Chapter 135

"An inspection?"

Taro, who had been lounging around the bridge of the Plum with all the grace of a discarded wet noodle, raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"That’s right, an inspection. You’re planning to develop the deep frontier, but you don’t have the faintest clue what kind of place it actually is, do you, Boy?" Bella asked.

Before he could mount a defense, she cut him off. "In that case, it’s faster to just go and see the damn place."

"Well, sure, I guess... but I have been looking through the data banks and the scout reports, you know?"

"Oh, I’m sure you have. And let me guess—it looks like a vast, desolate world of impoverished borderlands and untouched sectors? Something like that?"

"Erm, yeah. Pretty much?"

"Then tell me, Boy. What’s it really like? How do those people live? What do they actually want?"

"That’s..."

Taro’s mouth snapped shut. He looked down, falling into a rare moment of pensive silence as he chewed on Bella’s words.

"You’re right. I should probably see it for myself. Now that you mention it, I don't think I even know how an average person lives out here," he admitted after a beat, sounding genuinely apologetic.

Bella flashed him a grin. "Good. You can start learning now."

"Alpha Sector, RS Alliance Territory, DI38 Area: the Wyoming Star System, Mr. Teiro," Koume chimed in. She was staring at the Star Chart projected on the monitor, though her eyes were vacant as she pulled the data directly from the ship's brain. "It is the outermost fringe of the Old Enzio Territory. Official records claim a population of forty thousand, but projections suggest the actual number of residents is several times higher."

To Koume, direct-lining into the data bank was as natural as breathing, but to Taro, it still looked like a neat magic trick.

"As expected of Koume-chan, the walking encyclopedia. So, which station are we hitting?"

The monitor displayed several stations within the system. Every single one of them was a clunky, outdated hunk of space-junk.

"Wyoming IV is the only logical choice," Koume replied. "Or rather, it is the only choice period."

"Eh? Why? Are we not welcome at the others? Am I going to get shot at? Because I’d really like to avoid getting ambushed today."

"Negative, Mr. Teiro. The issue is scale and infrastructure. Aside from Wyoming IV, none of the stations possess docking facilities capable of handling a ship of Cruiser-class or larger. As for whether or not we will be attacked... I have no data to support a conclusion."

"Whoa... don’t say scary stuff like that with a straight face, kiddo."

Taro wondered if that was Koume’s version of a joke while he squinted at the image of Wyoming IV on the screen. It was a block-modular station that looked like someone had glued a bunch of shipping containers together and prayed to the gods of physics.

"I’m bringing the heavy hitters along, so it’ll be fine. If you’re that worried, want me to call Phantom back?" Bella asked.

She was standing behind him with her arms crossed, smirking. Flanking her, as usual, were two massive slabs of meat from the Security Department, standing at a stiff parade rest and staring into the middle distance.

"No, Phantom-san is busy enough as it is. I’ll leave the heavy lifting to you, Bella-san. If we don’t get more boots on the ground soon, we’re going to be up a creek without a paddle."

The recent war had left the Rising Sun Alliance with a chronic case of "not enough people." General operations were manageable, but the lack of qualified Warship crews was a crisis-level headache.

Currently, Taro had Phantom pulling double duty: teaching at the Battle School and headhunting talent. Between his bounty hunter days and his general roguishness, the man had plenty of connections, and Taro was leaning on him hard. Sure, Phantom would be the ultimate bodyguard, but Taro couldn't just keep the guy on a leash for his own peace of mind.

"If push comes to shove..." Taro muttered.

"If push comes to shove?" Bella prompted.

"I’m running away at full throttle. I’ll fling crap at them if I have to, but I'm getting out of there."

Bella blinked, her smirk wavering. "Right. Well... you do that. Feel free to use whatever... projectiles you see fit."

Taro felt a surge of perverted pride at having actually made the unflappable Bella hesitate.

[DOCKING APPROACH: COMPLETE]

The ship's AI, BISHOP, announced their arrival at Wyoming IV. Taro looked at the camera feed of the station—which looked like it was held together by rust and sheer stubbornness—and let out a long sigh of relief that they hadn't accidentally punched a hole through the hull.

Seriously, the beacon coordinates were off by a mile. How do people not crash into this thing every day?

Grumbling to himself, Taro moved toward the airlock, flanked by Bella’s security detail. Every surface of the station's docking arm was covered in rust and grime. He’d told Marl and Koume to stay on the Plum, and seeing the state of this place, he was glad he did.

"Relax, Boy. That suit you're wearing is top-of-the-line. If we lose atmospheric pressure, it’ll deploy a protective membrane automatically. You’ll have a good few dozen minutes of life support even in a total vacuum."

