Episode 186

"I-I'm saved!"

The merchant screamed in pure, unadulterated relief as a colossal silhouette appeared on his radar screen. His transport ship’s shields were flickering on their last legs; a few seconds more, and his fate would have been sealed—either as a high-value hostage for some space-thug’s ransom or as a fresh smear of sparkling dust on the cosmic windshield.

"Look at 'em run! Serves you right, you vultures! I hope that thing turns you into scrap metal!" his partner hollered.

True to his word, the three pirate ships that had been hounding them like starved dogs were now pulling a complete 180, hauling tail at maximum acceleration away from the giant that had just warped into the sector.

"Heh, you're not kidding... Man, that is one chunky boat. Did the local station send a defense monitor or something?"

The massive vessel was broadcasting an identification signal marking it as an ally. It was, without a doubt, the largest ship the merchant had ever seen in his life.

"Might be a specialized shield ship. I’m gonna go check if the cargo survived the shaking. You get on the horn with that thing," the partner said, squeezing out of the cramped cockpit.

The man offered a distracted "Got it" and beamed a communication request toward the titan.

[YELLOW ALERT: HIGH-SPEED DEBRIS APPROACHING]

The warning flashed across the man’s BISHOP interface. He reflexively reached for the evasive maneuver controls, but a quick glance at the telemetry showed the debris was on a trajectory that would pass safely wide of his hull.

"Debris out here? Talk about bad luck... Whoa, what the!?"

A blinding flash erupted from behind his ship. He frantically toggled the monitor to the rear-view, only to see one of the three fleeing pirate vessels erupting into a glorious, expanding fireball.

"Did it slam into that debris? Hah! Sucks to be them!"

Even in an age where debris incineration lasers were standard equipment, high-speed collisions hadn't been entirely erased from the history books. He had a fleeting thought about why the explosion looked so... thorough, but he quickly dismissed it. The other two pirates had already managed to drive-out to parts unknown, but seeing the unlucky third ship get erased left him feeling quite refreshed.

"'Hellooo! Is everyone okay over there?'"

A chirpy voice crackled over the comms. The merchant wiped the sweat from his face and slapped on his best "grateful survivor" smile before opening the channel.

"Yeah, we're alive! Man, you guys were a sight for sore eyes. I can't thank you enough. You're with the station, right? Or are you a... wait, a Battleship?"

The digital handshake for the comm-link provided supplemental data, and the ship-type field was occupied by a single, terrifying word: Battleship.

"'Aye-aye! This is the Battleship Plum. We picked up your distress signal and dropped by to play hero. But, uh, you’re currently in a no-navigation zone. You wouldn't happen to have a permit, would you?'"

The merchant’s face cramped. In this neck of the woods, everyone knew the name Battleship Plum. It was the kilometer-class monster built by Alliance Top—a carrier-capable assault ship that was essentially the boogeyman of the sector. Once it started hunting you, it was game over. Nobody knew how it worked, but word on the street was that it could sniff out a ship equipped with high-end stealth equipment like a bloodhound on a steak.

"'Don't even think about running, okay? We’ll definitely find you. Besides, the operational costs for this girl are a total nightmare, so please don't make us burn extra fuel chasing you down.'"

"R-Run? Perish the thought! We, uh... we’re new to the sector! We had no idea this was a restricted zone! Honest!"

"'Yes, yes, of course. All the violators say that. We’re going to escort you to the nearest station. Try to have the fine payment signed by the time we get there. It’s pretty steep, but hey, being broke is better than being dead, right?'"

It was a merciless declaration. The merchant slumped his shoulders, defeated.

"That's thirty-two," Marl groaned on the bridge of the Battleship Plum, looking utterly done with the universe.

Teiro, who felt exactly the same way, nodded with a heavy sigh. "Tell me about it."

"They didn't even try to hide... Boring. You can't play hide-and-seek if the seeker is the only one playing," muttered Etta—the Plum's "Super Radar."

Teiro gave a small, tired chuckle and reached over to ruffle Etta’s hair. "Thanks for the hard work. I'll count on you again if we need a miracle... but I think we’re good for today."

He checked his watch. It was about time for Etta to go to bed. Her supernatural detection abilities were a no-go without a strict regimen of sleep and rest.

"He's right. We can handle the cleanup. Goodnight, Etta," Marl said, waving.

Etta gave a tiny nod and wandered off the bridge with her usual, slightly unsteady gait.

"Seriously though, pirates..." Teiro mused. "I knew they were out here, but I didn't think they were crawling out of the woodwork like cockroaches."

It wasn't just RS Alliance territory; pirate activity was spiking across the entire Alpha Region Space. Individually, the attacks weren't much to write home about, but the cumulative financial damage was becoming a massive headache.

"They don't touch the big ships, so it's the small-to-medium businesses and the independent guys who take the hit," Marl said, crossing her arms and frowning. "I mean, I don't have much sympathy for the guys operating illegally like these last two, but we have to fix this. It’s gumming up the gears of the economy."

