Episode 185

Thanks for waiting! m( )m

I'm sorry for the slow updates lately.

Just to be clear, it’s not because of the light novel publication schedule—the author is just drowning in work. The year-end crunch is officially upon us. orz

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To call the space station "unified" would have been a lie of cosmic proportions; it looked more like a hodgepodge of scrap metal held together by sheer luck and stubbornness.

Yet, it was more massive than anything else in the sector. It loomed over the planet, surrounded by a swarm of vessels and a mountain range of cargo containers, tethered to the surface by three sturdy cables. At that very moment, containers were sliding up the lines from the planet while a fleet of Work Ships scurried about like frantic ants, shoving them into their designated parking spots.

"Look, Dad! That’s one of ours!"

In a rod-shaped observation lounge jutting out from the station, a young boy shouted while smearing his face against the reinforced glass.

"Hmm. Considering forty-nine percent of the containers here were made by us, you’re probably right. Heck, that whole pile over there is likely ours too," a man replied, peering over his son’s head.

The man was Johnny G. Wells VIII. He was the Representative Director of Johnny and Virgin Corp—a company that had just inked a massive Business Alliance with Rising Sun. He was also the father of the boy, who was, unsurprisingly, Johnny G. Wells IX.

"Why isn't it all of them?" the boy asked, spinning around.

Wells briefly considered the merits of "because I said so," but changed his mind after looking at his son’s face. The boy was closing in on 80,000 hours since birth—it was about time he learned how the world actually worked.

"The Public Monopoly Prohibition Act... basically, it’s a rule that says if everyone needs something, everyone should get to help make it. Competition makes products better, see? If only a few companies run the show, they get lazy and stop trying because they don't have any rivals to worry about."

"But you wouldn't get lazy, right Dad?"

"Haha, of course not. But unfortunately, the world is full of people who aren't your old man."

Wells crouched down and ruffled his son’s chestnut hair.

"Listen, John. Business is built on trust. Whether it’s a customer or a rival corporation, you have to act in a way that makes them believe in you. The first step is following the rules. Remember that, okay? And when a window of opportunity opens, you jump through it with both feet."

Don't piss off the people in power. Follow the rules. Never miss a payday. Those were the three commandments the late, Previous Generation Johnny had hammered into Wells’s skull until his ears bled. Wells had lived by them, and he intended to keep it that way.

"Okay, I get it. So, did the Empire make those rules?"

"Nope. A company called Rising Sun made them. They're the big dogs around here now. They even own this space station."

"Whoa... so they're even bigger than us?"

"Well, technically they're much smaller. For now. But soon, 'big' and 'small' won't matter because my company and their company are becoming one. In grown-up talk, we call it a merger."

Johnny and Virgin Corp was an old-school, mid-sized steel giant. Business had been absolutely exploding lately thanks to the sudden, violent demand for warships. By any sane metric, they were much larger than Rising Sun. Usually, the idea of a giant being absorbed by a minnow was a sign of a stroke.

"Life's a funny thing... I'm still not sure if I should thank the gods or sue them," Wells muttered, turning toward a poster on the wall.

It featured the RS Alliance representative flashing a dazzling, perfectly white smile next to the slogan: "YOU JUST HAVE TO RIDE IT—THIS BIG WAVE!"

"The specialty materials from Planet Nuke might just wipe your company’s flagship products off the map."

That’s what the RS Alliance representative had told him during their chat in the Delta Star System. Wells had laughed in his face at first, thinking it was a top-tier prank. Then he actually visited Planet Nuke. It wasn't a joke. High-quality armor plating was literally lying around on the ground like trash—the kind of logic-defying nonsense you only found in bad fantasy novels. Since Wells's company lived and died by armor plate sales, it was a death sentence. He couldn't win a price war against a company that got its materials for free, especially when their quality was better.

Wells could have tried to pivot the company to other sectors. He could have downsized or moved to a distant star system far away from Rising Sun’s reach. If he just wanted the company to "survive," he had options.

"The merger after the Business Alliance is a done deal. Anyone who wants out will get a fat severance check, so don't be shy. The new frontier is the literal middle of nowhere, so don't expect a vacation. But if any of you think being at the top of a brand-new Alliance sounds like a blast, then follow me!"

Wells hadn't hesitated. He’d dismantled his corporate structure and rebuilt it overnight. To an outsider, it looked like he'd lost his marbles, but Wells trusted his gut. His employees thought Rising Sun was a servant of the Reaper, but Wells saw them as a godsend. To him, this was the ultimate gamble.

"They could have just released their product and bankrupt us in a week without a word. Instead, they actually came to warn us because they were worried. They're almost too nice for their own good. Where else am I going to find a company that interesting?"

That was how he’d explained it to the staff who stayed. Sure, "Head of the Rising Sun JAV Development Department" sounded like a step down from "Representative Director," but Wells didn't give a damn. Being a department head in a company of a million people beat being the president of ten thousand any day of the week. Plus, he’d managed to snag a nice chunk of unlisted shares in the deal.

"Things are about to get very interesting."

As a gambler at heart, Wells couldn't help but lick his lips. He gave a sharp cough to distract his confused son and started mentally scrolling through a list of drinking buddies who might be useful in this brave new world.

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"Good morning, President!"

"Morning, President Teiro!"