"I see... And what happens if rescue doesn't show up after those dozens of minutes?"

"Well, isn't it obvious? You’ve got two perfectly good arms, don't you?"

"Oh, right. For praying to God. Thanks, that's real comforting."

They zipped through the pier on a High-speed Moving Lane and reached the station's main gate within minutes. Usually, a hub like this would be teeming with people, but here, the place was a ghost town. He counted maybe five people in the entire area.

"Uh, guys? Is there even an economy here? Or do they just trade rust for dirt?"

It was a known rule of thumb that gate-side commerce accounted for nearly thirty percent of a station's economy. Taro had never seen a gate area this dead in his life.

"The frontier is like this everywhere," Bella said, gesturing with her chin. "Look, here comes the welcoming committee."

A man who looked remarkably ordinary—and perhaps a bit too nice for his own good—was walking toward them.

"Hi there. I'm Teiro from Rising Sun. You must be Mr. Smith?"

The man bobbed his head, looking a bit overwhelmed. "Yes, that’s correct. I am Smith Vahlen, the Station Master of Wyoming IV. A pleasure to meet you... I was told this was an inspection, but has something gone wrong? Are we in trouble?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that. As you probably know, I’ve been stuck—I mean, entrusted—with leading the Alliance, so I’m doing a bit of a tour. Just trying to get some boots-on-the-ground perspective to help with future management."

"Oh! I see! How very noble of you! Please, right this way. I’ll show you the sights!"

Smith eagerly led the way. Taro appreciated the enthusiasm, but he couldn't help but wonder how bored the guy must be. Usually, a Station Master wouldn't give a personal tour to anyone unless they were being bribed or threatened.

"As you can see, this is our Industrial District. We have several asteroids nearby that haven't been stripped bare yet, so we maintain a modest refining business. It’s the station's lifeblood."

The "Industrial District" turned out to be a cluster of filthy factories. Apparently, "zoning laws" were a foreign concept here, as ore-processing plants were shoved right up against food-processing units.

"I think I'll pass on lunch," Bella whispered, her face twisted in a look of pure disgust. Taro just gave a pained nod in agreement.

"And this is the Commercial District. To be honest, it’s seen better days. It’s mostly just basic retail and daily necessities. Depopulation has been a problem for decades, so new business is... rare."

Just like the gate, the commercial area was a wasteland of "For Lease" signs and shuttered storefronts. There was a market further down that seemed to have some life, but compared to the neon-drenched bustle of Katsushika, it was practically a funeral parlor.

As Taro watched the lifeless market with a frown, a squad of people in space suits marched out from a side corridor. They gave the Station Master a crisp salute and kept moving.

"That’s our defense force," Smith explained, noticing Taro’s gaze. "I honestly don't know what we'd do without them. We only have three Warships to our name, so we’re pushing those pilots to the breaking point."

Taro nodded. "Sounds rough."

"It is. They could make so much more money if they moved to the inner systems... I can't thank them enough. Since we're short on ships, they handle everything from transport to surveys. They’re the local heroes."

Smith beamed with pride. "Now, onto the next stop!"

Taro followed along, though he hadn't seen anything yet that didn't make him want to go back to his ship and take a long shower.

"The Living Quarters are a bit of a mess. It’s a jumble of blocks from several different eras. It’s a labyrinth in there; even with a map, you’d get turned around. Stay close."

Calling it a "jumble" was an understatement. It was a slum. In a normal station, housing blocks were standardized and neatly stacked. Here, it looked like a giant had tried to pack a suitcase by jumping on it. The "roads" were just the awkward gaps between haphazardly placed containers. The floor was bare, unpolished iron that lacked even basic non-slip coating.

Wait, if this is the floor, does that mean I'm walking on someone's roof?

Taro stopped, glancing around as a weird feeling crawled up his spine. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong, but Bella beat him to the punch.

"It’s too quiet," she hissed into his ear. "Slums are supposed to be crowded. They're supposed to be noisy. I haven't heard a single child crying or a baby screaming since we got here. These people don't have the credits for soundproofed modules."

Taro’s eyes widened. She was right. He looked around again. There was almost nobody in sight. Every once in a while, he’d spot a weary laborer or a low-level official, but that was it. No families. No crowds. No life.

"Either they don't want us seeing the locals, or they’ve got everyone locked down for 'safety,'" Taro whispered back.

He kept following Smith, his mind already racing. If I have to sneak back in here later, I’m definitely going to need a better plan than 'throwing shit.'