Chapter 192

“The Morris Star System, the Adela Star System, the E442 Star System... Hey, look at this! There’s even a listing for the La Gala Star System. That’s on the literal opposite side of the galaxy!”

They were gathered in the Plum’s Information Management Room, a space packed with rows of cutting-edge computers and storage drives. The air was kept at a biting chill to prevent the processors from melting under their own heat. Alan pointed a finger at one of the built-in monitors, his face lit by the glow of data.

“The opposite side?” Taro asked, his skepticism reaching terminal velocity. “Can people even run a business from that far away? That’s one hell of a commute.”

“Affirmative, and negative,” Koume chirped in her usual prim tone.

“Theoretically, it is possible. However, in terms of common sense, it should be considered impossible, Mr. Teiro. At that distance, the overhead costs would limit all interactions to purely electronic means. It would be a different story if their livelihood were digital data or license management, but that does not apply to this specific case.”

Koume picked up a teacup from the table, closing her eyes as she performed an elaborate gesture of savoring the aroma. Taro had no clue what the point of an AI pretending to smell tea was, but she looked like she was having the time of her life, so he decided to let it slide. Despite the freezing room, the kotatsu they were huddled around felt like a little slice of heaven.

“So, in short, it’s all a bunch of nonsense,” Marl said, leaning toward the monitor with a look of grim determination. “Is there a chance the information is just wrong?”

Ryza tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “That’s difficult to imagine, isn’t it? Our source is the illustrious Takasaki, after all. We have to assume they’ve verified the credibility to some extent. Would they really hand over fake data to the very people they’re trying to build a bridge with?”

The group collectively grunted. “Good point,” they muttered in unison.

The data Taro and his crew were currently dissecting concerned the EAP Military—specifically, a list of new shipbuilding-related business partners that Sakura had flagged as high priority. These were the very companies Dingo had warned them about, the ones swooping in to fill the vacuum left when Takasaki was unceremoniously booted from the contract.

“Man, they really trimmed this list down,” Taro sighed, squinting at the screen. “If it were up to me, I would’ve seen a list this long and thrown the whole monitor out a window.”

Even saying the word “shipbuilding” was an understatement. It covered a staggering range of companies providing every nut, bolt, sensor, and service required to keep a hunk of metal flying through the void. A single small frigate was made of tens of millions of parts, and every single one had a manufacturer. The original list had likely featured thousands of companies; vetting them all individually was a nightmare no sane person would sign up for.

“Well, that’s what we get paid for,” Alan said. “Granted, I haven't slept in three days because of it, but hey, maybe now people will stop whispering that I’m a useless mouth to feed.”

The Intelligence Department was a thankless, behind-the-scenes gig. Because they didn't kick down doors or blow things up, it was hard for the rest of the crew to grasp what they actually did—and yet, they inhaled a massive chunk of the budget, which made them an easy target for jealousy. The Security Department, who actually put their lives on the line, usually looked at them like they were pampered aristocrats. Inter-departmental brawls were practically a scheduled event.

“You know, from a management perspective, there’s no department more vital than Intelligence,” Taro mused. “I really need to get you guys to mingle more. Maybe we should hold another Kabaddi Tournament? We could even invite the folks from the subsidiary companies.”

“Don’t you dare,” Marl snapped. “Back when it was just a handful of us, it was fine. But if you did that now, tens of thousands of people would show up. Do you have any idea how much that would cost? This isn't an Olympic qualifying round!”

“Olympic? What’s that again? I feel like I’ve heard that word before...”

“It’s the All-Galaxy Sports Tournament held every four years,” Marl explained. “I think the next one is... next year?”

“You two are getting sidetracked,” Ryza interrupted, her fingers dancing across the terminal. A new list of companies appeared on the monitor. “I reached out to my brother and had him flag the companies he found suspicious. Specifically, those with major past legal violations and those that appear to be hollow shells with no actual substance. As you can see, the vast majority fall into the latter category.”

Ryza’s finger, tipped with a sharp coat of blue nail polish, flicked across the screen. The list began to scroll at a blistering speed, and it kept going... and going... and going.

“...That’s a lot of shells,” Alan groaned.

Taro nodded, crossing his arms as a deep wrinkle formed between his brows. “Wait a second. Why are these sketchy-ass companies even allowed to bid? If they’re legitimately taking orders from the EAP Military, why not just do it out in the open? It’s not like selling ships is a crime.”

“Actually, it’s pretty common for arms dealers, insurance firms, and even companies that make products like ours to hide behind a Paper Company,” Alan explained. “This business earns you a lot of enemies.”

“Ah, I get it. The 'I don't want to ruin my corporate image but I really want that blood money' strategy,” Taro said. “Man, screw them. We started this journey as an Adult Goods Transport Company and we wore that badge with pride! We went in swinging! And look at us now—everyone loves us!”