"GOOD MORNING!! SIR!!"

The voices echoed through the Ladder Top office on Planet Nuke. Taro—or Teiro to them—was pleased to see his employees so fired up, but he couldn't help but feel a little awkward as he waved back.

"Uh, yeah. Hey. Morning."

"My, Teiro, you’re early for once. Is the world ending?"

Taro turned to see Marl holding a stack of data chips.

"Ha ha. Very funny. I just wanted to drop by before the Pioneer Group meeting this afternoon. Honestly, development is moving so fast I’m starting to lose the plot."

Taro walked to a nearby window and looked down at the grey, miserable ball of rock below. Thick sandstorms and a choked atmosphere made Nuke look like a giant, monochromatic dust bunny.

<Access: Window 226. Overlay: Buildings.>

Taro pinged the BISHOP interface, and the window's smart-glass shimmered. The dull haze vanished, replaced by a high-def simulation of the planet's surface as if the atmosphere were perfectly clear.

"Wow, look at that! It's huge. Is that the Sixth Colony?" Marl asked, leaning in next to him.

On the surface of Planet Nuke, several artificial structures branched out like crystalline snowflakes from central hubs.

"Wait, Sixth? Last time I checked, we only had four. Did we just sprout two more while I was taking a nap?"

"Pretty much. They said the Sixth is going to be a mega-colony since the location is naturally easy to defend."

"Man... when investment money starts pouring in, it really doesn't mess around."

With the full backing of the Alliance, Nuke’s development had hit warp speed.

The RS Alliance had initially panicked about how to sell the planet's armor plating without starting a war with the established steel giants, but the absurd merger between Rising Sun and Johnny and Virgin Corp had fixed everything. The business world had called JAV's Wells a lunatic at first, but now they were green with envy. By trading his company, Wells had secured ten percent of Rising Sun’s private stock, transforming from a simple business owner into a major Alliance shareholder. Taro and the others were a bit nervous about having an "outsider" holding that much power, but the massive capital and sales network JAV brought to the table was too good to pass up.

The new "Micro Additional Armor Plate"—sourced from Nuke and processed by JAV—was selling like crazy. They were already on the verge of recouping the entire cost of the planetary development. Thanks to the WIND Crisis, everyone wanted more armor, and a modular plate that could be slapped onto any ship was a stroke of genius. Usually, small-scale armor was expensive to produce, but Rising Sun’s prices were so low it was practically a mugging. The profits were rolling in, making Wells a very, very rich man.

"Good morning, President! Looking forward to today!" another employee chirped as they walked by.

Taro gave a non-committal nod and turned back to Marl.

"What's the matter? You look like you just ate a lemon," Marl said, peering into his face.

Taro shook his head and looked toward the back of the office.

I have absolutely no idea who that person was. Actually, I don't know who half of these people are. This place is packed.

"To be honest... I don't know who any of these people are. The staff has like, quadrupled in three months. It’s too much."

"Ah, yeah. That'll happen. Fifty thousand new people is a lot to memorize."

"Is this even okay? The pace is insane. Are we actually managing any of this?"

"Well, half of them came from JAV, so their management came with them. It’s fine."

"Maybe, but I feel like I walked into the wrong office every time I come here."

"Hahaha! Don't worry, it'll settle down. We’ve got plenty of time to organize. Aside from the WIND, things are pretty peaceful."

Marl leaned against the wall with a relaxed grin. Taro sighed. I guess she’s right.

The RS Alliance Territory was, oddly enough, the quietest place in the galaxy. Everyone—Dingo, the EAP, and RS—was too busy trying to swallow the massive chunks of the Old Enzio Territory they'd grabbed to bother fighting each other.

Nuke's growing, the money's flowing... I guess we’re doing okay.

In the three months since the battle for Ladder Base, most of the NASA personnel had moved into the surface colonies. The "Cyber-WIND" survivors underground popped up to cause trouble occasionally, but it was nothing a few Drive Particle ECM towers couldn't handle.

Meanwhile, Heinlein was leading the Food Development Department on a "forced exploration" mission to find Earth. They hadn't found the planet yet, but they were digging up old maps and relics left and right. Dr. Aljimov was busy dissecting every scrap of history they found, sending the important stuff up to Taro's desk.

Sure, having a colony full of "Outsiders" and sentient computer viruses was a bit of a headache, but it wasn't an immediate disaster. The NASA folks didn't want to leave the planet anyway, and keeping people from sneaking down to the surface was easy when the only way in was through a heavily guarded Orbital Satellite Elevator.

"Peace, huh? It feels like it’s been a million years," Taro muttered.

Between the defense of Alpha, the Enzio Campaign, and the fight for Nuke, Taro had been running for his life since the moment he hit outer space. He’d gained a lot, but he’d lost plenty too. Peace was a hell of a drug.

"It has. So let’s make sure we keep it," Marl said softly.

Taro nodded. He couldn't agree more.

But even if they wanted peace... even if every single person in the galaxy wanted it...

No one could say how long it would last.

Because unfortunately, this was Outer Space. And Outer Space was a jerk.

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I'm going to try my best to update more often!

By the way (?), Galactic War Chronicles: Live Ammunition Weapons (2) Battle of Alpha is on sale now! Please check out the extra episodes. Promo, promo—