Chapter 216

I managed to squeeze in a little time, so here’s an update.

It was supposed to be flawless.

The woman had spent the entire engagement, from the opening volley until this very second, meticulously observing the swirling vortex of data flooding the battlefield. Eventually, she’d managed to slip through the layers upon layers of electronic deception and pinpoint the exact coordinates of the enemy flagship. It was a feat that would have been a tall order even for a dedicated, heavy-duty information-scanning vessel, but for her—a woman born with the innate instincts of a Sonarman—it was child’s play.

Then came the simultaneous strike from multiple vectors.

She had used this exact tactic across countless battlefields, and it had worked every single time. Occasionally, a lucky ship might avoid being sent straight to the scrap heap, but even then, she’d always dealt a blow heavy enough to knock them out of the fight. She had absolute, unwavering confidence in this method. It was impossible to fail.

“Are you alright, Miss Yotta?”

The voice came from right beside her. Yotta—the woman currently commanding one of the fleets that made up the larger Expeditionary Fleet Group—stiffened. She reached out and violently grabbed her Adjutant by the collar.

“What happened?!” Yotta screamed. “How the hell did they dodge it?!”

Yotta’s eyes darted to the markings on the BISHOP display. The icon for the enemy flagship was mocking her with a bright, steady [ACTIVE] status. Forget being sunk—the system hadn't even registered a [MINOR DAMAGE ASSESSMENT]. The ship was, for all intents and purposes, unscathed.

“T-the fleet followed protocol exactly!” the Adjutant stammered, trembling in her superior’s grip. “I’m checking the replay now... Here. The bombardment was executed with ninety-five percent accuracy. Only one ship whiffed its shot!”

Yotta shoved the woman away and glared at the Radar Screen as the replay looped.

“Fifty separate snipes from every conceivable angle,” Yotta hissed. “It’s physically impossible to avoid that.”

Yotta had tucked her fleet into the encirclement formation deployed by Admiral Sod, positioning them to wrap the target in a hemispherical kill zone. Furthermore, she had deliberately calculated the shots to overlap with slight offsets. No matter how the target tried to wiggle out of the trap once they noticed the incoming fire, at least one shell should have connected.

“A fluke, perhaps? It must have just coincided with some other maneuver...” the Adjutant muttered, sweat beading on her forehead.

Yotta turned a look on her that could have stripped paint.

“They exposed their entire flank just to dodge! What kind of maneuver involves that?! And why did they snap right back into their original posture the second the shells passed? Don’t you think it’s a little convenient that only the target ship reacted? Shut your mouth, you useless hag!”

Yotta punctuating her threat by lazily kicking the Adjutant—a woman she considered good for nothing except being a warm body in a bed—square in the stomach with her boot.

“Ugh... h-hugh... M-my apologies...”

The Adjutant curled into a ball on the floor, clutching her gut. Watching her subordinate writhe provided Yotta with a flicker of satisfaction. She crossed her legs with an air of superiority and went back to dissecting the replay.

The math is right. I covered every possible escape vector. Which means...

Yotta rewound the footage to just before the firing sequence and hit the slow-motion toggle.

“...The brat,” Yotta whispered, her jaw tightening. “They started dodging before the first shot even left the barrels.”

Wrinkles deepened on a face that was a mirror image of her older sister, Etta. Seething, Yotta bypassed standard protocols and accessed a hull database containing classified intelligence so sensitive even Admiral Sod wasn’t cleared for it.

“They isolated the scanning waves from the background noise of the battlefield. They must have triangulated their own position based on the intersection of my multi-scans. But that’s...”

Yotta ran a search through a specific personnel register within the database until she hit a match.

“...That’s impossible for anyone but a Sonarman. EY001. Etta. Reported missing during the Enzio Campaign; current status unknown.” Yotta’s eyes narrowed. “The other Sonarmen are accounted for. If there’s a ghost in the machine, it has to be this one.”

She downloaded the file into the BISHOP system, staring at the attached photo of a young, expressionless girl.

Specially tuned for electromagnetic wave reception. Top-tier analysis. Side effects: Requires extreme amounts of sleep or performance craters. Personality: Defective. Requires specific handling...

“Model and name are Etta Series, but her specs are Yotta Series,” Yotta mused. “Based on her age, she’s some half-baked derivative of me or Big Sis. Just another toy for Coleman.”

Yotta’s mind flashed back to her miserable adolescence at the Enhanced Human Research Facility New Eden. She searched her memories but couldn't place the face.

“Not in my records. A black-box project, maybe? Well, well...”

A distorted smile played across Yotta’s lips. To her Sonarman eyes, the world was a psychedelic landscape of shimmering particles. Now, she could see a faint, spherical pulse radiating from the target ship in a steady rhythm. It was a high-intensity Detailed Scan.

“You want to play, little sister? Fine. I’ll give you a game.”

Electronic waves from dozens of sources began to interfere, creating nodes of high-fidelity data. By watching the flow, Yotta could see exactly what her opponent was looking for—and exactly what they had found.

“You might have picked up some tricks from Enzio, but you’d do well to remember who supplied that tech in the first place. All scanner units, prepare for re-emission!”

Yotta barked the order to the fifteen Electronic Warfare Craft in her fleet. She leaned back, waiting for the kill.

