Episode 118

"Stop it, Teiro! I’m absolutely, one-hundred-percent against this! I refuse to give you permission!"

Marl threw her arms wide, physically barricading Taro’s path. Her face was a mask of dead-serious, grief-stricken determination. At her feet, Koume swayed like a restless beach ball. It was just the three of them in the room, and the vibes were officially terrible.

"Marl... please. You know as well as I do that this is the best move we’ve got."

Taro flashed a troubled, sheepish grin. Marl wasn't buying it. She shook her head so hard she looked like she might catch whiplash.

"Absolutely not! If you keep doing this, who knows what you’ll lose next? Your car keys? Your dignity? Your soul?"

She glared at him with iron-clad stubbornness. Taro met her gaze head-on, his voice dropping into a steady, calm register. "I know."

"You don't know!! You have no idea what’s being overwritten in that head of yours! What if—just what if—"

Tears finally breached the dam, streaming down Marl’s cheeks.

"What if you forget about us?! What if you lose everyone, and all the memories we’ve made together?!"

Her scream echoed through the cavernous chamber, a room occupied by nothing but a single, gargantuan device. The only response was the low, rhythmic thrum of the engine and the ghostly whistle of the ventilation system.

"……"

Taro stared into Marl’s eyes, silent as a grave. After a long, heavy beat, he finally spoke.

"I didn't tell you before, but... I’ve already done it. I really owe you an apology for that. I’m sorry."

He gave a deep, formal bow. Marl didn't look shocked; she just looked miserable. "I already knew," she whispered.

Taro snapped his head up, eyes wide. "Wait, what?"

"One day you were a total amateur, and the next you were suddenly an expert on private military tactics and station governance. I’m not blind, Taro. Sure, you study hard, but that jump was way too weird. Unless you were planning on telling me you’re a secret super-genius?"

She looked caught between being furious and being incredibly pouty—a complex cocktail of emotions that made Taro want to crawl into a hole. He opened his mouth to apologize again, then bit his lip and forced himself to stand his ground.

"The 'sorry' was for keeping it a secret. But as for performing the Override? I’m not apologizing for that."

He stared at her with a look of absolute, unwavering conviction, hoping she’d see he wasn't just being reckless. Marl accepted the look in silence, her eyes searching his.

"I did it because it was necessary. It wasn't about taking the easy way or getting rich... If I’m going to carry the lives of thousands on my back, I need the qualifications and the resolve to do it right. I spend enough time acting like a big-shot hotshot; the least I can do is actually deliver when it counts."

He looked past her at the towering mechanical monstrosity behind her.

"Back then, I was an Imperial ignoramus who could barely point a Battleship in the right direction. But that’s not enough. You can't start acting after you’ve already screwed up. You can't bring the dead back to life. Even the first time... well, okay, maybe not the first first time... like when WIND attacked us. We got lucky then, but luck is a crappy strategy. Next time, I might not make it in time."

He looked back down at Marl, whose eyes were still rimmed with red.

"This time, it’s the same deal."

Taro took a slow, deliberate step forward, walking right past Marl as she stood there with her head bowed.

118,934 people. That was the staggering death toll of the Anti-Enzio War so far, and the meter was still running.

I could have done something, but I didn't.

That was the thought that kept Taro up at night. That was the ghost he was running from.

He wasn't trying to be arrogant. Objectively speaking, he was doing a pretty decent job. His peers certainly thought so, and the scoreboard didn't lie. His fleet and Bella’s were the MVPs of the EAP. His "food aid" tactical strike had crippled the enemy's economy, and his warning about Total War had saved countless lives. Even if things went south, nobody would blame him.

But Taro knew himself. He knew he’d be standing over a pile of bodies thinking: If I’d just used that machine, could I have saved one more? Could I have cut the casualties by half? The world might give him a pass, but he’d never give one to himself.

I really do have a pathetic, self-sacrificing personality, don't I?

Sure, maybe there was another way. Maybe some super-genius in the galaxy would come up with a better plan that didn't involve frying his own synapses.

But was "maybe" a good enough reason to avoid the Override?

With a wry, self-deprecating smile, Taro lowered himself into the seat. Round four, here we go.

"T-Then let me do it!! You’ve already gone through it enough! If it’s me—"

[THAT WOULD LIKELY BE DIFFICULT, MISS MARL.]

Koume’s lamps flickered as she cut Marl off.

[FOR REASONS UNKNOWN, THIS DEVICE HAS BEEN OPTIMIZED SPECIFICALLY FOR MR. TEIRO’S NEURAL PATHWAYS. WHILE AN OVERRIDE ON MISS MARL IS THEORETICALLY POSSIBLE, THE PROBABILITY OF PERMANENT BRAIN LIQUEFACTION IS EXTREMELY HIGH.]

Marl fell silent, her last-ditch effort crushed by cold logic.

"...Fine... but wait! There’s no way information exclusive to the Fifty Materials is just sitting inside this junk heap!"

She latched onto the idea like a lifeline, her face lighting up with desperate hope.

"Actually, it is. Probably. Right, Koume?" Taro asked, glancing at the sphere on the floor.

[…………]

Koume said nothing, merely swaying with an enigmatic air.

