Episode 161

"That’s one hell of a chunky armored vehicle. Is this the standard for you topsiders?"

Heinlein was idling by a Tank in the hangar when a man strolled up, rapping his knuckles against the hull. Without waiting for an answer, the stranger closed the distance and thrust out a hand. "The name’s Mike."

"Nice to meet you, Mike. I'm Heinlein. You’re the leader of the combat unit, right?"

Heinlein gripped the man's hand. It was rough, calloused, and thick—the hand of a seasoned old salt who had seen his fair share of dirt and fire.

"Yeah, that’s me. Though 'combat unit' is a bit of a stretch. Mostly we just handle chores. It’s not like we’re shivering in our boots twenty-four hours a day, waiting for those things to kill us."

Mike shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"I see. Still, I heard your lot sent the distress signal. The WIND is a real threat out there, isn't it? You’re brave men."

Heinlein and his crew had been lucky enough to avoid a direct encounter so far, but the NASA survivors had filled their ears with horror stories about the Ground-type WIND. He didn't know their exact specs, but he certainly wasn't itching to play tag with them in the flesh.

"Give me a break. Look at the junk we’re packing," Mike said, hoisting his rifle. "Compared to you guys, we’re playing with toys."

Heinlein shook his head and gave the man’s shoulder a friendly jab. "Courage is what matters."

And maybe a very large gun, he added silently.

"I know exactly how much guts it takes to be a Land Combat Soldier. For the record, this thing is a Tank—a specialized type of armored vehicle. The Empire doesn’t use them, so this is likely a custom job by our President."

Heinlein slapped the Tank's side, echoing Mike’s earlier gesture. The sound was deep and dense, hinting at armor thick enough to stop a falling moon.

"We’ve got armored cars with cannons, but nothing this massive," Mike admitted, eyeing the barrel. "What’s the propellant? You still using Plasma Expansion Bodies?"

"Nah, this is an Electromagnetic Cannon. A Railgun. We use plasma tech for other things, but our company specializes in these babies."

"A Railgun? Man, that’s ancient. Total antique. Can the batteries even handle it? The ones we use are good for maybe a few shots before they give up the ghost."

"They hold up just fine. Technology’s come a long way in four hundred years... or maybe it was always possible and people were just too lazy to try. It’s a fusion of legacy tech and cutting-edge science."

Heinlein had been shoulder-to-deep-space with his bosses, Alan and Teiro, during the Tank’s development. The President had called it exactly that: the marriage of matured, "weathered" tech and the latest breakthroughs.

"Since we don't need explosives or expansion gases to chuck a shell, the risk of the whole thing blowing up if we take a hit is basically zero. If we just load Armor-Piercing Shells, there’s nothing inside to catch fire. Old tech has its charms."

Heinlein beamed with pride. Mike nodded, genuinely impressed.

"I’ll give you that. It’s a clever setup... and is this Black Metal Armor Plate? Does it have a shield generator? Damn, your company must be drowning in credits."

Mike leaned in close to the grayish hull, muttering under his breath. Heinlein just chuckled.

"The President is a softie. He’s obsessed with employee safety. He drags us into some absolute nonsense, sure, but he makes it worth our while. I’m sure he’ll extend the same 'overprotective parent' treatment to you guys."

According to the grapevine, the Rising Sun Alliance was set to absorb NASA. If that was the plan, Heinlein knew the President wouldn't dream of leaving these people to rot.

"Is that so? Sounds like a hell of a boss. By the way, what’s your rank? Security Department? Tactical Lead?"

"Actually, I’m the Manager of the Food Development Department."

"…The Food Development Department?"

"That’s right. Food Development."

Heinlein—the mountain of a man, former Imperial Military Land Combat Unit elite, and current King of Groceries—affirmed it with total gravity. Mike, predictably, looked like his brain had just short-circuited.

In a darkened room, the glow from a massive screen washed over the Rising Sun crew. They watched the footage in rapt, horrified silence, punctuated only by the occasional gasp.

"Good thing we went with the heavy armor—the Tanks," Marl said, her voice dropping an octave. "Going up against that on foot would be a suicide mission."

"No kidding..." Teiro muttered, looking dazed. I didn't think we were in a bug movie.

The WIND on the screen was a mechanical nightmare about four meters tall, modeled after some monstrous creature. It had six legs, twin cannons, and armor plating that left no gaps for a lucky shot. To Teiro, it looked like a giant, metal, laser-shooting insect from Earth. Despite their bulk, the things skittered across the terrain with terrifying speed, hammering NASA's armored cars with shells.

"Looking at this, I can almost understand why the Empire decided to just glass the surface," Alan said, his chin resting on his interlaced fingers as he glared at the screen.

Teiro nodded, squinting at the black carpet of machines. "Forget the individual specs for a second—look at how many there are. You can't even see the dirt!"

