Episode 145

Apologies for the irregular updates.

The Wyoming Star System was currently enjoying the kind of absolute, unmitigated disaster it hadn't seen since humans first decided to call this corner of space home.

"Give me a status update! Anything! I’ll take a weather report at this point!" Taro screamed into his comms, his patience hanging by a microscopic thread.

Unfortunately, the only news coming back from the ground was that everything was going to hell in a handbasket.

"My apologies, President! It’s total chaos down here. Information control has completely evaporated! Our staff is trying to herd the refugees, but half of them have already gone dark! The temporary command center is supposed to be at the Second Branch—"

"I called them, and they said you were the command center!" Taro bellowed, his voice cracking with irritation. "Dammit!"

He clutched his head, sucking in air. Calm down. Stay frosty. Screaming at some underpaid clerk isn't going to fix a planetary evacuation. "Where’s Marl? She’s supposed to be the tactical lead."

"Yes, sir, one moment... The Vice President is currently off-station. We have a departure record."

"She went out to intercept? What about long-range comms?"

"No dice, sir. We’re being hit with massive jamming, and the neural net has been severed."

"Lead with that next time! Fine, I’m taking over. I’ll run the show from here. Keep the line open!"

Taro slammed his metaphorical foot on the gas, cranking the Plum II’s communication relay to max power. A makeshift neural net bloomed into existence, and a tidal wave of data slammed into his brain. Just as the staffer had warned, the jamming was thick enough to chew on, but Taro’s processing power was currently operating on a level that rendered such interference a mere suggestion.

[COMMUNICATION FUNCTION: ACTIVE] [AUTOMATIC SORTING: INITIALIZED]

"This is the Wyoming II Management Department! We’re out of ships! We need backup yesterday!"

"Third Temporary Command Center here! Where are these things coming from? There’s too many of them! Can anyone check the sensor logs?!"

"Wait, is this the command center? I’ve lost my squad! What’s the play?!"

"The Stargate Administration Bureau isn’t picking up! Where do we dump the refugees?!"

"Four hostiles splashed! They don’t have ID tags! Someone get me a target list!"

Taro winced as the cacophony of panicked voices flooded his head. The situation wasn't just bad; it was a Grade-A catastrophe. He ditched the idea of subtle organization and simply projected his voice with the authority of a god.

"Shut up and listen!"

The comms went dead silent for a heartbeat.

"Command is being integrated into the Plum. Combat data on channel one, evacuation logistics on channel two. The First Fleet is en route, so get those stations ready to receive them! Move it!"

Using BISHOP’s logic, Taro began slicing and dicing the incoming data streams. He was the vanguard, but Liza and Alan were right behind him with the heavy hitters.

"Leave the shooting to me," Bella said, shrugging out of her jacket as she hijacked Marl’s usual seat. "I’ve got this."

"Please do. Honestly, I’m leaning on you like a crutch right now."

Bella’s Gift, Collective Control, was the ultimate cheat code for this kind of mess. She could take a thousand scattered reports and weave them into a single, cohesive battlefield map. While most people struggled to fly a single HAD, she was ready to conduct an entire symphony of destruction. Taro could have managed it, but he was currently busy acting as the star system's switchboard operator.

"Hey, Teiro. It’s worse than we thought," Alan’s face popped up on a sub-monitor, looking uncharacteristically rattled. "Even if we use every ship in the fleet, we can’t pack everyone in. We’d need at least three round trips to clear the backlog."

"We don't have time for three trips! Can’t we 'borrow' some civilian tubs?"

"I’m trying, but the local reception is... chilly," Alan said, his expression souring. "It’s a closed-off system, and well... you know how it goes."

Taro felt a surge of cold fury. The rich bastards. "Let me guess. The local elite don’t give a damn about the peasants? Did they clear out already?"

"First ones out the gate," Alan spat. "The corporate bigwigs decided they’d saved enough of their precious assets to call it a win. To hell with the rest."

"……Fine," Taro hissed. "Make a list. Every ship that fled with an empty cargo bay instead of taking refugees—I want their names. I’m going to make them regret being born."

He took a deep breath, exhaling the rage. He couldn't afford to be angry right now. He needed a solution.

"Think, think, think..."

His eyes traced the blue glow of the Overdrive status as his brain hit overclock speeds. He cycled through a hundred plans, discarding them as fast as they appeared.

Should I just hijack ships? No, no time, no crews. Maybe the Resistance? No, the old man is too far away.

He stared at the star map, tracing the shortest Routes from every friendly port. The math was depressing. Even at full burn, sending the fleet back and forth was still the fastest option—and it was still too slow.

