Episode 222

“Welcome to Battleship Plum, Admiral Sod.”

Taro did his best to look professionally grim as he greeted the two special envoys in the docking lobby. Standing by his side, Marl and Koume looked equally stiff, backed by a squad of Bella’s hand-picked Land Combat specialists who were currently sporting matching ‘I wish a guy would’ scowls.

“Don’t sweat it, everyone,” Taro messaged his crew, trying to soothe the Phantom-less anxiety vibrating through the room. “They’re clearly vulnerable, and they’ve got zero reason to pull any stunts.”

With his team somewhat settled, Taro turned his attention to his guest. Sod was a brick of a man with a shock of white, closely cropped hair. His posture was a statue-like monument to military discipline, yet his eyes darted with the predatory intensity of a hawk—clearly a man who didn't intend to let a single byte of data escape his notice.

“I appreciate the welcome and your wise decision, Admiral Teiro,” Sod replied.

He offered a standard Galactic Empire salute—index and middle fingers pressed together against the forehead. Not wanting to be outdone by the local flair, Taro fired back with an old-school Earth salute, hand snapped to the side of his head. He hoped he looked like a cool retro-hero rather than a confused tourist.

“An unusual salute,” Sod remarked, his eyes narrowing. “But I don’t dislike it. Is it a stylization of shielding one's eyes, or perhaps a display of being unarmed?”

“Nah, sorry to disappoint, but you’re zero-for-two. If I remember right, it’s just a leftover from when people used to grab the brims of their hats. There are like a dozen theories, though.”

The two men stepped forward and shook hands, exchanging the kind of mindless trivia that usually precedes a high-stakes standoff. Taro shook hands with the adjutant next and had to suppress a double-take. Is this a middle schooler? Is the Empire actually just three kids in a trench coat? He shoved the thought aside, finished the pleasantries, and began leading the way through the Plum’s winding halls.

“I must say, using your flagship as the venue is a bold move,” Sod said, walking a half-step behind Taro with an air of unshakable confidence. “We are trained to extract a wealth of intel just by looking at our surroundings. Aren't you worried about giving away the farm?”

“Maybe,” Taro replied with a vague shrug.

In reality, he wasn’t worried in the slightest. The Battleship Plum was such a Frankenstein’s monster of Marl’s technical wizardry that there wasn't a single "standard" bolt left in the hull. If Sod’s experts tried to analyze this ship based on their training, they’d walk away with a Data Bank full of absolute nonsense. Actually, please, keep taking notes, Taro thought. I’d love for you to go home with a bunch of fake intel.

“I figured it was only fair since you showed up unarmed,” Taro said aloud. “Besides, weren’t you worried about us just, you know, murdering you? Legally speaking, we’re still very much in the ‘shooting each other’ phase of the relationship.”

Sod let out a sharp snort. “I won’t say the thought didn't cross my mind, but your reputation makes that unlikely. The people in the Center have a massive prejudice against Outer Spacers. Even if you act within the law, only the eggheads can tell the difference. The masses move on vibes and emotions, and you’re currently trying to win those vibes. That’s the game, isn't it?”

Sod spoke with a terrifyingly smooth fluency. Taro realized Koume’s tactical read on the man had been dead-on. He stopped walking and glanced back over his shoulder.

“Spot on... but hey, this is Outer Space. Things get weird out here. You might want to keep that in mind if you want to get anything done.”

Taro gave a mock-theatrical bow and gestured toward an open door. Sod peered inside, his eyes scanning the room like he was looking for a hidden bomb—or a hidden microphone.

“This room,” Sod said, stopping dead and crossing his arms. “It is... inadequate for a discussion of this magnitude.”

He brought an index finger to his lips in a universal zip it gesture, then pulled out a literal scrap of paper. He handed it to Taro. Taro stared at the physical object—a rare relic in the Galactic Empire—and blinked at the short message scribbled on it.

“...Right. I get it. I guess a ‘Great Fleet Admiral’ can’t be seen haggling in what looks like a budget hotel suite. So, you actually want to talk for real?”

