Episode 213

An inertial frame attraction pinged the moment they reserved the space.

A full day had passed since their departure. When the crew on the second bridge relayed the data, Taro Teiro knew the moment of truth had finally arrived.

Drive particles had a pesky habit of being drawn toward the inertia of whatever had the most mass in the vicinity. In layman's terms: there was something big sitting right where they planned to exit Overdrive.

"What’s the play, Teiro? Should we run a Wide-area Scan?" Marl asked, her voice tight with nerves.

Taro chewed on the thought for a few seconds before shaking his head. "No."

"If we’re lucky, we can still pull off a Surprise Attack. A scan would just be a giant 'we are here' sign... Etta, you feel anything?"

Taro offered a silent prayer of thanks to the universe that Etta was actually awake for once. She tilted her head, staring blankly into the empty air of the bridge.

"Waves... so many waves, flowing everywhere. I can't count them," she muttered.

Taro nodded. I see. He signaled the fleet to maneuver, positioning them to dog the enemy’s predicted path from the rear. In a graveyard like the Zayed Region Space, there wasn't supposed to be anything out here generating particles except for a fleet.

"Module check. Go."

"Systems are all green, Teiro!" Marl chirped.

"Fleet Information Link System? Feedback status?"

"No issues, Mr. Teiro. Everything is returning a healthy green," Koume reported.

Taro took a deep breath and let it out slowly, satisfied. He tightened the strap on his Goggle Monitor and did a manual visual sweep for any immediate hazards. In a world where gravity control could go haywire, even a spilled glass of water could become a lethal projectile.

[HULL MODE: WARTIME]

His seat, equipped with a top-of-the-line Shock Absorber, hissed as it rose. It rocked gently like a cradle for a moment—a self-diagnostic shimmy—before locking into place. Multi-layered seatbelts cinched around him with a mechanical whine, and a set of impact-hardening support arms clamped around his neck to protect his spine.

[ARMAMENT SYSTEM: STANDBY]

[ALL GUNS: SAFETY DISENGAGED]

[SUB-SYSTEM: LINKAGE – SECOND BRIDGE]

"To the whole fleet: You know the drill. We are here to be the biggest, most annoying thorns in their side possible. Let’s get to work."

Taro kept it brief. He kicked the Overdrive into gear to seize the enemy's six. Thanks to his unique abilities, the usually grueling Coordinate Calculation was finished in a heartbeat. A blue haze immediately began to swallow the ship.

"Stay frosty. Keep it together. Hee-hee-hoo... hee-hee-hoo..."

After a brief, nauseating trip through the blue void, the Plum and its forty-nine Consort Ships popped back into real-space exactly where they were supposed to be.

"Wait... what? Koume! Shields! Now!" Taro shrieked, jumping in his seat.

"Already ahead of you," Koume replied, her voice disturbingly calm.

The simulator on his Goggle Monitor was already screaming. A localized recreation of the space outside showed a terrifying number of high-energy signatures screaming directly toward them.

"Teiro! They totally saw us coming!" Marl yelled.

The hull groaned as the ship shuddered under the impact. Fortunately, the shields held, and no Beams managed to punch through. Taro felt a cold sweat break out. These guys weren't just some random space thugs.

"I must say, I'm impressed they landed a hit with their opening volley, Mr. Teiro. The opposition is remarkably well-trained."

"Yeah, well, it sucks that they’re the ones trying to kill us! Dammit, was Phantom right?"

Before Phantom had vanished into the shadows for his sabotage mission, he’d warned Taro that the Mercenaries were likely packing "Boosted Men"—starting with high-spec Sonarmen. A normal, sluggish Battleship shouldn't have been able to react to a Space Reservation and prep a counter-volley that fast.

"[AS EXPECTED OF THE BATTLESHIP TECHNO BREAK. WE DIDN'T FEEL A THING.]"

"[ANIKI, SHUT UP! YOU JUST TRIGGERED A DEATH FLAG!]"

The Suga Siblings’ voices crackled over the comms. Taro managed a weak smirk as he pictured the two terrifying, bald-headed muscleheads. At least their veteran status gave them enough poise to joke while being shot at.

"Alright! All ships, start Search and open fire! Our job is to stall them! Do not—I repeat—do not get cocky and charge ahead!"

Taro bellowed the order, locking onto targets while simultaneously slinging firing data to the second bridge. The Plum’s secondary batteries whirred into motion, swiveling to track the enemy. The Linkage system broadcast the targeting coordinates to the rest of the fleet, and Marl began divvying up firing solutions with practiced ease.

"Whole fleet is ready for the volley... Hey, you’re not using the main guns?" Marl asked, glancing at Taro.

Taro gave her a small, mischievous grin. "I've got a little something special in mind."

"Commencing volley, Mr. Teiro. Impact in eight seconds... seven... six..."

Taro tuned back into his Goggle Monitor at Koume’s countdown. Hundreds of Beams erupted from the fifty Warships, lancing through the dark toward the enemy.

"Three... two... one... Impact. Twenty-two Effective Hits. No visible damage. Detected three Shield Ships. Enemy count appears to include ten Battleship-class vessels... Oh?"

Koume trailed off, her voice tilting in confusion as she stared into the void. Taro realized she didn't even need the monitor to see the battlefield and checked his own display to see what had her puzzled.

"Wait... the Techno Break didn't fire? Did they have a breakdown?"

Taro was about to ping the captain, Elder Sa Suga, when his jaw hit the floor.

"Large-capacity energy reaction detected from the Techno Break, Mr. Teiro. Presumed output: Super-Dreadnought class."

"Wait, what? Are you serious?! What kind of illegal mods did they put on that thing?!"

