Episode 117

A heavy, awkward silence descended upon the conference room following Taro’s characteristically vague question. Every person present looked like they were trying to solve a high-level calculus equation in their heads. Taro watched them, internally preening; at least they weren’t just throwing out half-baked platitudes. They were actually sweating over an answer.

"Permission to speak, sir?"

Clark broke the silence, his hand shooting up like a model student’s. Taro gave him a sharp nod.

"The current discourse cites both the network and resources as the primary issues, but that’s a fallacy," Clark stated. "In fact, it’s more accurate to say only one of them truly matters."

"Care to elaborate on that bit of logic?" Taro asked.

"Certainly. The Enzio Alliance Government has been strangling us via food, resources, and the network. However, unlike the first two, the network is merely the leash they use to control the rest. It is a means to an end, not the end itself."

Clark’s voice was crisp and confident. He glanced around the room for backup, receiving a few tentative nods of agreement.

"So, you’re saying if we fix the food and resource situation, we can just let them keep the network?" Alan asked, rubbing his chin.

"Exactly," Clark confirmed.

"We might have to deal with it eventually, but it’s not the immediate fire we need to put out. Conversely, if we could somehow liberate the network, it wouldn’t matter if they tried to manage the other two."

Taro crossed his arms, leaning back. "I get it. If the network is free, companies can just go rogue and trade on the black market to survive. But if we actually have the food and resources on hand, we can just trade openly in the 'managed' markets and dare them to stop us. It’s simple logic."

Makes sense to me, Taro thought, nodding along with his own realization.

"The network is a lost cause, though," Marl interjected, popping his bubble. "I told you this when we talked about the neural net. The 'network' is a conceptual beast. Fixing the information infrastructure would require overhauling the hardware of an entire star sector. We’re talking years of work."

"I’m with her," Alan added. "When I was busy hacking Otto Station, I did some digging. The place is crawling with physical locks. Even if some once-in-a-generation genius tried to fix everything through the software alone, they’d hit a brick wall. You have to turn the actual, physical gears to make the critical parts move."

A wave of grim understanding washed over the room.

"Is this 'genius' you’re talking about you, Alan?" Taro teased.

"Don't start with me, Boss," Alan groaned. "Maybe there’s a way, but I’m officially stumped. If anyone has a brilliant idea, I’m all ears, but don’t hold your breath."

The room remained motionless. No one was about to claim they were smarter than Alan when it came to digging through code. If he was throwing in the towel, the network was effectively a brick.

"Alright, so it’s resources then," Taro sighed. "But when we say resources, we’re really just talking about Razor Metal, right?"

Basic materials like iron, titanium, water, and various chemicals were a dime a dozen. You could sneeze in any direction in the galaxy and hit an asteroid made of metal or an ice meteor full of water. They were everywhere. They weren't the bottleneck.

"It’s not quite that simple, but if you want to be reductive, then yes," Raiza, the head of the Transportation Department, said while scrolling through her tablet. Makina Corp, the head of the Development Department, nodded beside her. Between the two of them, they knew more about rocks and shipping than anyone in the sector. "General resources can be acquired through sheer willpower and a high enough budget. Razor Metal is the real headache."

"Right. So, the obvious first suggestion is just to ship the stuff in from the EAP or the Imperial Core, but..." Taro’s voice trailed off as he realized how stupid that sounded. "Yeah, that’s not happening."

The rest of the crew looked at him with 'obviously' written across their faces.

"We could probably sneak some through a Secret Route," Phantom noted, "but the volume would be pathetic and the cost would be astronomical. Thanks to WIND's recent activation, mineral prices are through the roof. Even the Imperial Core can’t keep up with its own demand. If we tried to supply Enzio at a 'realistic' price, the shipping costs alone would bankrupt the EAP three times over."

Phantom looked at Raiza. She just shrugged.

"I actually ran the numbers just for a laugh," Raiza said, "and it’s a joke. We’d need roughly five times the total economic capacity of the entire EAP. Metal isn't like food; it’s heavy. Mass is a nightmare for shipping costs. Bringing it from the Imperial Core is a fairy tale."