Taro cleared his throat, used BISHOP to slam the door shut, and started walking again. The room had actually been a top-tier reception suite loaded with surveillance tech, but it clearly didn't meet Sod’s ‘off-the-grid’ requirements.

“It’s a bit of a hike, but I know a spot. Follow me.”

Taro navigated the ship’s labyrinthine guts until they hit the High-speed Moving Lane. Amidst the confused stares of everyone but the two leaders, the group finally arrived at a chamber sealed behind massive, reinforced bulkheads.

“Nobody’s getting in here,” Taro announced. “If this place isn't secure, then the word ‘secure’ doesn't mean anything.”

Taro started to head for his usual seat but caught himself. The captain’s chair was basically a throne, and looking down on his guest didn't feel like the right move for a ‘peaceful negotiation.’ He pivoted at the last second.

“The Bridge... yes, this will do nicely. My apologies for being difficult,” Sod said, taking a seat as Taro gestured. Marl, Koume, and the pint-sized adjutant settled into the backup seats that hissed as they rose from the floor. An awkward, heavy silence descended upon the room.

“So,” Taro said, shattering the tension. “Since you went out of your way to find a spot where BISHOP Communication can be blacked out, I’m guessing we’re talking about that?”

Sod checked his surroundings one last time before committing. “I cannot answer that. However, I cannot deny it.”

“Got it. Phantom was right then,” Taro sighed. “Man, what’s it like being able to sniff around in everyone’s BISHOP data? Can they really see us from all the way out there?”

“Who knows. I doubt it, but I prefer not to gamble. Here. The Agreement on Ceasefire Negotiations is on this chip. Signing this would be a major PR win for your side.”

Sod slid a chip across the table. Taro picked it up, a mental question mark floating over his head.

“Wait, really? I thought you were just going to fake the negotiations until the timer ran out. If I sign this, your side ends up being the one that has to officially break the truce, right?”

“It hardly matters. Whether we succeed or fail, people will call us liars anyway. We might as well look like we tried. If it helps both of us, why not?”

“Fair enough... Marl? Take the mini-adjutant and go hammer out the fine print on this, would you?”

Taro handed the chip to Marl and watched as she, the guard, and the Imperial kid shuffled out of the Bridge.

“...Okay. Now that the paperwork is out of the way, let’s get real. How serious are you actually?” Taro asked, his eyes locked on Sod’s every twitch.

“I am fifty percent serious,” Sod replied. “But can you even believe that?”

“Honestly? It’s a bit of a coin flip. But if I want you to trust me, I guess I’ve gotta start by trusting you. Let’s roll with that fifty percent.”

“Very well.”

“Right then. I’m opening up the Guest Account permissions for the relevant data. Knock yourself out. Ask whatever you want.”

Taro pulled up the files on The Facility from the Data Bank and pinged Koume to grab some drinks. This was going to be a long one.

An hour passed. Sod stared at the data until he looked like he was nursing a migraine. He looked up at Taro, rubbing his temples.

“I have a question. This ship... the Plum. Who manufactured its BISHOP Control Mechanism? This Communication Band, the latency—it’s impossible. Is this Gigantech?”

Taro gave him a breezy, "Who, me?" smile. “Aha, nice try. We’re keeping the Q&A strictly related to The Facility. But for the record? No, it’s not Gigantech.”

Sod groaned and leaned back into the plush seat, looking thoroughly exhausted. “I suppose that goes for the android over there as well?”

Sod glanced at Koume. She offered a polite, sugary-sweet bow. “My three sizes are classified, Admiral Sod.”

“...I see. The galaxy is a big place,” Sod muttered.

He’d always thought his bosses, Etta and Yotta, were the weirdest things in the universe. He’d never even heard rumors of people like them, let alone met them. Phantom was an urban legend, sure, but at least he felt like a guy who just had better tech.

But this ship? This BISHOP Control Device? This high-performance AI? And this young Admiral who was chewing through mountains of data and reformatting it in real-time like it was nothing? This kid was just as much of a freak of nature as Etta and Yotta. Sod realized he’d been grossly underestimating how insane the galaxy could be.

