Chapter 19: The Handyman and the Dunga Ritual

"Searching for Chikyuu? You mean the legendary planet? Okay, that’s a riot. Good joke, Boss. Now, what’s the real story?"

Taro had successfully reached the station—the destination for their latest delivery. Inside a posh bar nestled within the station’s sprawling structure, the man known as Call Sign C111—Alan—ran a hand through his messy brown hair. Alan was a mountain of a man, a full head taller than Taro. I probably look like a toddler sitting next to this guy, Taro thought as they perched on their stools at the counter.

"No, really, it’s the truth," Taro insisted, shifting uncomfortably. His rear did a nervous little dance on the high-end upholstery of the barstool. "The deliveries are just to keep us in fuel and food. My real goal is the search."

Alan slammed back a shot of something high-proof and let out a satisfied grunt. "Hey, come on, don’t hold out on me, Boss. You’re flying a military-grade vessel armored in Black Metal. No one 'searches for things' in a ship like that. Not with the kind of cargo you’re hauling, and definitely not with the way you handle a fight. You move like someone who knows exactly how to kill. What is it? Some kind of deep-cover military op?"

"If I look like a soldier to you, Alan, you really need to get your eyes checked. I’ve got some technical knowledge, sure, but I’m just an ordinary civilian."

"Hmm... well, everyone’s got secrets they can’t spill, I guess." Alan ordered another round from the digital display on the bar. "Look, Boss, let me in on the action. I’ve already proven I can pull my weight, right? 'Handyman Alan' is a name that actually carries some weight on this station."

Taro watched Alan drain his second glass with a wince. Taro was still nursing his own drink, his tongue baffled by the aggressive flavor of the expensive booze. He knew Alan was a top-tier pilot—the man had deleted three WIND units while piloting a mere frigate—and having him join the Corp would be a massive asset. But Marl had been very specific about not letting random people in.

"A Handyman? Like a jack-of-all-trades? I mean, 'handy' is a bit vague. What can you actually do?" Taro asked, squinting at the big man as if trying to find a price tag.

Alan flashed a shark-like grin. "Asking a Handyman what he 'can do' is a bit gauche, Boss. The answer is 'everything.' If you tell me to do it, and it's physically possible, I do it. That’s the job."

Taro tilted his head, confused. Is that even an answer? It sounds like a riddle.

Alan caught the look in Taro’s blue eyes and laughed. "Man, you really are a babe in the woods, aren't you? Handyman is the most popular gig on these stations. What, are you some elite who went straight from a military academy to the captain's chair? Whatever. It’s faster to show you."

Alan popped a small chip out of the badge pinned to his chest. Recognizing it as a Pulse Chip, Taro took it and slapped it directly onto his forehead.

"...Oh. I get it now."

A massive data dump hit Taro’s brain—Alan’s resume. It was an exhaustive list of skills, certifications, and a history of successfully completed contracts. Ship piloting, engine maintenance, signals intelligence, janitorial work, and even gourmet cooking. The list was so long it would have taken Taro an hour just to scroll to the bottom.

"Pilot, mechanic, spy, janitor, and chef... you really are a one-man army. But if you’ve been doing this for eight years and you’re this good, why the hell do you want to join us?"

Alan’s grin widened. "I can smell it."

"Smell what?"

"The scent of money, Boss. It’s practically dripping off you. I don't know the specifics, but you're trying to pull off something huge. I can feel it in my gut."

"Ah, well..." Taro gave a non-committal shrug. Finding a lost cradle of humanity probably counts as 'something huge,' yeah.

"Heh, I knew it. Look, I’m not saying you have to sign me to the Corp today. You can just hire me as an external contractor for now. If you check the list on that chip, you’ll see I’ve got a crew of five. We’ve only got one ship between us, but we can handle any job you throw at us."

"Got it," Taro said. "But just out of curiosity... if there are five of you and you’re making good money, why haven't you started your own Corp? The tax breaks alone would be worth it."

"Start my own?" Alan’s expression soured. "If it were that easy, I wouldn't be drinking in a bar like this, Boss. Do you have any idea what the startup costs for a registered Corp are? I’ve tried, believe me, but the red tape is a nightmare."

"Oh... right." Taro felt a sudden pang of guilt. I literally stumbled into a fortune without lifting a finger. I should probably stop talking before I sound like a jerk.

"By the way," Taro said, leaning in. "Among those five crew members... are there any, uh, women?"

Alan shrugged dismissively. "Nah, it’s just a bunch of dudes. Why? Wait... Boss. Are you... a virgin?"

Taro jumped as if he’d been electrocuted. Alan’s eyes lit up with a mischievous glint, and he leaned in close to Taro’s ear.

"Don't sweat it, brother. Me too. By the way, are you interested in a secret bypass code for the high-end pornographic holographs?"

Taro decided, right then and there, to hire Alan.

---

"Dunga, dun-dunga!"

"Du-dunga-dun!"

Taro and Alan were currently sidling toward Marl, chanting in rhythm while performing a series of bizarre, jerky movements.

"Dunga?" Taro asked, striking a pose.

"Du-dunga?" Alan replied, mirroring him.

The two men froze in a ridiculous, symmetrical crouch, staring expectantly at a very confused Marl.

"What is wrong with you? That’s creepy... and who the hell is this guy?" Marl’s face was twisted in pure, unadulterated disgust.