In the Facility, her reception capabilities had been peerless. She had survived four years of "selection exams" where the penalty for second place was being sent to the incinerator. She was one of the elite few ever allowed to leave the Facility alive. In the history of the Sonarman-type Boosted Man "Yotta Series," no one had a better record.

“Go on, little rabbit. Run as much as you like. I’m going to enjoy this.”

She chuckled, remembering how she used to scold her sister for enjoying war. Guess I’m not one to talk, she thought with a smirk.

---

[RS08: MULTIPLE LOCK-ONS DETECTED. COMMENCING EVASIVE MANEUVERS.]

[RS31: SAME HERE. ENEMY ACCURACY HAS SPIKED SHARPLY. THEY’RE TUNING INTO OUR SIGNATURES.]

[RS17: CRITICAL HIT TO THE ENGINE BLOCK. WITHDRAWING FROM THE LINE. GOOD LUCK.]

“R-roger that! Everyone, focus on defensive patterns!”

Taro shouted into the comms, his heart hammering against his ribs after their own narrow escape from a concentrated volley. He’d heard the same report ten times in the last minute. He was finally starting to see the pattern, and he didn't like it.

“The jamming isn't doing a damn thing,” Taro muttered, his face turning a sickly shade of white. “We’re standing out here butt-naked.”

“That shouldn't be possible!” Marl cried, spinning around in her chair. “The sensors are green across the board and the jammers are redlined! I’ve checked the cycles three times!”

“I know, I know! But it’s not working! How are they getting hard locks from this range?!”

“Mr. Teiro? A moment, if you please.”

Koume’s calm voice cut through the panic. She turned her head toward the seat where Etta sat, staring blankly into the void.

“Miss Etta appears to have realized something. Perhaps we should consult her.”

All eyes fell on Etta. She didn’t seem to notice at first, but then she slowly closed her eyes and turned her head toward Taro.

“Someone like Etta... is over there,” she said simply.

The bridge went deathly quiet.

“...When you say ‘like you,’ do you mean... as in, they’re as good as you?” Taro asked tentatively.

Etta nodded. Taro’s face went from white to translucent. Marl’s expression hardened a second later as the implications set in.

“Another Sonarman?” Marl’s voice trembled. “If they can see through our jamming... does that mean we can’t run?”

No one answered. The silence was the only confirmation they needed.

“To be precise, it means that even if we run, they will find us instantly,” Koume said, her face a mask of stoicism. “Mr. Teiro, can you not use your... unique talents to boost our jamming? Like you did when you made the Imperial fleet look like fools?”

Taro shook his head frantically. It’s not that simple. “There are too many of them! That trick requires specific directivity. We’re surrounded on all sides, and they have an Etta of their own! You can’t trick the sensors when the person watching can see the source of the signal like a lighthouse in the dark!”

“Even if you cannot protect everyone, surely you can protect some, Mr. Teiro. Am I wrong?”

“I mean... technically, yeah, but... DAMN IT!”

She’s telling me to choose who lives and who dies. Taro slammed his fist into the arm of his chair.

“I’m... I’m going to hurry the adjustments so we can relay your jamming signal to the other ships,” Marl said, her fingers flying across the console.

“Thanks,” Taro whispered. He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to suppress the bile rising in his throat. They were holding back. They waited until we were pinned down so we couldn't bolt while we still had the chance.

He bit his lip until it bled, staring at the screen, trying to decide which ships to sacrifice. It was a choice no sane person should ever have to make, but they were well past the point of sanity.

“Look on the bright side, Mr. Teiro,” Koume said softly. “At least this happened before we engaged the Main Fleet. Now that we know the threat, we can adapt. It is a costly lesson, but a vital one.”

Taro knew she was right, but his heart refused to accept the logic.

“...Teiro. It’s okay.”

It was Etta. Her voice was slow, rhythmic.

“I really don’t see how this is okay,” Taro said with a jagged, self-deprecating laugh.

“It’s okay. Leave it... to Etta.”

Unlike her previous screaming fit, Etta’s voice was now eerily calm—soft, almost tender. Taro looked up, sensing the shift in the air. Etta was smiling. It was a beautiful, serene expression.

“The wooden comb. The Kato plushie. Eating snacks with Bella. Lyza’s picture books. The big, fluffy bed. Clumsy Teiro. Kind Koume and Marl. Alan and Sakura... I don’t hate them, either.”

She was chanting the words like a lullaby. Suddenly, her hair began to lift, fanning out in a radial halo. The strands shimmered with a faint, iridescent hue, and particles of light—swirling like miniature galaxies—began to dance along the length of her hair. If not for the jagged sparks of static jumping between the strands, it would have looked like an aurora captured in a bottle.

“Etta’s happiness... I won’t let anyone touch it.”

Etta’s eyes snapped open. Her pupils dilated until the whites were nearly gone.

[WARNING: INTERNAL RADIATION LEVELS EXCEEDING SAFETY LIMITS] [CRITICAL SYSTEM OVERLOAD DETECTED]

“I won’t let them... take it!”

Etta slowly raised her hand. On the console in front of her, Plum’s electronic systems roared to life, the displays turning into a blur of light.

One by one, the electronic systems of every ship in the vicinity began to scream in unison.