Episode 227: A Rainy Day in Space

Few citizens of the Galactic Empire have ever actually experienced the natural phenomenon known as "rain."

For people who spend their entire lives on space stations, the very concept of weather is practically non-existent. Even temperature shifts are a rarity; at most, a factory worker might occasionally complain it’s getting a bit stuffy near the furnaces.

If you ever had to explain the concept of rain to these people, the footage currently lighting up the RS Alliance tactical screen would be a perfect visual aid. You’d just have to tell them to imagine the beams were water.

"No, wait, stop! This is impossible! This isn't even a 'barrage' anymore! My brain can't keep up with the math!" Taro screamed, his body seizing up in his command seat.

A deluge of violence, unleashed by over a thousand enemy ships, surged toward the RS fleet like a hurricane. We’re talking over a hundred accelerated particle masses per second.

"Oh, come on. You’re totally fine, aren't you?" Marl asked, her face twitching as she looked at Taro. She was clearly trying to force a "we’ve got this" smile, but it was an absolute train wreck of an expression. "I mean, look at you—you’re calculating the ballistic trajectories perfectly. The damage is barely a scratch!"

"I am not 'fine at all'! What part of this disaster looks 'okay' to you?!" Taro barked back.

Taro was currently crunching the numbers for almost every single incoming shot from the main enemy force by himself. He’d decided it was more efficient this way since having multiple people do it led to messy overlaps and redundant calculations, but now? Now he was regretting his life choices. He hadn't expected the enemy to just hold down the trigger and hope for the best.

"This has moved beyond the realm of 'tactics,' Mr. Teiro," Koume noted, her voice as cool as a cucumber.

In stark contrast to her tone, however, her arms were a blur of motion—a dizzying speed only an AI could maintain. By manually overriding the shield controls, she managed to free up BISHOP Communication capacity for other tasks.

"Incidentally, two shield ships are already screaming bloody murder. If we’re going to do something, we should probably do it now."

"Already?! It’s only been fifteen minutes!" Taro yelled.

"Teiro, the enemy just kicked on their warp jammers!" Marl shouted. "Interference strength is at twenty-two! Any ships with low battery output are going to be stuck here forever!"

"Got it! Wait, twenty-two?! Since when do jammer ratings even go into double digits?!"

"The Third Fleet's shield ship has been breached, Mr. Teiro," Koume interjected. "The enemy is playing for keeps. They have zero interest in testing the waters."

"Already? Seriously? Did it blow?"

"No, they’re successfully retreating by rotating consort ships to the front. Assessment is 'Moderate Damage.' One would expect nothing less from Miss Bella, though even she can’t hold that line indefinitely."

"Is that fire coming from that massive thing? Dammit, what even is that? It’s not a ship, it’s a flying fortress!"

Taro’s cheek twitched as he stared at the tactical screen, where a massive red marker dominated the display. The ship was shaped like a giant rectangular brick—a very famous ship class. Taro recognized it from the military knowledge he’d pilfered during his first override: the De Ild Samasa.

Named after the Great Samasa, this behemoth had been birthed fifty years ago at the Gigantech Corp Samasa Star System shipyard. It had become an instant bestseller for every major corporation with too much money. It was an impregnable wall that could also snort long-range fire from its large-caliber cannons. It had dominated so many battlefields that it had actually changed how the Empire classified ships.

"A De Ild Samasa Mark 2, huh? It’s even bigger than the Mark 1. Definitely a super 'D' class ship. It’s basically a Dreadnought from the future," Taro muttered bitterly.

He knew it wasn't their fault, but he really hated Gigantech Corp right now.

"Considering the Area B Operation, I guess this counts as a win?" Marl asked, tilting her head.

Taro wasn't so sure. "Well, it’s better than an aircraft carrier, at least."

Intelligence suggested the Mercenaries had a large-scale carrier in their pocket. If that thing had shown up, they would have been in deep, deep trouble.

"They likely stayed away because we have so many renowned HAD pilots," Koume said, staring into the empty air—though she was likely reading data Taro couldn't see. "HAD are lethal against bombers, after all. That being said, things are about to get very, very ugly."

Taro pulled the damage report Koume was looking at onto his visor display.

"Yeah, looks like it," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "I mean, it's only been fifteen minutes, but... I guess it’s time. Marl, are the fleets ready?"

"Ready and waiting. Actually, they’re mostly just yelling at me to hurry up."

"Okay. Let’s do this... All fleets, execute Area B Operation! I repeat: Execute Area B Operation!"

Taro’s voice echoed through the microphone in his headgear. A heavy, lingering silence settled over the bridge, followed moments later by a low vibration that rattled the very floorboards.

"Decoupling... successful! We timed it with the enemy’s bombardment, so it should look totally natural from their end." Marl pumped her fist.

