Episode 205: What Kind of Joke is This?

"The other side shot down our peace feelers. Looks like the Formula isn't worth a damn anymore."

In the strategy briefing room of the Gemini—the Mercenaries’ pride and joy and a state-of-the-art battleship—the man running the company’s day-to-day operations tossed the report toward his two female superiors.

"The RS Alliance is just too weird," Etta snapped, her irritation palpable. "The Formula wasn’t built to handle a political circus as ridiculous as 'democracy.' It’s an anomaly, an outlier. There’s nothing wrong with the math; it’s the subjects that are broken."

The man didn't agree, but he knew better than to open his mouth.

He was well aware that Etta harbored a borderline religious reverence for Coleman—and by extension, the Formula the man had calculated. In his eyes, her devotion had blinded her to reality, and he was certain it would blow up in their faces eventually. But for now? Not his problem. Whether the math was wrong or the universe was crazy didn't change the bottom line: the Formula was currently about as useful as a paperweight.

"There are too many discrepancies in the data points. Garbage in, garbage out," Etta continued, pacing. "Take their leader, Teiro. We underestimated him completely. That 'C-rating' on his Mind Test? Total fabrication. Given the industry he’s in, there’s no other reason to fake being that mediocre."

Etta directed a piercing glare at the holographic image of the Rising Sun representative.

"Looks like it," the man agreed. He then shifted his gaze to the other woman in the room, the one with the exact same face as Etta. "You saw him in the flesh. Well?"

His tone was gruff. Yotta, the younger sister, let out a sharp snort.

"He’s no idiot. The 'lovable loser' act he puts on is a total sham. He acted like a bratty, grinning little punk the whole time, but his processing speed is terrifying. His data throughput with his BISHOP is easily five times the human norm. He’s definitely Gifted."

Yotta spoke with a distant look, as if replaying the memory. Etta perked up, a sharp smile tugging at her lips.

"How delightful. Is he an Accelerator?"

"No, Sister. He was processing multiple streams at once. It’s likely Multitask. We had a similar specimen back in New Eden."

"Hold on," the man interrupted. "I wasn't told about this. I thought the only Gifted was the girl, Marl?"

Yotta shot him a look that could wither high-grade steel. "And why would I bother telling you about a combat-specific Gift? It’s not like you’re ever going to be within a hundred light-years of the front lines, are you?"

"…Fair enough. I’m not stupid enough to lecture a specialist," the man muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he let out a quiet sigh of relief. He dealt with Boosted Men and the Gifted daily; he knew exactly how monstrous they could be. After all, two of them were staring him in the face right now. "Fine. Combat-specialized. I can live with that."

He tapped a button, bringing up an image of Marl on the main display. "Now, about this Marl girl. Try to capture her alive. I want her as part of the Post-war Reparations. She’ll be worth a hell of a lot more to this company than any amount of credits."

Etta let out a mocking giggle. "My, my. I didn't realize you were into children."

"Don't be a moron. Try actually reading the reports from the field for once. This girl is a certified freak of nature. Rising Sun is manufacturing high-end hardware, and over sixty percent of their Mother Machines are her original designs. That’s just counting the ones she actually bothered to patent; the real number is probably higher. She’s done all this in less than a year. Do you have any idea what that implies?"

In the world of manufacturing, a Mother Machine was the holy grail—the machine that makes the machines. It was almost impossible for a product to exceed the precision of the Mother Machine that birthed it.

Standard Mother Machines were usually just high-end 3D printers, but when you were building specialized, ultra-high-precision, or massive-scale hardware, the game changed. Designing those took entire R&D firms. It wasn't the kind of thing one person—let alone a child—was supposed to just invent on their lunch break.

"Hmm… So she’s better than our foundational development team?" Etta asked.

"It’s not even a contest. Look, if you two want Phantom and Sonarman, fine. But I’m taking this girl and Dr. Arjimov. Deal?"

"Whatever. Do what you want," Etta said, sounding bored again. "More importantly, I heard the prep for the declaration of war is hitting a snag. What’s the plan?"

The man felt a vein throb in his temple at her indifference, but he forced himself to stay professional.

"Unfortunately, we’re going to have to pull a justification out of our asses. It would’ve been nice if they’d actually released a statement condemning the G3 Plan, but they’ve stayed silent."