The footage, taken from a high cliffside, showed a narrow valley floor. It was a sea of writhing, metallic bodies, crawling over one another in a mindless, forward surge. It looked like an army ant march—if the ants were the size of SUVs.

"They usually stay hidden," the NASA Tactical Officer explained with a weary sigh. "They only surface when they sense us topside. But as soon as the fighting stops, they burrow back down. They probably haven't forgotten the orbital bombardments."

"What about their weapons?" Alan pointed at a streak of light on the paused screen. "If they’re using those in an atmosphere, they must be high-extension Beams. How’s the output?"

"The power isn't actually that high," the officer replied. "Physics is a bitch—beam intensity and atmospheric extension have an inverse relationship. Those cannons are mostly for anti-personnel use. Against armored vehicles, they prefer to get up close and personal with ramming attacks, or they bring in a specialized WIND with a bigger gun. Even then, they have to be at point-blank range because of the attenuation."

"I see. Any tactical nukes? Large-scale chemical or explosive reactions?"

"Not so far. This is just a guess, but we don't think they even know what nuclear or chemical weapons are. Do they use them up in space?"

"No, nothing like that up there either... Interesting. So they’re ignorant of the classics. Since we don't use them, I suppose they never had a reason to learn."

Alan let out a low groan, looking up at the ceiling. Teiro listened to them, his imagination running wild. What if humanity had stuck with missiles and nukes? Since the Incineration Beams are useless here, would this have turned into a brutal, old-school war of attrition?

"Can't we just drop a Nuclear Attack on their nests?" Marl asked. "In an atmosphere or underground, the shockwaves would be devastating, wouldn't they?"

In the vacuum of space, a nuke was just a flash of light, heat, and radiation. But on a planet with air and dirt, you got the Big Boom—the shockwave.

"We’ve tried, Miss Marl," the officer said. "It’s the only area where we actually have the upper hand. But nukes cause the ground to settle and sink. It’s hard to find a target that won't result in us accidentally crushing our own city."

"Oh. Right. Hey, Teiro? Got any bright ideas?"

"Hmm..." Teiro leaned back, thinking. Marl was right; nukes were tempting, but he wanted to avoid them if possible. Not because he was a pacifist, but because he didn't want to bury any potential loot. Ruins filled with tech are no good if they’re under a trillion tons of radioactive rubble.

"Ideally, we hold the line with conventional forces, push them back, and then save the Nuclear Attack for a surgical strike. If we find their critical infrastructure—like a factory or a hive—we can rain fire from above."

"From above? You have bombs that can penetrate that deep?"

"Nah, but it’s fine. We’ll just keep hitting the same spot over and over. We'll get there eventually."

"Brute force? I mean, sure, that works... but do you have any idea how much that would cost?"

"…I’d really rather not think about the bill."

War was just a contest of who had the deeper pockets. That was true for the Galactic Empire, and it was true for fighting metal bugs.

"Anyway, we need to scout the ruins first. Based on the footage, I don't think we’re tactically outmatched. We’ll have to swap the Tank shields from Physical to Beam, but our cannons should tear right through them."

Teiro smirked. Alan picked up the thread. "So, the same dynamic as in space?"

"NASA’s solid-slug cannons didn't have the punch, but our Railguns are a different story," Alan said, nodding with satisfaction. "The penetration power is on a whole other level."

Teiro started visualizing the tactical formations for an underground tank battalion. Blitzkrieg in a basement. I can work with that.

"…Koume?"

Teiro noticed the AI girl hadn't said a word. She was frozen, staring at the paused screen with an intensity that was almost unnerving.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Teiro, Mr. Alan? Actually, anyone—has any of you ever seen a WIND with such a... beautiful form before?"

The room went quiet. Everyone turned to look at her. "Beautiful?" Teiro repeated, skeptical.

"Yes," Koume whispered. "Koume may not understand 'art,' but she finds this beautiful. Look, Mr. Teiro. Is it not a masterpiece of functional beauty? A design stripped of all excess, forged only to move and to kill."

The crew looked back at the screen. Alan's eyes widened. Phantom, who had been a shadow in the corner, let out a soft "Aha."

"The fact that they are Ground-types seems to have masked the most glaring anomaly," Koume continued, pointing at the screen. "They are unmistakably WIND, yet the divergence is staggering."

She paused for dramatic effect.

"Where are the salvaged human parts? Did NASA ever produce these specific components in such massive quantities? Koume thinks not. They are—"

Koume smiled, the expression of someone who had just solved a grand puzzle.

"They are reproducing themselves entirely from scratch. They are mass-producing their own bespoke designs. This is a level of autonomy never before seen in the WIND. It makes them seem... almost like actual living organisms, don't you think, Mr. Teiro?"