"Most of the intel on the Imperial Military academies is classified. I checked with Alan and Mr. Phantom; it’s not public knowledge. Same with the deep-level HAD specs. But it’s all in here."

Taro tapped his temple, then rhythmically drummed his fingers on the armrest.

"I don't know why it’s there. I just know that whenever I need something, the machine has it. It gives me everything I want, but it takes my memories as tax. It’s a total devil’s bargain."

Taro closed his eyes and leaned back into the pod, which looked suspiciously like a high-tech coffin. Koume didn't offer any more commentary; she just silently extended a cable and plugged him in.

[MISS MARL. SHALL WE?]

Koume spun around to face the girl. Marl stood there with her head down, lost in thought, before finally looking up with a face full of grim resolve. She marched over and grabbed Taro’s hand.

"...Fine! Have it your way! But I’m telling you right now, if this idiot forgets even a single thing about me, I am going to slap him until his brain restarts. Every. Single. Time."

She forced a brave, watery smile. Taro squeezed her hand back, giving her the most confident "I’ve got this" grin he could muster. As he felt the darkness of the machine's sleep pulling him under, he was just glad he managed to smile back one last time.

---

Lorenzo, one of the Supreme Commanders of the Enzio Alliance Government Forces, was currently staring at a chest full of shiny new medals and feeling absolutely miserable.

"A total loss of ten percent... We’re officially in the red."

His terminal displayed a graph that looked like a professional base jumper taking a leap off a cliff. The curve was plummeting, and there was no parachute in sight.

"The service-sector corps are pulling their fleets out. The ripple effect is worse than we calculated. Honestly, this is hurting us more than the actual battles."

An old man sat opposite Lorenzo, his voice sounding like dry parchment rubbing together. Lorenzo set the terminal down and fought the urge to scream into his hands.

"The service industry doesn't need raw materials, so the moment our grip slipped, they bolted. We’ve lost a tenth of our military power without a single shot being fired. It’s a farce."

Lorenzo, a soldier to his core, rubbed his scarred face. He was sweating bullets, and for good reason.

He had been born in the Romano Alliance Territory. His father was the President of Romano Corp—the big boss—and Lorenzo’s life path had been mapped out in military stars before he could even crawl.

He’d followed that path, too. He’d been satisfied. His father was a world-class scoundrel, sure, but he’d been a good dad.

At least, until Lorenzo had to execute him.

"The numbers will keep dropping. The government is throwing everything at the wall, but nothing’s sticking. I’ve seen those plants myself—they’re biological anomalies. They’re unstoppable."

The old man took a sip of a blood-red alcoholic concoction. Looking at the centenarian, Lorenzo couldn't help but think of ancient vampire myths.

Actually, 'vampire' is a pretty accurate job description for him.

The man sitting across from him was the shadow ruler of the Enzio Alliance.

He held no title. No citizen or low-level bureaucrat even knew he existed. He just had all the money and all the knowledge, which turned out to be more than enough to pull the Government’s strings. Nobody knew who he really was, but it didn't matter. The Government used him, he used the Government, and they both sucked the tax-paying populace dry.

"The government is panicking over those plants. The food stockpiles they were using to control the masses are now just rotting inventory taking up space. They can't dump them on the market now without looking like monsters, so they’ll have to burn the lot."

If they released the food now, the public would riot. They’d be screaming, "You had all this food while we were starving, and you just sat on it?!"

"Predictable," the old man rasped. "This was all the work of that Teiro fellow from the Rising Sun, wasn't it? He’s an anomaly. Can’t we just delete him?"

The old man’s eyes locked onto Lorenzo’s.

"We’ve tried. Repeatedly. It’s not happening."

"And why is that?"

"Because he’s got that Phantom acting as his personal watchdog."

"Phantom? Phantom... Don't tell me... You’re joking!"

The old man’s eyes bugged out. Lorenzo felt a perverse sense of glee seeing the old fossil actually lose his cool.

"No joke. I don't know what Teiro did to win him over, but the Phantom is back in play."

"Why now? After all these years?"

"Who knows? Anyone who actually talks to the man keeps their mouth shut tight."

The old man let out a low groan and went silent. Lorenzo watched him with a flicker of pity. Even at a hundred years old, the guy was still terrified of dying.

"...Hmph. Fine. Regardless, keep the pressure on the facility attacks. We cannot afford an Imperial intervention yet."

"I’m on it. We’re steering clear of Level 1 Facilities and any stations with a high density of Imperial Subjects. There might be some collateral damage, but that’s the cost of doing business. The Empire doesn't usually cry over a few dead bodies in Outer Space."

Attacking Level 1 Facilities or Imperial Subjects was a one-way ticket to a very painful death at the hands of the Imperial Military. However, the Empire’s protection for "subjects" was notoriously flaky in the boonies. If you were dumb enough to live in the lawless Outer Space, the Empire generally figured you’d accepted the risk of being vaporized.

In Outer Space, "Level 1" status was reserved for Stargates and major economic hubs. In the Core, 80% of everything was Level 1. Out here, it was the Wild West.

"I want strict orders sent out. I don't want some trigger-happy moron starting a war with the throne. As for the other stations—"

The old man’s face twisted into a truly hideous grin.

"Level them. Victory is the only thing that matters."