"……Alan, start buying. Buy every ship in the sector that has an engine. I don't care about the price. Just get the hulls here."

"Copy that. But don't come crying to me when you see the bill."

"If it saves people, I’ll let them give me a hug as payment. I'll be fine."

Taro tried to sound confident, but his mind was still churning. A few extra ships wouldn't be enough. If the chaos was this bad, they weren't dealing with a small WIND scouting party. They were looking at a swarm that should have been the frontier defense's problem—if the defense hadn't already buckled.

Am I going to have to abandon an entire system? Dammit, I think I’m going to puke.

He glared at the radar as Wyoming III Station flickered into view. Wyoming IV was deeper in; he still had two Overdrive jumps to go.

"Ships... ships... wait, if we don’t have ships, maybe we use... life-support Capsules or..."

Taro’s eyes widened. He sat up straight, a manic grin spreading across his face.

"That’s it! It’s been there the whole time!"

Shaking with a sudden jolt of inspiration, Taro began frantically punching in codes to contact every department he knew.

---

"Don’t let go! Whatever you do, hold on tight!"

Sophia huddled at the edge of the street, shielding her three sobbing brothers from the stampede. The air was thick with screams and the smell of ozone. The only thing keeping her from collapsing into a puddle of tears was the weight of her younger siblings' lives on her shoulders.

"Rammy, can you walk? Talk to me!"

Rammy was white-faced, clutching a badly twisted ankle she’d sustained when the crowd surged. "I... I can stand. But I can't run, Sophia."

Rammy looked at the passing mob with pure terror.

"Hey! Someone said Pier 4 is empty! The ships are gone!"

"What about the Garam Corp transport at Pier 3? They have to take us!"

"They left an hour ago, you idiot! Get to the Central Control Area! It’s the only place with shields!"

"The news said the center is blockaded! Where are we supposed to go?!"

The crowd was a headless chicken, running in circles of despair. Sophia had hoped to find the Foreman at Pier 4, but it sounded like that hope was already dead.

What do I do? Where do I go?

She couldn't say it out loud. If she broke, the boys would lose it, and they’d be trampled in minutes.

"Wait... Taro-san. Or Maru-san."

They were with a repair company. They had to have a ship. They might have already left, but they were the only straw left to grasp. The piers were a death trap of panicked refugees; she couldn't risk the boys in that meat grinder.

"Rammy, we’re going to the Commercial District. Taro-san might still be there."

Sophia hauled Rammy up, and they began the grueling trek against the flow of the crowd. By the time they cleared the main thoroughfare thirty minutes later, Sophia was a walking bruise, her clothes torn from the friction of the mob.

"It should be... here..."

The streets were eerily quiet now, save for the distant sound of shop windows being smashed. Looters. Sophia gritted her teeth, pushing through the fear until she found the address she’d memorized.

"Block 0-7-2... This is it?"

It was a small, nondescript office building. But unlike the rest of the street, this place was crawling with men holding very large, very scary guns.

"Um... excuse me!" Sophia shouted from a safe distance. "We’re looking for Taro-san! From TM Repair!"

A guard snapped his rifle toward them, his hand held up in a sharp HALT gesture.

"This is the Rising Sun Office. Never heard of TM Repair. Beat it, kid. You’re in the wrong place."

Sophia’s heart sank. She checked her terminal again. The address was perfect. Did he lie? Did I get it wrong? The idea of a dinky repair shop being guarded by a private army seemed ridiculous now that she thought about it.

"But... please..."

She looked at her brothers. They were exhausted, trembling with fatigue. Rammy was barely standing, sweat pouring down her face from the pain in her leg.

"I wondered why you weren't at the docks. You’re a sharp one, aren't you?"

Sophia spun around, gasping. Standing behind them was a man wrapped in an eerie, hooded robe.

"Let them in," the hooded man commanded the guards. "They’re Teiro’s guests."

To Sophia’s shock, the guards snapped to attention. "Sir, yes sir!" They saluted the raggedy, hooded man with more discipline than the planetary police. It was an absurd sight.

"Teiro talks about you quite a bit," the man said. He stepped forward, scooped Rammy up as if she weighed nothing, and started walking toward the entrance. "Come. We have a ship waiting. If you have any friends nearby, call them—as long as it’s not more than a hundred people, we can squeeze them in."

Sophia didn't know who "Teiro" was, but she figured he had to be Taro’s boss or something. She followed him into the building, her mind racing. It was either a trap or a miracle, but she had nothing left to lose. Even if she was walking into trouble, she’d take it if it meant her brothers lived.

"Yes... thank you. Thank you so much."

Sophia bowed low and hurried after the hooded man into the heart of the Rising Sun.