Episode 226

"Hoh. So Sod opted for the long game. Even after I reminded him so firmly to hurry... but well, I suppose it can't be helped with these losses. No large-scale ships. No carriers. No special task ships. Those physical-projectile weapons are something of a threat, but not insurmountable. As anticipated, the real dangers are their fleet operations capability and—"

Etta of the Mercenaries muttered with a bored sigh. She was lounging in her private quarters, which had been relocated into the heart of the Main Fleet’s flagship, scanning the battle reports sent by her underlings.

The report detailed how the advance unit led by Admiral Sod had slammed head-on into the RS United Fleet, resulting in staggering casualties. Etta initially scowled at the numbers, but she found a cruel satisfaction in the fact that they had dealt a significant blow to the enemy in return.

More importantly, the report lacked any red flags suggesting "irregulars" or supernatural elements. The only danger cited was their tactical fleet management. To Etta, this was a dream come true. Tactics meant nothing if you simply steamrolled the enemy with sheer, overwhelming numbers.

"The question is whether this report is a pack of lies. If he lost two hundred to take down a hundred and fifty, that’s a fair price for pawns... Sod’s worst habit is his sentimental attachment to his men. Honestly. Come on, wake up. How long do you plan to lay there?"

Etta spoke with an air of exasperation as she reached out to stroke the face of the woman lying beside her. Like Etta, the woman was in her natural state, bare beneath the sheets. Etta intended to use her as a replacement for her lost sister for a while, granting her a level of "special treatment" compared to the other women she treated as disposable trash.

"Ah, Miss Etta... forgive me. Sister. How are you feeling?"

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, the woman nuzzled her face into Etta’s palm.

"Not bad," Etta replied smoothly. "But I need you to look into something." She nudged the woman to sit up. "I want to verify the authenticity of Report Number Seven. I’ve already granted you clearance; you should be able to access the central server."

Etta gave the command to the woman—a Sonarman—then paced over to a full-length mirror. She watched as it projected a 3D scan of her current physique, striking various poses to ensure her proportions hadn't slipped an inch.

"Sister... there is still a considerable distance between us and the battlefield. I don't think I can see clearly enough for accuracy," the woman said apologetically, clutching her discarded clothes to her chest.

Etta clicked her tongue, though she made sure the sound was too soft to be heard. She forced her expression into a bright, cheery mask before turning around.

"It doesn’t matter, Tetta," she chirped. "Precision isn’t the point. I just need an approximation. I want to make sure Admiral Sod isn't underreporting his losses or overestimating the damage he dealt. You know how men can be."

Etta approached the girl she called Tetta and gently stroked her hair. In her mind, she was already cursing the woman’s stupidity, but her touch remained tender. Tetta's hair was dyed a stark, ghostly white—a side effect of the electromagnetic receptor elements newly implanted in her skull.

"Yes, Sister. I’ll try."

The woman whispered the words like a prayer, her expression drifting into an entranced daze. She clasped her hands and shut her eyes. Etta let out a silent sigh of relief that the girl was finally motivated and decided to kill time with her skincare routine while she waited.

"Hmm, which one today? The Runola Corp formula was lackluster. Maybe I’ll give the Co-Luna Corp set a spin."

Etta surveyed a sprawling array of anti-aging oral supplements sourced from every corner of the galaxy. They were the finest products money could buy, provided one had a mountain of it to burn. Each dose contained custom-tailored nanomachines designed to repair cells based on Etta’s specific DNA.

"Sister, I think I’m in top form today. I saw it! Clearly!"

Etta was in the middle of knocking back a handful of pills when Tetta’s voice rang out. Etta chuckled inwardly—the girl was like a dog begging for a treat—and stood up to give her a light hug.

"Tell me everything. How did it look? Did you find any visual confirmation?"

"It matches Admiral Sod’s images almost perfectly. There’s a massive debris field in the combat sector. From the biggest hulks to the tiniest shards, it’s all exactly where it should be, drifting on inertia."

"Oh? Impressive. You can see that much?"

"Yes. I can't identify every piece, but I verified them by mass."

"Heh... honestly, I’m shocked. You really are a talent, aren’t you?"

Etta had planned to say that regardless of the result, but she was genuinely surprised. They were still far from the battle zone, yet Tetta wasn't just rendering electronic scans into pictures—she was calculating the weight of the objects. If that were true, the girl was absorbing natural drive particle radiation in an incredibly rare way. Etta had never seen a Sonarman capable of such a feat.

"Hmm. Perhaps I’ve been a bit wasteful," Etta murmured to herself.

Tetta tilted her head in confusion. Etta just laughed it off. "Nothing, darling," she said, before silencing her with a kiss.

Just keep dreaming, little girl. You’ve earned that much.

Etta smiled thinly against Tetta’s lips.

The truth was, Tetta was an impromptu Enhanced Sonarman—a category usually labeled as "failed experimental debris." Even the experts at Coleman had rarely succeeded in enhancing a Sonarman; such procedures almost always resulted in a fleeting, temporary burst of power.

People like Tetta, without exception, only had a few weeks to live.

"Now then, let’s get back to the fun. If the report is true, we’re free until tomorrow’s battle."

