Episode 100

Stealth-spec frigates were worth double their weight in gold—literally. They usually traded for at least twice the price of a standard model. Gowen had just presided over a total disaster: two of them sunk, one scuttled to keep the tech out of enemy hands, and a final one limping home with half its hull missing. He had returned to Allied territory fully expecting a firing squad; instead, he was met with a standing ovation. It was, to put it mildly, a bit of a shock.

"We lost a lot of hardware, but the intel you dragged back is worth its weight in platinum," his superior chirped, practically humming a tune. The man was in an uncharacteristically festive mood. "The brass is already talking about giving you a shiny new fleet to play with."

"Is that so? Well... that’s certainly heartening," Gowen stammered, still trying to process the lack of a noose around his neck. "Er, if I may ask, what exactly caught the headquarters' eye? Was it the enemy’s electronic warfare capabilities?"

His superior nodded solemnly.

"Naturally, that's part of it. But the real issue is their new weapon. Intelligence has been hearing whispers about a new guided weapon for a while now. Most people thought it was a bunch of tall tales, but apparently not. We knew they’d been installing them in fixed facilities, but the fact that they’ve managed to cram them onto mobile vessels is a game-changer."

The superior’s face flipped from jovial to dead-serious in an instant. Since Gowen hadn’t even been told the enemy had new weapons before he was sent out to get shot at by them, he could only nod along and pretend this was all very enlightening.

"I see... They were certainly a nightmare to deal with. Unlike beams, you can’t just jam them out of the sky."

Gowen felt a literal shiver run down his spine as he recalled those hopeless few minutes. "What do you think the chances are of them deploying those things en masse?"

His superior shook his head dismissively.

"Slim to none. We don’t have all the specs yet, but they’re clearly using live ammunition. That means they have a massive overhead. They’re likely expensive as hell, and the warheads need a constant supply chain. If the enemy actually built a logistics system to support them, they’d be a threat, but I don't see the EAP being that competent."

The man snorted, his face twisting into a mask of pure contempt. Gowen realized his boss was catastrophically underestimating the enemy, but pointing that out didn't seem like the best way to keep his new fleet.

"Do you think we can actually win this war?"

It was a short, stupid question. His superior didn't bother answering, but Gowen hadn't expected him to. Victory was the only authorized premise; losing wasn't something you thought about. If they lost, there was nothing left but a one-way trip to oblivion.

"Now then, your new fleet is waiting, Mr. Gowen. Scuttle off to the docks. I expect great things from you as we continue the struggle to liberate the people from the Empire’s tyranny."

Recognizing the "get out of my office" cue, Gowen snapped a salute. As he walked down the corridors of the Border Management Command, a stray thought nagged at him.

Is the Empire actually being tyrannical?

Given his job in border security, he heard a lot of outside gossip. He talked to merchants trying to smuggle goods and interrogated people suspected of being EAP spies. But no matter who he grilled, not a single soul ever mentioned the Empire changing for the worse. The official line from the top was that the Empire had turned into a dystopian nightmare after the network went down, but Gowen had yet to see a shred of evidence. He wasn't about to start a coup over it, but the lack of conviction was starting to itch.

"Well, not like my opinion matters," Gowen muttered to himself, picking up his pace toward the docks. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

"I see, I see! This is incredibly fascinating. Thank you so much for this priceless contribution."

The Imperial Military officer bowed with an almost aggressive amount of politeness. Taro, Alan, and Phantom were currently standing in the Delta Star System Imperial Military Garrison. The place was a massive, hollowed-out station that had been turned into a literal fortress. It had taken them eight hours to get here on an EAP high-speed ship, and they’d spent a small fortune in credits to jump the queue at the Stargate, but time was a luxury they didn't have.

"Uh, yeah. Right. You’re for real, right? Like, you're actually gonna do something?" Taro asked, feeling deeply unconvinced.

The man at the reception desk nodded with a face so solemn it felt like a parody. To Taro, the guy looked like he was about five seconds away from bursting into laughter.

"Is the Empire actually gonna move on this? Man, I have a really bad feeling about this," Taro grumbled as they walked away from the desk toward the docks.

Alan glanced at him, then came to a dead stop, looking like he’d just had a realization. "Phantom’s right. I should probably show you how things actually work around here."

Alan pivoted on his heel and started heading back the way they’d come. Taro, confused but curious, trotted along behind him.

"Teiro, can you get me some cash? About ten thousand credits should do it."

Alan stopped in front of a massive, featureless door with no signage. Taro raised an eyebrow. "Cash?" he asked, but he figured Alan had a plan, so he didn't argue.