Taro pulled a sour face. Great. Physics wins again. Heavy metal meant more energy, more energy meant more fuel, and more time meant more salaries to pay. The math just didn't work.

"So we’re back to local production. We have to make it here, or at least somewhere near EAP space. What’s the catch with that plan?"

Taro expected a million voices to jump down his throat with technical difficulties. Instead, the room went dead silent. Taro blinked, looking around at the blank stares.

Finally, Bella broke the silence with a pitying look. "It’s not your fault, kid. Your upbringing was... let’s call it 'unique.' You don't know the deal."

She ground out her cigar in an ashtray and let out a long, smoky sigh. Taro tilted his head, practically wearing a physical question mark.

"Razor Metal ore," Bella continued, "isn't actually that rare. It’s slightly harder to find than iron, sure, but it’s all over the place. We’ve got plenty of it in EAP territory. We’re mining it as we speak."

She paused, making sure Taro was still on the bus. He nodded.

"Okay... so what’s the problem then?" Taro asked, looking genuinely bewildered.

Bella held up her palm. She waited for him to focus on it, then dropped the hammer.

"Fifty companies."

Taro stared at her hand.

"There are exactly fifty companies in the entire, massive Galactic Empire that know how to actually refine the ore into usable Razor Metal. Only fifty. Do you get the weight of that, kid?"

Taro’s face went pale. That was a complication he hadn't even hallucinated.

"Fifty... companies?"

He slumped back, staring at the ceiling. There were 120 trillion people in the Empire, and only fifty shops knew the recipe? Even as a relative newcomer to the galaxy, Taro knew that wasn't a market—it was a stranglehold.

He didn't even need to ask. Those fifty were definitely "Mega-Corps," the kind of titans that could squash the EAP or the Rising Sun like a pair of annoying space-gnats. You didn't ask them for favors; you begged them for mercy.

"Okay, walk me through this," Taro groaned, rubbing his temples. "I know it’s impossible, but educate me. For my future memoirs."

"The rumor mill calls them the Fifty Materials," Marl explained. "They’re all in bed together. Usually, the Imperial Government would bust a trust that big, but they just look the other way. Probably because the government is in on the take. Half the military’s suppliers are on that list."

"Exactly," Clark added. "They’re smart about it. they never hike the prices or restrict the supply enough to make the other corporations riot. They’re actually very 'cooperative' with the industrial sector. In short, they play the game perfectly."

Alan let out a cynical bark of a laugh. "That’s one way to put it. They play the game to make sure nobody else can even get onto the field. And it’s not just money. One of the Fifty Materials is a personal pet project of Grand Marshal Dan Cornelius. You know, one of the most powerful men in existence?"

Alan shrugged as if to say, Give up, Boss. We’re outclassed. Taro let out another long, theatrical sigh. Probing that hornets' nest was a one-way ticket to a "mysterious disappearance."

"Refining Razor Metal has been around for thousands of years," Makina Corp added, "so the tech itself probably isn't that complex. But they’ve never registered a single technical copyright on the process. They’d rather keep it a trade secret than explain the method to a patent office."

She shrugged. "That’s just speculation, of course."

"I bet you're right," Taro muttered. If I were them, I’d do the same thing. Why bother with copyrights that people can just ignore when you can just keep the recipe in a vault? There was zero incentive to share.

"Well, damn. I guess that’s that. Unless..."

Taro trailed off, tapping his chin. The room went quiet again, but this time, the crew was looking at him with a weird glimmer of hope.

"No copyrights, huh?" Taro muttered to himself. "Which means if we actually figure out how to do it, nobody can sue us. We wouldn't be breaking any laws."

"I mean, sure, but how—" Alan started.

Taro ignored him, descending into a five-minute internal monologue. The silence in the room was absolute as everyone watched the Boss go deep into his own head. Finally, Taro snapped his fingers.

"Okay, look," Taro said, his voice firm. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but I want you all to proceed with the planning on the assumption that we can refine it. If we have the tech but fail because of some other stupid reason, it’ll all be for nothing. So... if. And this is a big 'if,' mind you. If the only thing stopping us is the secret to the refining process—"

Taro flashed a small, self-deprecating grin.

"I’ll handle it. Just... don’t ask me how."