siblings of the Hashiyo-Hashiyo Dynasty, including Empress Kasara IV.

Sub-ether and Real space - An exotic dimension of reality accessible through the use of sub-ether propulsion systems, distinct from normal or "real" three-dimensional space.

- Munchausen reactor - A generic used exclusively for sub-ether powerplants used by Earthlings.

- Newton reactor - A generic describing both conventional powerplants and many other ship systems, also used specifically by Earthling. Derived from British physicist and mathematician, Sir Isaac Newton.

Type Two Fighter - A high-performance multirole fighter spacecraft used exclusively by the Imperial Navy, adopted in Hashiyo-Hashiyo 202. Over twenty-five meters long in its one-seat configuration, it is many time as the massive as the small fighters fielded by the Kei Pirate forces and carries a single torpedo large enough to sink a Terran battleship in the fighter-bomber role. It bears a strong resemblance to Earthling military aircraft in the Atomic Age, particularly with its two large ether-intakes and forward-placed canopy.