Unlike the Outlaw Corps roaming outer space, the Mercenaries were an Imperial-registered business. They needed a 'just cause' to start a war. Even if their opponent wasn't technically an Imperial peer, they couldn't just ignore the optics.

The plan had been simple: bait Rising Sun into criticizing the G3 Plan Station, call it 'slanderous lies,' and use that as the pretext for a 'defensive' invasion. Then, they’d destroy the station in the chaos or just haul it away once the sector was occupied.

"So they’ve got someone with a brain over there," Etta mused. "Capable of making political calls… Is it that Bella woman? The name sounds familiar."

"She’s the Master of the Alpha Star System. Former head of Guns and Rule. She’s a legendary Space Mafia boss who held the border without a fleet for years. She knows how to play the game. Hell, we used to sell her our HAD units."

"Oh, how tacky. Fighting a former client," Etta sighed.

"..."

The man took a deep breath, ignoring her. "Which brings me to the next problem. Our affiliate companies aren't exactly lining up to help. Proactive cooperation is non-existent. We’re likely going to have to do this with our internal fleet alone."

"So? That was the plan anyway," Etta shrugged. "And with G3 involved, I’d rather keep the outsiders away from that sector."

"Wait, you actually plan to go in alone? Can we even win?"

The man hadn't been briefed on the tactical simulations. Etta turned on him, her expression darkening. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Our force ratio is eight to one. Our total production output is ten times theirs. In the impossible event that we actually lose a fleet engagement—so what? We just build another fleet. We can do that; they can’t. Tell me, in what universe does that result in a loss?"

Etta stood up and headed for the door.

"You just focus on the paperwork," she called over her shoulder. "Just make sure the ships are ready on schedule… Oh, and one more thing."

She paused at the door, tilting her head. "Just out of curiosity, why won't the affiliates help? What was their excuse?"

The man closed his eyes.

"We’re asking them to support a formal declaration of war and military intervention against a Porno Goods Manufacturing Company. Every single CEO sent back the same reply: 'What kind of joke is this?'"

If you asked any Imperial Citizen to name the two most important places in the Galactic Imperial Core, they’d give you the same answer: Delta and Andor. One was the heart of the economy; the other was the soul of politics.

"Hm? What's the matter, Son-in-law? See something you like?"

Sakura looked back at Teiro, who was currently frozen in place.

"N-no, it's nothing," Teiro stammered, his face twitching as he stared at the massive structures surrounding them.

They were walking along a single aerial Corridor that ran through the heart of the ultra-large station. Branching paths led to buildings that didn't even touch the ground; they all hung from the station's ceiling like gargantuan, white stalactites.

The architecture was dizzying. Every surface was covered in intricate carvings, yet the color palette remained a restrained, sophisticated monochrome, punctuated only by the occasional natural brown of wood or stone. It was designed to humble the viewer. If I'm this floored after growing up on Earth, Teiro thought, how much terror must a regular Imperial Citizen feel standing here?

"Don't get your hopes up; we can't get into the Palace," Sakura said, looking toward the far end of the Corridor. "I'm sure they're holding the usual galas, but we don't have an invitation."

Teiro followed her gaze to the residence of His Majesty the Emperor. No matter how much they walked, the massive white palace didn't seem to get any closer. Its polished walls caught the artificial light of the station, shimmering like a mountain of pure crystal.

"N-no way, I don't want to go in there. I don't think I'll ever belong in a place like that… Have you actually been inside, Sakura?"

"Of course. My mother’s side comes from a line of Counts. I don't go much these days, but I used to get invited to the social mixers all the time. I've never met the Emperor personally, but I've heard him speak."

Sakura puffed out her chest with a boastful grin.

"Whoa..." Teiro let out a breathy, pathetic sound. He was starting to realize what 'old money' actually meant in this galaxy. I remember being jealous of kids back home who lived in houses with actual yards, he thought, but compared to the literal god-tier upper class, that's just a bunch of ants arguing over which grain of sand is shinier.

"Alright, we're here. That's the one."

They had reached the end of Andor Station’s main street. Sakura stopped, and Teiro looked up at the building looming over them. It radiated an overwhelming sense of corporate power. Teiro glared at the massive letters on the sign.

"…Right. Well, it doesn't cost anything to try. Let's do this!"

Teiro hyped himself up and marched forward, passing under the giant sign that read:

GIGANTIC CORPORATION