"Hold on a sec... There, exactly ten thousand."

Taro used BISHOP to tap into the station's local network and dumped the credits onto a physical chip. Alan took it with a nod and pushed through the door.

"Hey! No unauthorized personnel beyond this point. Turn around now," a soldier barked as they entered a second set of double doors.

The soldier was encased in a metallic Armed Suit that looked like a walking tank. With the full-face helmet, Taro couldn't see a hint of a human expression.

Whoa, that suit is actually pretty badass... Taro thought, momentarily distracted by the shiny hardware.

"Easy there. I’m former military myself," Alan said, sounding like he was greeting an old drinking buddy. "Just wanted to show a friend around the old workplace. For old times' sake, right? Surely you can let us take a quick peek."

Alan took a few steps forward. The soldier didn't miss a beat—he leveled his rifle right at Alan’s chest.

"Move another inch and I’ll put a hole in you. This is the First Classified Area. You want a tour? Go sign up for the museum at the front desk."

Alan held up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender and slowly crouched down. He slid the credit chip across the floor like a puck.

"...Hmph. Well. Now that I look closer, I suppose I can make an exception. Just don't go wandering off," the soldier said, his tone suddenly light and airy.

Alan looked back at Taro. "Let's go."

Taro stood there, jaw practically hitting the floor at the blatant bribery he’d just witnessed. Phantom gave him a little shove to get his legs moving again.

"Wait, wait, wait! Are you kidding me? Is that it? That's the secret sauce?" Taro hissed in a panicked whisper. "This is a 'First Classified Area'! Isn't that supposed to be, like, the most important place in the universe?"

"Pretty much," Alan replied curtly, his face a mask of indifference as he kept walking.

"Uh... Firing Range?" Taro read the sign as they arrived at their destination.

Inside was a gargantuan, hollow floor lined with long tables. Hundreds of meters away, holographic targets flickered in the air. The place was a ghost town; the lights didn't even flicker on until they were halfway inside.

"On paper, yes. In reality, it’s where people come to screw around when they’re bored. Let's see if they’ve got anything new in stock."

Ignoring Taro’s mounting bewilderment, Alan started digging through a storage case filled with high-end ordinance. He pulled out a rifle that caught his eye.

"A BDP332. Nice piece, but not my style. You see a CC26 in there?"

Phantom didn't answer; she just reached into the case and pulled out a rifle that was twice as big as the one Alan was holding. She balanced the massive thing with one hand like it was a toy.

"Typical humans can't handle the kick on that one anyway. This’ll do for me," Alan said, casually aiming his rifle at a target.

A thin blue beam lanced out with a sharp crack, hitting the target instantly. Taro jumped at the noise, though it wasn't deafening.

"Okay, but seriously, Alan. Why are we here? If we're just killing time because the Empire is—GAH!?"

An absolute thunderclap erupted right next to Taro’s ear, sending him scurrying backward. While Alan’s rifle sounded like a firecracker, Phantom’s sounded like someone had detonated a stick of dynamite inside a metal trash can.

"Good gun," Phantom noted with a dry grin. "It punches through cover like paper. Want a turn?"

"I’ll pass!" Taro yelled, still clutching his ringing ears. Phantom hadn't moved a millimeter despite the recoil that would have probably dislocated a normal person’s shoulder.

"Look, seriously, what is the point of this? I know you're not just playing around, but little old Teiro isn't exactly a genius. Just give it to me straight."

Alan snorted at Taro’s mock-innocence. He walked back to the case and pulled out a third rifle. Unlike the boxy, industrial designs of the others, this one was sleek and streamlined.

"This is the AR212. It’s a prototype from the Imperial Weaponry Arsenal. Top secret."

He grabbed another.

"This is the BB49. Classified. This is the BB50. Also classified. L&DI experimental model, classified. This, this, and that? All classified."

Alan tossed the guns onto the table one by one. Taro stared at the pile of "top secret" hardware like it was radioactive.

"So... this is like a secret testing ground? But—I mean—it’s classified, right? Are we actually allowed to just walk in here and play with the stuff?"

Alan gave him a grim, self-deprecating smile. He tossed the rifle back into the case with a careless clatter and shrugged.

"That’s exactly the point. Don’t go expecting anything from the Imperial Military, Teiro."

Alan looked at the pile of weapons with pure resignation.

"The Imperial Military is rotten to the core. If those bastards have a single interest in this world that doesn't involve a fat stack of credits, I’ll do a naked handstand in the middle of the hangar. Not that anyone would take that bet—it's a guaranteed loss."