"Alright then." Taro looked at Marl, nodded, and pulled off his headgear. "Let's get the hell out of here."

---

"Enemy flagship reports a small-scale explosion! Damage confirmed on several other capital ships! Drive particle activity is spiking—it looks like the enemy is tucking tail and running!"

A cheer went up from the reporting officer aboard the Mercenaries' flagship. Etta, sitting in the command chair, scowled at the news.

"They’ve only lost three destroyers. What a bunch of spineless cowards," she spat.

The battle had barely started. She felt cheated. The "legendary" live-ammunition weapons weren't anything special—just like Admiral Sod said—and they’d easily scorched the enemy's little ships by surrounding them with their own heavy hitters.

"What is that on the screen? Is that... furniture? Did we hit a residential block?"

The zoomed-in footage showed a cloud of debris around the enemy flagship: bits of broken chairs, household goods, and random junk. But the residential blocks weren't a Vital Part. Blowing up someone’s sofa shouldn't have forced a retreat.

"...Fine. Pursue them immediately."

Something felt off, but Etta pushed it aside and ordered the jump. She wished she could talk to Yotta, but her sister was already gone.

"Understood, Miss Etta. We’ll execute Overdrive in fleet pairs as soon as they’re ready," her temporary adjutant said.

Etta glanced at him. The guy’s BISHOP Communication was practically vibrating with hesitation.

"If you have something to say, say it clearly—"

"Enemy fleet has executed a mass jump! Start-to-finish variance: 8,500 milliseconds!" the reporter interrupted. "Destination coordinates identified. They’re holding their position at the jump site. It looks like an ambush!"

Etta swallowed her rage at being interrupted. She considered the data.

"A warp in eight seconds? Impressive. They must be specialists in hit-and-run tactics... Send the Samasa in first. Right after the scouts."

She wasn't going to let them defeat her fleet piece-by-piece with sequential warps. She waited in silence, fuming.

"First Fleet, Linkage Overdrive ready. Countdown beginning... 5... 4... 3... 2... Drive start."

Etta’s world turned blue. The blinding light stabbed at the back of her eyes. Because she could directly perceive the flow of Drive Particles, she absolutely loathed the headaches that came with an Overdrive.

"...Drive complete. All ships accounted for. The enemy is moving away, but our vanguard has already engaged."

The blue light faded, and the bridge stopped swimming. Etta rubbed her temples.

"Good," she replied. "We’re finishing this here. There’s a good distance to the next drive point. We catch them now... Wait. What is that?"

She pointed at a swarm of ominous shadows on the radar screen. It was a massive number of Space Reservations, appearing dangerously close to their fleet.

"We don't know, Miss Etta! It’s been there since the scouts warped in!" the subordinate stammered.

"Useless," Etta hissed.

She stared at the display. The sheer volume of reservations looked like grains of sand pouring through an hourglass.

"There aren't enough ships in the galaxy to make that many reservations. Even if there were, they’d be frigate-sized at best. And they’re too far away to be mass weapons... What is this?"

The number of reservations just kept growing. Etta ordered the visual feed to the main screen.

"The space is actually distorting... Does anyone know what this is? Is this a tactic?!"

The bridge went silent. Many of her officers were military-trained, but they were all staring at the screen with the same look of existential dread.

"Sixth and Seventh Fleets have warped in. We’ll have the whole fleet here in five minutes. We’re at sixty percent strength and—AH!"

The reporter’s yelp drew everyone’s eyes back to the main screen.

"...Scrap metal?" someone whispered.

Floating in the area where the reservations had been made was a mangled mass of steel. It was, quite literally, a giant pile of junk.

"There’s more... what is that? A decommissioned hull?"

"They just keep coming! Is that a rock?"

"Why are they dumping this? Is that a... a wardrobe?"

The bridge erupted into confused chatter. Etta stared, speechless. The void was rapidly filling with a gargantuan mountain of garbage.

"They loaded their ships with trash just to... what? Use a drive shooter to dump it? This makes no sense!"

If it was a scare tactic, it was way too much effort. Etta’s skin crawled with a growing sense of unease.

"It’s heavy... Sister," Tetta, the Sonarman, whispered, her head tilting curiously. "That mass... it’s so heavy. How are they moving it?"

Etta was about to snap that of course a mountain of steel was heavy, but a frantic voice cut her off.

"M-Miss Etta! Report! A grave report!"

One of the sonar operators was staring at his instruments, eyes wide with horror.

"What?!" Etta demanded.

The operator turned his head toward her with the mechanical stiffness of a rusted robot. When he spoke, everyone on the bridge finally realized the trap they’d walked into.

"The amount of mass warping into this sector has caused a localized depletion of Drive Particles... Unless those reservations stop, the rest of our fleet... they can't get here. They're stranded."

Everyone's Collected Feelings (Trash).