“...Fine. Let’s talk about The Facility,” Sod said, snapping back to a professional posture. “Admiral Teiro, how much does the public know about your... special Gift?”

Taro’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“High-speed Calculation? Multiple Calculation? I don’t know the name of your Gift, but your info-processing is off the charts. You acted like it was no big deal, but when I asked to see synchronized video from different angles, you produced it instantly. That isn't normal.”

“Is it not? I mean, the Plum’s computers are pretty beefy...”

“No. Unless you have hardware dedicated purely to that task, you can’t do that in real-time. You did that. Or maybe the girl did. Either way, if people find out you can do this, you’re screwed.”

“...Okay, I’ll bite. Why?”

“Think, boy! With that kind of power, you can forge anything. Video, photos, sensor logs—you could manufacture a whole reality. I’m certain of it now; that’s how you jammed our Sonarmen, isn't it?”

Taro stayed silent.

“Listen to me. It doesn't matter if your data is real. If the galaxy knows you can forge it, they’ll assume you did. You shouldn't have involved your own people in the investigation. By the time anyone proves the data is real, your Alliance will have been wiped off the map.”

Sod stared him down with a gaze that could pierce armor. Taro stared back, then finally let out a long, dramatic sigh and slumped his shoulders.

“Honestly? I hadn't thought that far ahead. But hey, barely anyone knows about my Gift. I guess if I just ‘process’ the guy sitting in front of me right now, the secret’s safe, right?”

“A logical conclusion,” Sod noted.

“Yeah. But you didn't run off to tell the world; you told me to my face. I think I’ll trust that. Actually, can we just drop the act? You’ve been giving me nothing but helpful advice and peace treaties. You’ve got a pitch, don’t you?”

Sod raised an eyebrow at the kid’s bluntness. He closed his eyes, thought about the horrific data he’d just seen, and let out a sigh that sounded like it came from the bottom of his soul.

“A proposal... yes. I have one...”

Sod’s voice was weak. Then, he suddenly inhaled, balled his fist, and WHAM! He slammed his hand into the armrest with enough force to make Taro jump a foot in the air.

“Listen to me!” Sod roared. “You make damn sure you prove those bastards are connected to that Facility! And you end this shitty, pathetic excuse for a war right now!”

Taro sat frozen, eyes wide. Sod stood up, trembling with rage, and grabbed the company patch on his uniform. With a violent rip, he tore it off.

“They dragged us into this! This... this pile of vomit! I don’t give a damn if the ‘higher-ups’ ordered it!”

He threw the patch to the floor, stomped on it for good measure, and then collapsed back into his seat, huffing.

“...So, uh... does that mean you believe me?” Taro asked cautiously.

Sod turned a look of pure, molten fury on him. “Do you want to know how many Sonarmen I have? And how none of them can tell me where they were born? Yeah. I should be thanking you. Thanks for killing that woman. If you hadn't, I’d still be flying toward that objective like a total moron.”

Sod went quiet again. In all his years, he’d never been this livid. He believed that even if war was a scam or a trick, it had to have rules. It was supposed to be a sacred sport of life and property—the one thing the Galactic Empire still held dear. This? This was a humiliation. It felt like his whole career was a punchline to a bad joke.

“My apologies...” Sod said, his voice finally level. “I’ll apologize properly for the outburst later.”

He stood up and snapped into a perfect, razor-sharp salute.

“For now, we’ll hide the fleet and watch. If your investigation turns up the truth, we might help. If you fail to produce results? I’ll have to attack you again. I’ve got tens of thousands of men to feed, and if I have to be your enemy, I will be a thorough one.”

Sod bowed. Taro waved his hands frantically. “No, no, no! Don't bow! That’s plenty! Seriously, thank you! But wait... where are you going to hide a whole fleet? You just said you have a ton of Sonarmen. Won't they sniff you out?”

Sod looked at Taro, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. He started to give the answer, then stopped himself.

“Think about it. A man like you? You should be able to figure it out.”