Chapter 159: Ground Tactics and Sore Backsides

"A giant open space, huh? I’ve got a real bad feeling about this. Like, a 'we're all going to die' kind of bad feeling."

Marl grumbled as she swirled a glass of booze—and not just any glass, this was actual, honest-to-god glass!! She was currently lounging in the executive-class parlor at the foot of the orbital elevator. Since you needed a high-level keycard just to step through the door, it was the perfect spot for plotting, scheming, or complaining about their current predicament.

"I’m with you on that. No matter how you slice it, this has ‘WIND Nest’ written all over it."

Taro checked the data Phantom had brought back on his terminal. Looking thoroughly fed up with existence, he sprawled his legs out and shoved his feet onto the sofa.

"Mr. Teiro, it would be prudent to keep your feet on the floor. Unlike the station, this environment is teeming with sand and dust."

"Oh, right. My bad."

Taro hurriedly pulled his feet back down. When he checked the soles of his shoes, he saw actual grit caught in the anti-slip grooves. That was a first—living on a sterile space station usually meant you could eat off your own footwear.

"The General was right about sealing the gear," Alan said, holding up a terminal encased in a thick rubber sleeve. "Apparently, some of the staffers' personal gadgets were getting absolutely trashed by the grit."

Taro flashed a smug, 'I told you so' grin. "Told ya. Back on Earth, there’s this thing called a desert—basically a giant sandbox that hates technology. I’d heard that even the most expensive cameras get ruined if a single grain of sand gets inside. Figured stuff designed for the vacuum of space would be even more fragile."

Though right now, this whole damn planet is basically one big desert, Taro added silently.

"Even so, now that we're actually down here, it’s insane how little information there is about planetary living," Marl sighed, looking genuinely annoyed. "I’ve tried searching the neural net a dozen times, but it’s all scraps and fragments. Why is it so barren?"

"If I had to guess," Koume interjected, "it is simply because nobody cares. As you are aware, the overwhelming majority of the human race lives on space stations. The number of people who actually live on a planet's surface is statistically negligible. Furthermore, while corporations that own habitable planets likely have their own survival manuals, they treat that information like a corporate secret."

"I guess... I mean, I didn't care either until I was stuck in the middle of it."

"Many Imperial Citizens view habitable planets as nothing more than 'unusually large asteroids,' Miss Marl. Though 'unusually large' is a bit of an understatement," Koume added with a rare, playful glint in her eyes.

Taro let out a short laugh and took a swig of the high-proof liquor he was finally starting to tolerate.

"If we’re going to explore a whole planet, we just have to take it one step at a time. I asked Lin for some data, but the response was lukewarm at best. Apparently, the subsidiary companies are throwing a fit about sharing secrets."

Taro flicked the rim of his glass, raising an eyebrow. Alan looked over. "What about Dean’s end?"

"That’s our best bet. He said he’d grease some wheels at the Terraform Center. We should have a data dump coming in soon... though it’s going to cost me a literal fortune."

Taro looked pained at the thought of the bill, but Alan just crossed his arms.

"It’s still cheaper than doing the survey ourselves from scratch. If money buys us a lower chance of getting killed, it's a bargain. If the Terraform Center is actually talking, that’s a good sign."

Alan seemed genuinely relieved. The Terraform Center was an official body meant for Imperial expansion, not a charity for frontier startups. Getting them to help a potential rival company was a miracle in itself.

"Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I don't want to go poking around the SOS source until we’ve got some real firepower. Phantom, what’s your take?"

Phantom let out a sharp, metallic snort. "Until we know what’s waiting for us, we shouldn't go charging in like idiots. I don’t know what 'Ground-type WIND' looks like, but I guarantee they aren't pushovers. The local Security Team couldn't hold them back, after all."

The official story was that Nuke had been overrun and the humans purged. Dean suspected the Empire had just cut their losses and run, which meant the Imperial Land Combat forces hadn't even bothered to show up. Still, it was hard to believe the local corporations didn't have at least some heavy-duty security on the payroll.

"True. So, we wait for the big boys to be finished," Taro said, his mind drifting toward the weapon order he’d sent to the Technical Development Department. He’d placed a request with Makina Corp based on some half-remembered memories of Earth history. Whether it would actually work was anyone's guess, but it beat fighting with a pointed stick.

"You mean those 'Tanks'?" Marl asked, tilting her head. "I heard they’re only ten meters long. Is that really enough? If the enemy has Battleship-class ground units, don't we need something... bigger?"

She mimicked a giant machine with her hands.

"Actually, that is unlikely, Miss Marl," Koume said, her face returning to its default expressionless state.

"Why not?"

Koume held up her terminal, displaying a series of dizzyingly complex equations. "Ground pressure. Unlike space, we have to deal with two annoying factors: constant gravity and the fact that the ground has a breaking point. If you build something with the mass of a battleship, it won't walk—it will simply sink into the crust and stay there forever. The reason Mr. Teiro’s 'Tanks' use a Continuous Track is to spread that weight so they don't become permanent landmarks."