Most pirate vessels were fast, light frigates. They avoided anything with real teeth, preferring to pick on small-time traders, transports, or anyone too cheap to hire an escort.

In the heart of the Empire, everything was organized and safe, but out here in outer space, small businesses were the lifeblood of the frontier. With the Alliance territory currently booming with startups, having pirates scare off entrepreneurs was a disaster waiting to happen. Teiro and the crew were using the patrols as training for fleet operations, but the territory was simply too vast to keep a lid on everything.

"By the way, Mr. Teiro, I have a question. The vessel presumed to be a pirate ship exploded instantly upon impact. Did you load explosive shells into the main battery?"

Koume’s inflectionless voice drifted from a command seat. Except, instead of her humanoid form, Koume was currently a metallic sphere resting on the cushion. Her humanoid android body had choked on the fine sand of Planet Nuke and was currently in the shop for a precision overhaul. Everyone had suggested she just hop into a temporary spare body, but she had stubbornly refused.

"No way. Those were just standard armor-piercing shells. Using large-caliber HE on a frigate would be a war crime. That's just a guaranteed execution. I was aiming for their engines, so... Wait, was it that?"

Teiro made a sour face as a theory clicked into place. Marl looked at him like a kid who'd been left out of a secret club. "What? What is it?"

"Yes, Miss Marl," Koume explained. "It is highly probable that the explosion was not triggered by Mr. Teiro's shells, but was instead a 'self-destruction.' It was not a standard scuttling. As you know, the fusion engines commonly used by the Galactic Empire are designed with safety protocols that make a hull-consuming detonation nearly impossible under normal combat damage. Furthermore, this is not the first time we have witnessed such an anomaly."

Marl went quiet, her expression turning pensive.

"Not scuttling, but self-destructing... Everyone on that ship would have been killed instantly. Piracy is a heavy crime, but we aren't the Dingo Territory; we don't just hand out death sentences for every little thing. Which means... they were hiding something?"

Marl tapped her chin. They'd rather die than be captured?

"Probably," Teiro replied.

"But," Marl countered, her brow furrowed, "they didn't even try to evacuate. They blew it up with the crew still inside. That means whatever they were protecting was more valuable than their lives. Information? But why would low-level pirates have info like that?"

"Beats me. If we were fighting some massive pirate syndicate, sure—it could be the location of their secret base or the identity of the big boss."

"But we haven't heard a peep about any 'Great Pirate King,'" Marl noted. "Every group we've busted has been an individual or a tiny pack of ten people. Are they just that loyal to each other?"

"No way," Teiro scoffed. "Those guys would sell their own mothers for a handful of credits and a head start. That’s what separates them from the Space Mafia. Pirates don't have honor; they have greed."

"I guess... Ugh, I really don't get how these criminals think."

Marl shrugged, defeated. The two humans and the sphere spent a few moments in silent contemplation, but no easy answers were forthcoming.

A world of green. Every wall was draped in vines that basked in the glow of artificial ultraviolet rays, and unripened clusters of grapes hung from the ceiling like emerald chandeliers. The floor was a carpet of lush grass, sparkling with droplets from a recent sprinkler cycle. The benches and tables were all wooden, but remarkably, they were still alive—grown into the shape of furniture while still pulse-pumping plants. The only thing in the room that looked man-made was the heavy, reinforced door.

In this sanctuary of supreme luxury—a level of excess permitted to only a handful of souls in the galaxy—the mistress of the room was casually lounging in her birthday suit. Her body was firm and voluptuous, possessing the skin of a twenty-year-old, though her chronological age was well over forty. She spent a king's ransom on anti-aging treatments every year, though it was a drop in the bucket compared to her actual income.

"Squad B121 encountered the RS Alliance flagship while on patrol. One ship self-destructed after its engines were disabled. Two escaped the sector. The attack was carried out by those rumored kinetic weapons... To think they can snipe a frigate's engine from that distance. What a terrifying toy."

The woman finished reading the report on her terminal. Despite her words, she was wearing a wide, predatory smile.

"If we had to fight it, how should we go about it? I wonder if five or six battleships would be enough if they were prepared for mutual destruction? Fufu... that would be a lovely picture."

She closed her eyes, imagining five ships being torn apart in a glorious dance of fire with Rising Sun’s new toy, her body writhing at the thought of such maddening destruction.

"I hate to disappoint you, Sister, but it wouldn't go like that. In reality, a fleet three times that size would simply surround the target and end it," a voice said from near her feet.

The owner of the voice, another woman who had been lying on the grass, stood up and brushed the stray blades of green from her skin.

"You have no sense of wonder, Yotta. Romance is the most important part of the battlefield!"

The woman set her terminal on a living desk and stood up. she walked over to the newcomer and gently stroked her sister's face.

"I don't understand, Sister Etta. Is winning not the only purpose of battle?" the younger sister asked, her voice an exact match for her sibling's.

"Perhaps," the older sister whispered. She traced the jawline of the girl who shared her exact face.

In her eyes, it was the most beautiful face in the entire galaxy.