Dinner With Family by Hiroyuki Morioka (best novels for teenagers TXT) 📕

I suppose she’s expressing excitement, in her own way, mused Sobash contentedly, sitting in the Assistant Steerer’s Seat.

Sensing his inquisitive eyes on her, she cast him a glance and cocked her head.

“Act as you please,” said Sobash, his inner smile breaking out. “You’re the Skipper, after all.”

Ecryua nodded expressionlessly, and took that as her cue. “This is your Skipper speaking,” she broadcast. “All hands, fasten your seatbelts and prepare for high acceleration.”

Wait just one minute! Sobash nearly shouted.

All of a smallcraft’s passenger seats were perpendicular to the floor. When the vessel landed in a place with gravity control, the passengers could but remain standing. But once the ship started accelerating, the perceived direction of gravity would shift at once, making those upright seats into beds instead. That was when passengers could lie down and relax, with individuals’ wristgears providing entertainment for the bored. Of course, going to the bathroom was a tricky proposition, since one would need to go up and down a passageway, but for the most part, a trip on a smallcraft was comfortable.

But that described sailing at two daimon. In Star Forces lingo, “high acceleration” referred to velocities in excess of eight daimon. Putting aside the bodily makeup of the Abh, who were genetically engineered to withstand high acceleration, NCCs from landworlds often felt discomfort at even just three daimon. If they were to shift into high acceleration, they’d be unable to so much as raise their voices as they got pressed against their seats.

The familiarization voyage had been hectic enough. It was simply common sense among the Star Forces starpilots to give the crew a pleasant three-hour trip afterward. That’s what Idlia would have done. Yet Ecryua was trying to reach their destination at velocities at the brink of what a human body could possibly endure.

Ultimately, however, Sobash said nothing. He’d appointed Ecryua the Skipper — they had to follow her orders. She was a fully trained starpilot, so she’d make sure there were no casualties. If he felt things were getting overly dangerous, he did reserve the right to take back command.

Sorry, everyone, Sobash apologized to the NCCs.

Unaware as to Sobash’s thoughts, Ecryua conversed with Space Traffic Control. Accordingly, the pier was depressurized, and the lock gate opened.

“Requesting electromagnetic propulsion,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, raid ship Flicaubh smallcraft,” said the Construction Site Space Traffic Control Center. “There is no EM propulsion mechanism here. You’re cleared for low-temperature jet propulsion.”

“Roger that, Space Traffic Control. I thank you. Flicaubh smallcraft ending transmission.”

There are those who made for capable starpilots, but not necessarily for competent commanders. And she might be one, thought Sobash as he stared at her profile. But then he abstained from speaking ill of her, and she stared blankly back at him.

As they stared at each other, Sobash started feeling like he’d imagined that whole incident.

“We’re taking off,” she murmured, and she moved her control gauntlet-equipped left hand.

The trip from hell had commenced.

Like many well-known establishments across Lacmhacarh, the Stylet was an orbital facility unto its own, serving as both restaurant and hotel.

“This is the Flicaubh smallcraft speaking. The Stylet Space Traffic Control, please respond,” Sobash heard her calmly say.

Thanks to the intense deceleration, half of their bodies were absorbed into their seats.

“This is The Stylet Space Traffic Control,” said a much more fraught voice.

“Permission to enter?”

“You may, but please understand that if you intend to come inside, we ask that you first pass by in order to decelerate a little more before coming back around.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Vanguard Ecryua,” said Sobash, speaking up at last after noticing she was about to brake so hard it’d make even the Flight Branch Starpilots who were accustomed to high acceleration shriek, “you should follow Traffic Control’s instructions.”

“Okay,” she nodded quietly.

Sobash was convinced that in her heart, she had appended some truly creative and colorful curses onto that “okay.”

The smallcraft passed by The Stylet while decelerating. At the point of closest proximity, Sobash’s frocragh sensed the restaurant as being within arm’s reach. An onlooker might have mistaken the scene for the ship grazing against the structure... or did they actually, in fact, graze it?

It took nearly ten seconds for the gap in velocity between the smallcraft and The Stylet to reach zero. Changing direction, she revved the main engine system once and approached The Stylet the rest of the way using just the attitude control engines, which was a huge relief for Sobash.

The smallcraft slid onto the arrival square.

“This is your Skipper,” said Ecryua. “The ship has arrived at The Stylet. All hands, disembark.”

They could hear the NCCs shouting with joy. From today onward, they would hold their lives even more dearly than before.

“Now then,” she said, standing up out of her seat.

Sobash, the Captain, was the last to get off. After a while, he went to the boarding gate. The crew were there, waiting for him in lines. At the whistle, they saluted simultaneously. This was very much an experience he never could’ve had when he was a merchant, and he didn’t particularly dislike such pomp and circumstance. While he’d also joined the Star Forces when he was younger, his life after that was characterized by interpersonal relationships of a more casual flavor, so this was certainly fresh.

He took his time descending the stairs. Below waited not only his crew, but also formal-wear Stylet staff.

“Welcome. This is the Flicaubh group, correct?”

“That’s right,” Sobash nodded. “We’re in your hands.”

“We received your reservation from the command center of Trample-Blitz Squadron 1. The banquet is tomorrow, so please, make yourselves at home today. Allow us to take you to your rooms.”

“If you would,” he said, looking back at his subordinates. “You hear that? There’s no work for anybody today. I’ll be sending the schedule for tomorrow to your wristgears later, so don’t worry about a thing. Enjoy yourselves to the extent the law and military protocol allow.”

What ensued was cheering of explosive proportions.

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