Koume’s screen flickered to a cute little doodle of a tank with crawler tracks. In the animation, the tank trundled along a line until it hit a soft patch, buried itself up to the turret, and stopped moving.

"Oh, I see... but what about fixed defenses? Buildings stay up just fine," Marl countered.

Alan raised a hand. "Sure, you can build a massive bunker, but a weapon that can't move is just a very expensive target. In space, you have shields and beams to cover your lack of mobility, but on the ground? You're just waiting for someone to lob a guided missile at you from over the horizon."

Marl nodded, finally looking satisfied with the explanation.

"Right," Taro said, standing up and scanning the room. "For now, we focus on identifying that SOS source. Keep it low-key and cautious. If you find anything—and I mean anything—send it to me immediately."

[THIS IS PANTHER 1. NO ABNORMALITIES DETECTED. WE HAVE REACHED THE TARGET POINT, BUT IT’S JUST MORE SAND. REQUESTING ORDERS.]

The transmission was thick with static. Taro, shoved into the cramped back seat of an Armored Vehicle, grabbed the headset and cursed the BISHOP system. You couldn't exactly fit a massive interstellar comms array onto a ground car, leaving them with a depressingly narrow bandwidth.

"This is Chi-Ha. Copy that, Panther 1. Stay on station with Panther 2 and keep your eyes peeled. That SOS pings every two hours like clockwork. The next one should be coming up any minute."

Taro checked the electronic sheet on his wrist before looking at Marl in the passenger seat.

"We’re all set," she said, giving him a thumbs-up. "The other two vehicles are in position. We’ll be able to triangulate the exact coordinate the second it pings."

Taro returned the gesture and focused on the 2D tactical screen. At least on the ground, you didn't have to worry about the Z-axis.

"We’re gonna catch this thing today... Damn it, this is like the galaxy’s worst game of whack-a-mole."

This was their fifth reconnaissance sortie using a fleet of 200 combat vehicles, including the new prototype tanks. Every single time, they’d come home empty-handed because the SOS source kept moving. It was jumping all over the map. They’d thought about dropping stationary sensors everywhere, but the sandstorms just ate them for breakfast.

"The maintenance costs on these things are killing us," Marl groaned. "I’m starting to wonder if whoever’s sending this actually wants to be rescued."

Koume, who was expertly handling the steering wheel, didn't look back as she spoke. "There may be a logical reason for the movement, Miss Marl."

"A reason, huh..." Taro leaned his seat back and laced his fingers behind his head. Maybe there’s someone else down here, and they’re moving so the WIND doesn't find them? Like a group of survivors living in the tunnels, terrified of the surface?

He looked at Marl. She seemed to be chewing on the same thought.

"Maybe... it’s possible, but hard to prove. The most likely answer is an automated beacon that's malfunctioning, but that’s boring. What if it’s two different WIND factions at war?"

"No way. If the WIND were busy fighting themselves, the rest of the galaxy would be a lot more peaceful."

"Fair point... Wait! Taro, it’s here!!"

Marl’s relaxed posture vanished instantly as she dived into the sensors. Taro lunged forward, staring at the monitor.

"It’s close! Just twenty-five klicks South-Southeast. All units, this is Headquarters! I’m uploading the coordinates now. Move out, and stay sharp!!"

[PANTHER 1, COPIED.]

[PANTHER 2, UNDERSTOOD.]

[TIGER 1, ROGER THAT. WE ARE MOVING INTO SECONDARY ALERT FORMATION TO LEAD THE WAY... HEY, TARO. YOU RECKON THIS ONE’S THE REAL DEAL?]

Alan’s voice crackled through the comms.

"Who knows?" Taro replied. "But hit or miss, this is the last run for a while. If we don't find it today, we're giving up on the surface and just digging a hole."

Taro had already put in an order for a fleet of heavy-duty excavators. Since the SOS pings always seemed to come from directly above the massive underground cavities, the logic was simple: if they won't come up, we’re going down. It was a crude plan, but it was reliable.

"It'll cost a fortune in manpower and time, though... so yeah, I’m praying we find something today."

Taro muttered the prayer under his breath, knowing he wasn't the only one suffering. Except for Alan, who had actual military training, the rest of the crew was miserable. The constant vibrating and swaying of the ground vehicles was a nightmare. Taro’s own rear end was practically a giant bruise at this point. He was starting to think the most valuable resource on Nuke wasn't scrap metal or data—it was medicinal heat patches.

"Well, we'll know the truth in an hour."

Taro watched the marker on the tactical screen. The target was slowly, steadily getting closer.

Wait, did I just have a moment of déjà vu? Nah, probably just my imagination!