Reborn On Mars III – Empress of the Night
By Sunao Yoshida
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The Lapis Lazuli Dome
Lo, I go bound in the spirit unto Jerusalem,
Not knowing the things that shall befall me there.
—Acts 20:22
“Has somebody disappeared again, Ryustem?" asked Agamemnon, Count of Mycenae, faster than the first mate entering the bridge could open his mouth.
They were already close to the Imperial capital. Beyond the UV-resistant glass, the ocean had seemingly become very calm. Turning his gaze from the dreary scenery, Agamemnon shook the Aqua Vitae bubbling in his glass.
"Who's missing this time?" Agamemnon inquired.
"Two people: Hussein and Sarkis, Captain," First Mate Ryustem bin Shadaad, looking rather peaked, answered. Ryustem s common Imperial speech with its heavy Cretan dialect sounded respectful, yet faintly shrill.
The middle-aged Terran had joined the Imperial Navy as Agamemnon's crewman thirty years ago. Accompanying his master, who was appointed the captain of a warship, Ryustem was a great veteran who'd traveled the whole of the Imperial territory—from Carthage in the west to the Black Area of the Black Sea Coast to the east—as if it were familiar as his own garden. Even among the forty crewmembers assigned to the ship Nereiades, the first mate's courage stood out. He was the right-hand man in whom Agamemnon placed all his trust. But now, Ryustem's sunburned, deeply lined face appeared fearful, as if a night fog had enveloped it.
"This makes six people. All of the crew are afraid," said Ryustem.
"Didn't they fall off the deck? You humans move clumsily. Maybe that's what happened," Agamemnon retorted.
"No, that's impossible. They were all experienced at sea. And all of them disappeared from their rooms when they were off duty. Those on duty reported that they didn't see anything," explained Ryustem.
"So they disappeared inside the ship?" grumbled Agamemnon, chewing his lip with his long fangs.
Nereiades, which Her Majesty the Empress had entrusted to Agamemnon, was classified as a deep-sea assault ship, a warship in the Imperial Navy. Although its weaponry level wasn't very high, it was a small vessel that moved through the depth of the ocean at high speed to conduct patrol, enforcement, and reconnaissance. Its interior space wasn't large, even for a warship.
"Well, what about the possibility that the crew are hiding somewhere? Have you searched places other than the living quarters?" asked Agamemnon.
"We've searched everywhere that can be searched, except for one place . . ." Ryustem trailed off.
"One place?" Agamemnon asked.
"The ship's stores, Captain," Ryustem replied in a low voice as he turned guiltily toward his master. "We still haven't investigated the ship's stores."
"The ship's stores?" repeated Agamemnon in disbelief. "But that place has been completely sealed since this ship departed Crete's capital, Heraklion. Do you think somebody could get in or out?"
"I don't know. However, when Hairedin disappeared, someone said he heard a scream in there. And footsteps. But the strangest thing was . . ." The first mate's hand unconsciously fingered the amulet hanging on his chest. His voice shook as if he were about to confess something taboo.". . . there was blood in the corridor outside the storeroom. It was in the shape of shoes so huge that no one could believe what they were seeing. Captain, there must be something in that room!"
"Hmmm," mumbled Agamemnon while slowly closing his eyes and feeling his neatly shaven beard.
Generally speaking, the notion of fear had little to do with Imperial nobility. Methuselahs, the strongest battle creatures on land, didn't fear much, being raised since infancy to be thoroughly proud. They did have some knowledge of the emotion, however — especially when it came to Imperial law. Disobeying even one rule decided by the only master in the Empire was a crime that every Imperial noble feared committing. Agamemnon had strict orders to completely seal the ship's stores until the crew arrived at the Imperial capital. A certain person's baggage was inside, packed on the ship since Crete.
"Ion Fortuna, Count of Memphis? It seems we've let an extremely dangerous passenger aboard," Agamemnon proclaimed. Folding his hands under his chin, the Count of Mycenae regarded the battle flag on the wall, which featured the "Duosater," or overlapping moons. The sight of the glorious Empire's national symbol provoked an extended sigh.
The Empire was a meritocracy; however, a certain amount of family influence couldn't be ignored. Especially when one considered the Count of Memphis, whose grandmother was the Chief Privy Counselor, Mirka Fortuna, Duchess of Moldova. He also happened to be a member of a famous family among famous families. Ten members were high officials who had a government rank higher than three.
The Count was young, yet he'd been appointed Chief Imperial Sword Bearer, and had been promised a future post in the State Secrets Institution. He was no doubt returning from some secret mission he'd been entrusted with on this occasion. Upon returning to the Imperial capital, he would probably be promoted again based on his distinguished services.
Although the Count was the same species of Methuselah, his speed of advancement varied greatly from a person in the field like Agamemnon. If possible, Agamemnon wanted to avoid incurring such a person's displeasure. Even so, he could no longer turn a blind eye to the loss of his subordinates. He was the only Methuselah assigned to the Nereiades, and he was responsible for the lives of its forty crewmembers. And, unlike the barbaric "Outers" in the Empire, Methuselahs had to obey those of higher social status.
"I'll remove the seals on the storeroom pending a captain's meeting, and then I'll confirm the Imperial envoy's baggage," said Agamemnon.