Taro suddenly realized Marl had only heard Alan’s voice over the comms; she had no idea who this giant was.

"Dungaaaa—"

"Du-dun-dungaaaa—"

The two men stayed low, inching closer to her like a pair of synchronized predators.

"Wait, stop. You’re actually scaring me now!" Marl’s brow furrowed.

The duo stopped. Taro looked at Alan. "Dunga?"

Alan nodded solemnly. "Dunga."

"Ugh, what do you even want from me?" Marl groaned, throwing her hands up.

Taro and Alan repeated the "Dunga?" chant one more time, their eyes wide with desperate expectation. Marl looked back and forth between them, hesitated for a long, painful second, and finally gave in.

"............Du... Dunga?" she muttered, her face turning a bright shade of pink as she looked away in shame.

"YEE-HAAAAW!!"

"HYA-HAAAA!!"

The two men leaped into the air and shared a thunderous high-five.

"Miss Marl. I have detected high concentrations of alcohol on Mr. Teiro’s breath," Koume announced. They were now back in Marl’s hotel room, where the mechanical girl looked on with an expression of profound weariness. "As the ancient texts suggest, it is best to leave a drunkard to his own devices."

"I can smell the booze from across the room, Koume," Marl snapped. She then promptly delivered a sharp kick to Taro’s shin.

"Ow!"

"Sigh... look, I’m not saying you can’t drink, but I don’t appreciate you barging into my room, Teiro. And knowing you, you probably hacked the lock in your sleep. You’re going to get arrested one of these days."

Marl reached into her pouch and pulled out a small adhesive patch, slapping it onto Taro’s neck.

"It’s a Drunker Sheet. It forces your liver to pump out acetaldehyde-decomposing enzymes. If you don't want a hangover that feels like a ship crash, leave it on until tomorrow. Now... President. Are you going to introduce your new friend?"

Taro, feeling the sobering effects of the patch already kicking in, sat up straight in a formal seiza position under Marl’s judgmental gaze. He quickly explained Alan’s credentials.

"A Handyman... well, I guess that’s fine," Marl said, surprisingly amenable. "We’re going to hit a wall eventually if it’s just the three of us trying to dig up info."

Taro blinked, surprised. Wow, I guess being a Handyman is actually a respected profession around here. He mentally bumped the job up a few tiers in his internal rankings.

"Looking forward to working with you," Alan said, nodding to Marl and Koume.

"Indeed, Mr. Alan," Koume replied. "By the way, do you happen to have a history of military service?"

Both Taro and Alan froze. Alan tilted his head. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, please don't mind me," Koume said airily. "I was simply impressed that you were able to identify a well-camouflaged Military-grade Armor Plate for what it was, despite the extensive battle damage. It suggested a high level of familiarity."

Taro gasped. He looked at Alan, who was now awkwardly scratching his cheek.

"Man, I really stepped in it, didn't I?" Alan sighed. "Yeah, I was in. Only lasted a year, though. Too many rules. If you’re worried about my record, don't be. I wasn't just discharged—the Imperial Government actually erased my service record entirely."

"Erased?" Marl’s eyes widened. "That’s not a 'oopsie.' What did you do?"

"Nothing major. I just hacked the military’s internal network. I thought I was better than I was. Long story short: they caught me." Alan let out a boisterous laugh.

Taro and Marl shared a look. Is this guy going to be a liability?

"Relax," Alan said, waving a hand. "I only did it to expose a superior who was skimming off the top. They gave me a break because of the 'extenuating circumstances' and just kicked me out. Usually, hacking a military databank gets you an express ticket to an execution, no trial needed."

Taro didn't know enough about the Empire to argue, but Marl seemed satisfied with the explanation.

"Anyway, that’s my one big failure. Let’s just forget it happened. More importantly, I need the details. Boss said you’re looking for... something?"

Taro looked to Marl and Koume. After they gave him a nod of approval, he laid out the plan—minus a few of the more sensitive details.

"I see. An unknown habitable planet," Alan mused, crossing his arms. "Sounds like a tall tale, but if it’s real... man, that’s a literal gold mine."

"We're stuck on where to go next," Marl added. "We need better intel, so we were thinking about heading to Andor Station."

"Bad move," Alan countered instantly. "Go to Delta Station instead. They're about the same size, but Andor is all government pencil-pushers. Delta is the economic hub. The sheer volume of information passing through Delta is ten times what you'll find at Andor. Unless you specifically have business with the Feds, Delta is your best bet."

Taro pulled up his [BISHOP] interface and scanned the star map. "Let’s see... Delta Station is... whoa. Twenty-four jumps away? That’s halfway across the sector."

"True, but you can use the long-distance jump gates for that route, Mr. Teiro," Koume pointed out. "Depending on the balance of time versus credits, we can cut that down to effectively six jumps."

"So it’s like taking the highway," Taro muttered. "Yeah, we should definitely prioritize speed over cost right now." He began tapping away at his virtual keyboard, calculating the fuel and gate fees.

"Alright then. It's a deal, Boss," Alan said, extending a massive hand. "The rest of my guys are single too, so no anchors holding us back. I'll tell them to start packing for the move to Delta."

Taro took the hand and shook it, flashing a grin. "Glad to have you aboard."

---

Author's Note: Holographs contain too much data to be sent over a standard network, which is why physical chips are still used for delivery. I might explain more about that in the main story later!