“Haha, true enough...” Alan’s smile faded. “But I don't think that’s why these guys are hiding.”

“Oof. Care to enlighten us?”

“Because no matter how deep I dig, I can’t find the root. I hit a company that looks like the end of the line, but it doesn't feel like the start. Usually, products like spacecraft are sold in sets held together by tight lateral connections. Take Takasaki: they might outsource the small parts, but the 'Shipbuilding Takasaki' entity acts as the single window for the whole project. Plus, most of their funding comes from Takasaki-linked firms. But these new guys? Nothing. They’re completely fragmented.”

“I see... So they’re being too thorough about hiding,” Taro muttered. “Your average consumer isn't going to look this deep. It’s overkill for a simple PR strategy.”

Taro went quiet, his mind racing. There was no doubt that an opposing faction within the EAP was trying to sabotage Little Tokyo and its ally, Takasaki. This faction—the rising military brass—had successfully cornered Little Tokyo.

But even with the military’s growing ego, they shouldn't have been able to just delete Takasaki—the EAP’s biggest supplier—overnight. The EAP Assembly was relatively democratic; they wouldn't just dump a titan like Takasaki based on a few bad vibes. It didn't make sense.

Unless... the new guys are putting up insane numbers. Either they were offering god-tier performance, or they were selling for dirt cheap. Or both. Given that the EAP was now fielding Electronic Warfare Craft, both were likely.

“...Is it Dumping?” Taro whispered.

Unfair Low-Price Selling. The classic, cutthroat tactic of selling at a massive loss just to starve out the competition and seize the market. It was highly illegal in most civilized systems, and more importantly—

“Are you saying some mystery company is launching an all-out economic war against Takasaki and every single one of its affiliates?” Marl asked, echoing Taro’s thoughts. “Even if they won, how many decades would it take to earn that money back? And if they lose, it’s not just a bad quarter—it’s total annihilation. Who would be crazy enough to take a gamble that lopsided?”

“That’s the thing,” Taro said, leaning back. “In a market as massive as starships, it would be a thousand times more profitable to just play by the rules. And they’re selling Electronic Warfare Craft? You don’t use those against some random Pirate or a WIND splinter cell. Who are they planning to fight? We’ve got Etta on our side, for crying out loud!”

Taro stretched out his legs and gave a playful nudge to the lump in the kotatsu that was Etta. A muffled, sleepy groan of protest came from beneath the blanket. The girl currently napping for the twelfth hour straight possessed the power to completely nullify the stealth capabilities that made Electronic Warfare Craft so terrifying.

“Dingo is basically our BFF now, and the EAP isn't stupid enough to pick a fight with the Empire. So, if what Rin and Sakura said is true... but how... something is stuck in my head like a piece of popcorn...”

Taro sank into the murky depths of his own consciousness. When he went deep enough, his thoughts splintered into a thousand versions of himself, all debating at once.

No, that’s not it... that wouldn’t work... that’s wrong too... no... wait...

“No, that’s... wait...” he mumbled aloud. A scrap of memory, buried in a dusty corner of his brain, was screaming at him to dig it up.

“Taro? You okay?” Marl asked, her voice laced with worry. Taro heard her, but he didn't answer. He couldn't. He needed to focus.

He sat there, muttering to himself for a solid five minutes, until the stream of nonsense stopped dead.

“...Override.”

The word was a mere whisper. Taro immediately reached for the long-distance comms, noticing only then that his hands were shaking. He needed to talk to Dingo and Rin. Right now.

“...Uh, hello? Rin? It’s me... yeah, I’m fine. Listen, I need to ask you something.”

Ignoring the bewildered stares of his crew, Taro rattled off a series of rapid-fire questions. Once he had what he needed, he hung up and stared at the wall.

“...Dammit. They’ll really do anything for a buck, won’t they?”

He ground his teeth with an audible creak, took a shaky breath, and called Dingo. With every answer Dingo gave, Taro’s face grew darker, shifting from confusion to a cold, simmering rage. By the time he ended the call, he looked ready to punch a hole through the hull.

“Everyone... I need you to look into something for me.”

Taro leaned forward, slamming his palms onto the table. His mind was a whirlwind of organized fury. He began delegating tasks, giving each member a specific thread to pull. Finally, he voiced the hypothesis he had constructed from the fragments of their data.

The room fell into a silence so heavy it felt like a vacuum. The theory was, quite frankly, horrifying.

“Mmm... is it morning?”

Etta, apparently disturbed by the sudden lack of noise, crawled out from the kotatsu with a massive yawn.

Nobody laughed. The room remained deathly silent.