The Truth Behind the Curtain

The guest quarters aboard the Battleship Plum were fancy. Like, "Galactic Empire high-roller" fancy. Admiral Sod sat back on a plush sofa, lazily tracking his adjutant with his eyes as the younger man paced circles around the room like a caffeinated hamster.

"We’re clear, Admiral," the adjutant finally announced, looking satisfied after nearly two hours of amateur gymnastics. As a Sonarman, his ears were better than any sensor. "No bugs, no hidden data-leaks. I can't speak for BISHOP, but as long as we keep our voices down, we’re golden."

"Good. About time," Sod said, reaching for a teacup on the table. The tea smelled incredible. Between the aroma and the absurdly soft upholstery, he almost forgot he was currently sitting inside a giant hunk of enemy metal. "So, what’s the word on the Peace Proposal?"

"Going exactly as planned, sir. I’ve got two versions ready to go, just like you asked," the adjutant said with a sharp, mischievous grin.

Sod nodded, letting out a long, heavy breath. He’d drafted two distinct versions of the Limited Peace Proposal for the RS Alliance. Plan A: Use if they found the dirt on The Facility. Plan B: Use if they didn't. Both plans were designed to save their own necks, but Sod had made sure they were juicy enough for the RS Alliance to bite. Depending on how the next few hours went, one would be signed, and the other would "accidentally" fall into a paper shredder.

"They didn't seem very used to this kind of cloak-and-dagger stuff," the adjutant noted, his eyes glazing over as he recalled the meeting. "In fact, I got the vibe they think this whole 'negotiating' thing is a bit cowardly. Which is weird, considering their kill count."

"It’s a culture clash," Sod replied, picturing the ragtag crew. "War in Outer Space is a different beast entirely. It sounds like they’ve barely spent any time fighting in the Central systems."

The adjutant slumped into the seat across from Sod. "But sir, are you really going through with this? This is high treason. A total betrayal."

Sod flashed a cynical, jagged smile. "I don't know what else you’d call what the higher-ups did to us except a betrayal. But... well, I’ll tell you what I told their Admiral. I’m only fifty percent serious."

"Only fifty percent? Not going all-in?"

"Hardly. I’d love to tell him I’m a hundred percent on board, but I have a job to do. If the evidence they're digging for doesn't exist, we have to go back to the Empire with our tails between our legs."

"And... can we actually go back?"

"The rest of you can," Sod muttered, sounding like he wanted to spit. He kicked his legs out and sprawled across the sofa. He wasn't tired; he just felt like he’d finally dropped a backpack full of lead.

He knew how this ended for him. No matter which way the wind blew, Sod was losing his rank. He’d be lucky if he only got fired; he was already mentally preparing for the inevitable assassin the Empire would send to "thank" him for his service.

But looking at his adjutant, Sod felt a strange sense of peace. If this worked, he wouldn't have to use his men as meat shields. He could save their lives and their reputations. If the evidence appeared, he’d be the hero who led a righteous rebellion. If it didn't, his men would just be the victims of an "incompetent" Admiral’s blunder, allowing them to return to their normal lives.

"Hmph. Not bad," Sod whispered to himself, nodding in solo approval.

"I don't know, man. Something smells fishy," Taro said, rubbing the bridge of his nose in the Battleship Plum’s Bridge. "It’s all going way too smoothly, isn't it?"

Marl stood beside him, her arms crossed. "You’re telling me. Even Bella thinks it’s suspicious. Hey, Taro, what the hell did you show him? We’ve been screaming about The Facility for ages, but suddenly Admiral Sod sees one data packet and has a total change of heart?"

Taro let out a long, frustrated groan. What did I even say to the guy?

"I’m not sure. He reacted like he’d just found the missing piece of a puzzle. He mentioned something about how many Sonarmen they have. Koume, did you see this coming?"

Koume, standing perfectly still like a gothic lawn ornament, shook her head. "No. To be honest, Mr. Teiro, I didn't expect him to fold this easily. Based on his records and how he treats rescuees, I figured he’d consider our offer if it meant saving his people. I didn't expect a full-blown alliance."

Marl nodded along. "Right. So, like Taro said, he definitely saw something that confirmed his worst fears. Something about Sonarmen? Was there anything else? Did you get a recording?"

"No way. I’m not messing with that Peeping Tom on their side. The whole chat was strictly off the record," Taro said. "Wait... he also mentioned that he doesn't know where any of them were born."

"Birthplaces: Unknown?" Marl frowned. "We’re talking about the Sonarmen, right? It’s hard to believe the head of the Security Department can’t look up a simple HR file. What if they ended up at war with their own home systems? That’s basic logistics!"

"Exactly. So if we assume Sod isn't lying through his teeth, it means the info literally doesn't exist." Taro made a face like he’d just bitten into a lemon. "And honestly? I have a really bad feeling I know exactly what kind of 'people' we’re talking about."

Marl’s expression soured to match his. "Yeah. Me too."

"We do not know the exact process by which a Sonarman is manufactured," Koume added in her usual monotone, "but Miss Etta fits every known criteria. Mr. Phantom has made similar remarks in the past. It is highly probable that this is the common link."

The Bridge went quiet. Taro was the first to break the silence, his voice dripping with reluctant disgust. "The success rate for 'cooking' a Sonarman is basically zero, right? Just like those Suicide Ships. Just how many people are these monsters slaughtering?"

This wasn't just the collateral damage of war. This was a factory. A meat grinder for profit. Taro felt a wave of hot anger surge through him, followed by a cold, hollow sadness.

"Taro..." Marl stepped forward and took his hand, her gaze drifting toward Etta, who was still fast asleep in her seat. "I think we’ve been looking at this all wrong."

She squeezed his hand, her knuckles turning white. "They weren't just looking for Unidentified Soldiers. They wanted someone like Etta. The soldiers... the disposable people... they were just the failed prototypes. Etta was the goal."

Taro squeezed back. "The 'byproducts' of a human manufacturing line. It all fits. Phantom told me once that everyone in The Facility was just a candidate for being turned into an Enhanced Human."

At the time, Taro had hoped it was just one of Phantom’s dark theories. Now, it felt like an undeniable, ugly truth.

"Taro," Marl said, letting go of his hand and walking toward Etta. Taro followed, looking down at the "Sleeping Princess." Her mind was a shattered mess, and her body had been rewritten by people who saw her as a tool.

"Yeah," Taro said, his voice low. "We can't just win a war. We have to make sure no more kids like Etta are ever born. I don't know her whole story, and she’d probably tell me to mind my own business, but this is wrong. There’s no world where this is okay."

His fingers dug into the fabric of the seat’s cushion. He looked up, his eyes burning with a new, sharp clarity.

"Koume. I think all roads lead back to one person. We need to find out exactly what they’re planning, and then we’re going to burn it to the ground. You with me?"

Taro didn't even turn around to ask. He already knew the answer.

"I see no flaw in your reasoning, Mr. Teiro," Koume replied, her voice sounding just a fraction softer than usual. "Once, I found the concept of self-sacrifice for others to be illogical. That is no longer the case. I have gained the... necessary experience to understand your conviction. I will follow you to the end."

Taro gave a sharp nod, then shared a look with Marl. She nodded back, her eyes fierce.

"I don't care about the Mercenaries or the small-fry," Taro growled. The anger and sadness in his chest had condensed into a white-hot, quiet flame. It wasn't a distraction anymore; it was fuel. It cleared his head and wiped away the doubt.

"Our real enemy is Coleman."

He felt it then—a strange, surging confidence. For the first time, no matter how impossible the odds, Taro felt like he could do anything.