A massive blue field flared to life, protecting the beam from refracting against space dust or Electromagnetic Waves. A pillar of light—vastly larger and more violent than anything the other ships were putting out—tore through the vacuum toward the enemy formation.

"Impact in two seconds... one... Impact. Enemy Cruiser sunk. Battleship Techno Break has suffered Major Damage."

"Holy crap, that’s insane! It punched right through their—wait, WHAT?!" Taro’s celebration turned into a confused scream.

He frantically checked the Tactical Screen. Sure enough, the Techno Break was flashing with a Major Damage Assessment.

"Uh, I think they’re okay, Teiro," Marl said, looking genuinely embarrassed. "It looks like the recoil from that shot literally blew parts of their own modules off. The ship’s computer saw the bits flying off, panicked, and triggered a Red Alert. They should be able to fix it... probably."

Taro’s face twitched. He let out a sigh so heavy it felt like it had its own gravity. "God. Give me a break. We aren't the enemy—we can't afford to lose a single Battleship to its own ego... Fine. Prep the main guns."

His voice sounded a bit hollow as he began to focus. He was about to dive into a sea of computational processing that would make a supercomputer sweat. It was going to be an exhausting nightmare, but it was definitely going to be worth it.

---

"To think they would arrive here so soon... what kind of parlor trick is this?"

On the bridge of the Battleship Asmolde, Admiral Sod felt the wrinkles in his brow deepen. Even with a map, a Fleet Jump was supposed to be a slow, methodical process of coordinate calculation. Navigating without a beacon was like trying to hit a needle in a haystack while blindfolded.

And yet, the enemy was right there. It was a physical impossibility that offended his sensibilities. They had made contact twenty hours ahead of schedule. Sod ruminated on it, but the math just didn't add up.

"Their primary business is logistics, Admiral. Perhaps they have some proprietary shortcut," his Adjutant suggested, looking equally annoyed.

"Perhaps," Sod conceded, though he didn't believe it for a second. Cutting thirty percent off the travel time was more than a 'shortcut'—it was a miracle. "Keep an eye on any further Space Reservations. This might be their home turf."

They were only facing one fleet. That meant the other seven were still out there somewhere. Sod figured this group was just a vanguard or a distraction. The real threat was the main body.

"If they try a surprise attack, Miss Yotta will warn us. In the meantime, what are your orders? Shall we split the fleet as requested?" the Adjutant asked with a hint of disdain.

"No," Sod snapped. He reached out and manually deleted the order Yotta had sent him—the one telling him to leave a token force and hurry his main fleet ahead. "Splitting our strength is the height of stupidity. Tell her if she wants to rush ahead so badly, she can take her own sycophants and go."

Sod was a corporate man, and he followed orders, but he wasn't about to commit professional suicide. In his mind, erasing this vanguard as quickly as possible was the fastest way to get to their destination.

"Understood. But she’s going to scream at you again."

"Let her. This is my fleet. All of it—except for that one fleet she micromanages herself."

Sod cut the channel and began barking orders through the BISHOP system. His ships began to fan out into a massive sphere, a classic pincer maneuver meant to swallow the enemy whole. It was his signature move.

"High-energy reaction! Incoming Large-caliber Beam!" the Sonarman screamed.

Sod’s head snapped toward the Tactical Screen. A moment later, a brilliant lance of light struck an allied Cruiser, punching through its hull like it was made of wet paper.

"It went straight through the shields? They don't have any heavy-mass ships... Did they actually strip their Battleships down just to turn them into glass-cannon sniper platforms?"

Sod grumbled, baffled by the enemy's suicidal design philosophy. He made a mental note to prioritize the enemy Battleships; they had clearly traded armor for raw, terrifying firepower.

"Enemy status: six minor damage, two moderate. Our status: one minor, one sunk. Not a bad trade, but they're putting up a fight," the Adjutant noted.

Sod nodded, pointing to a specific icon on the map. "This is the one. The Battleship Plum. Their flagship had the balls to lead the charge... Their training is high, but their morale is even higher. Look at those maneuvers."

He couldn't help but admire the way the enemy fleet shifted. They were sliding laterally to avoid the encirclement, yet they never once exposed their flanks. It was a masterful bit of dancing.

"Still, they aren't as 'organic' as the reports claimed. That Gifted woman, Bella... she must be with the main force."

The intelligence data he’d been fed described the enemy's movements as complex, almost biological. This fleet, however, was moving with mechanical precision—textbook, efficient, but predictable.

"In that case, we need to watch out for—"

"Enemy flagship is separating! Ten-plus signatures! We have multiple Space Reservations opening up all over the place!"

Sod felt a chill run down his spine. He remembered the briefings from the top brass. The "Dreaded Kinetic Weapons."

"All ships in the path of those reservations, brace for impact! Divert all shield power to [PHYSICAL]!"

Switching shields to anti-kinetic would leave them wide open to Beams, but Sod didn't have a choice. Disabling a Battleship with a mass-driver was the fastest way to stall a fleet. He couldn't just leave his men behind in this lawless dump, and rescue operations for a crippled ship took hours.

"At this range, if they're remote-controlled, the BISHOP lag will be their downfall. If we focus our point-defense, we can—wait. Those Space Reservations..."

Sod squinted at the screen. The reservations were too far away. They weren't in the path of his ships. He ran through the possibilities, landing on one so absurd he almost laughed.

"No... that’s impossible. A company of their size couldn't possibly afford to operate one of—"

The reservations popped. The "impossible" reality materialized before his eyes.

"You have got to be kidding me... They have a Carrier?!"

Sod screamed a dozen creative curses at his own intelligence department. He scrambled to order anti-air formations, his eyes glued to the long-range feed of the spherical Ship-borne Craft swarming out of the hanger.

With their weird, ear-like protrusions, the drones might have looked almost cute under different circumstances.

To Sod, they looked like demons.