With that, Etta stripped the clothes Tetta had just put on right back off her. As far as Etta was concerned, as long as Tetta survived until the end of this battle, she had served her purpose.

"Hey, are you sure you’re okay? You look like death warmed over."

Taro’s vision, currently encased in a tactical combat headset, was dominated by Marl’s worried face. He wanted to tell her he was fine, but his brain was currently being used as a high-speed frying pan.

[OPERATION: DELTA JUNGLE — STANDBY] [DELTA FUNCTION: CORRECTION REQUIRED — ERROR 0.00121] [RELAY MACHINE DELAY ADJUSTMENT: 4… 3… 2… ERROR CORRECTED] [OPERATION: AREA B — STANDBY] [ERROR CHECK: PHYSICAL LOSS 4%] [INFILTRATION ROUTE CORRECTION: PHYSICAL LOSS 11%]

The BISHOP interface strings updated at a dizzying speed inside Taro’s mind. He used his super-parallel processing ability to chew through the data, finally pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose and exhaling a ragged breath.

"...Okay. I think we can make this work. Koume, the delay on the relay machines is killing me. Can I hand direct control over to you?"

"Acknowledged, Mr. Teiro. Leave it to me."

"Thanks. Marl, the scan results and the coordinates are drifting. Can you fix the offset?"

"Hold on. We just shoved a massive mass through an Overdrive; it’s probably inertial particle drag. Let me recalculate... There. How’s that?"

"Mm, perfect. Can we lock that into the hardware?"

"Starting now? Are you kidding me... Oh, for the love of— Fine. I’m on it."

The calculated time until the engagement began was now a little over ten hours. The wide-area scan was already picking up enemy signatures, and a thick cloud of tension had settled over every soul in the fleet.

"I really wish preventive medicine had advanced just a little more," Taro groaned, clutching his throbbing stomach.

While high-end medical machines could fix almost anything as long as your head was attached, he didn't have the luxury of time. He couldn't exactly command a fleet while floating in a tank of green goo.

"For a manager, stomach ulcers are just medals you wear on the inside," Marl joked as she walked toward the bridge exit. "Just remember that every hole in your gut saves a hundred lives. Keep it up!"

"Yeah, yeah," Taro grumbled. He refocused on the BISHOP interface, obsessively re-running calculations. He hadn't been this paranoid since the last time he’d pulled off an Overdrive with the Ghost Ship.

"One shot... we only get one shot. For better or worse, this is it."

Taro stared into the void, suddenly noticing his left hand was shaking violently. He clamped his right hand over it to force it still. His stomach pain had evolved into full-blown nausea, making him deeply regret eating breakfast.

"Enemy fleet has executed a large-scale Space Reservation. This is likely the final Overdrive, Mr. Teiro. They are precisely on schedule."

Koume’s voice rang through the quiet bridge. Taro snapped his head up, looking at her for silent confirmation.

"The intrusion route leads from Area C toward Area B... excuse me, from the C-Region toward the 'B-cups.' The numbers match our projections: approximately one thousand ships. Twenty standard-composition fleets. It seems Admiral Sod’s intel was spot on."

Koume flashed him a small, digital smile. Taro nodded, his fist tightening.

"We can do this... we can actually do this! Also, I really don't care about your 'B-cup' puns right now."

"By intentionally refusing to jam them, we’ve successfully baited them into a predictable arrival window. Quite a brilliant move. However, even with so many WIND units, I am amazed they managed to reach the 'B-cups' at maximum cruising speed."

"Heh. They probably didn't care about the wear and tear. Their leader is clearly a cold-blooded sociopath who’d abandon ships and crew just to shave a few minutes off the clock... By the way, your intonation on 'Area B' is getting weirder."

"To target this Koume's nipples despite being a woman—the enemy must surely be a crazy psycho lesbian. While I have no intention of denying the validity of same-sex attraction, it is a different story when they are aiming for mine. Do they truly believe Koume produces breast milk?"

"You just said 'nipples'! And why are they yours? You don't even have nipples! You're an AI! You're not even a mammal!"

"Shall we show them the error of their ways, Mr. Teiro? Let us teach them the terror of being completely exposed—knowing exactly when, where, and with what they are coming. Now is the time for the hammer of God! All hands, Level 1 Battle Stations! Execute the operation as planned!"

"A-Ah. Right... yeah, that's the spirit. But hey, shouldn't I be the one giving the big speech?"

Taro grumbled, but the RS Fleet’s comms network was already exploding with activity. Despite the lingering sense of being bullied by his own AI, Taro followed her lead.

"Commence the operation! All fleets, move out! Let’s educate those virgins on the fundamental truth of the universe: Virgins don't produce breast milk!"

"Why are you the one saying that?! And stop making that 'I just said something cool' face! It wasn't cool! Also, what does 'virgin' even mean in the context of software?! Ugh, forget it! I don't have the energy to argue!"

The fleet obeyed the command, slowly accelerating toward their predetermined positions.

Ten hours later.

The blue light of the opening volley signaled the start of the battle, shining like a new star in a forgotten corner of the galaxy.