Chapter 230

"We set out with two thousand ships, and now we’re down to four hundred. How perfectly depressing."

Etta of the Mercenaries let out a thin, sharp laugh. No one on the bridge took her words at face value; they all assumed she was just being her usual caustic self, likely aiming the sarcasm at their own incompetence.

"The enemy's numbers have dwindled as well, and we still have Admiral Sod’s four hundred ships. The opposition likely has two hundred at most. I don't see a problem," a Staff Officer replied, his voice brimming with the unearned confidence of someone wearing a brand-new insignia.

Etta recalled a certain passionate encounter from the previous night and shot him a sultry, predatory look. "I suppose you’re right. It’ll be fine. But we can’t exactly afford to slack off, can we?"

She dropped her voice into a saccharine lilt. The Staff Officer grinned back, looking like a cat that had found a very specific bowl of cream.

"Of course not. By the way, regarding the split of our forces... I noticed you designated the Electronic Warfare Craft as a separate detachment?"

Etta gave a dismissive shrug. "Oh, sorry about that. I gave the order directly. Did I bruise your ego?"

"N-No! Not at all. It’s just, as a Staff Officer, I need to grasp the overall strategy. May I ask the reasoning?"

"Reasoning? I didn't have any. They’re a Surprise Attack force. If I lumped them in with the standard fleet, they wouldn’t be able to flex their Electronic Warfare muscles, now would they?"

"That’s true, but we have intelligence suggesting the enemy has an incredibly talented Sonarman. Even Miss Yotta—"

"Don’t you dare use that name!"

Her scream echoed through the bridge, plunging the room into a suffocating silence. Etta glared at the Staff Officer with murderous eyes before shifting her gaze to Tetta, who was currently trembling like a leaf. Compared to her older sister, Tetta was a complete letdown, but looking at her was the only thing keeping Etta’s rage from boiling over.

"...The enemy Sonarman has a fatal weakness. We’re just going to poke at it until it breaks," Etta spat out.

The Staff Officer squeaked a tiny "Yes, Ma'am," though he still looked like he had a dozen more questions.

"You're wondering if it's a gamble, right? Since we don't know exactly when their Sonarman sleeps?" Etta asked, her voice dripping with boredom. She caught the officer's silent nod and let out a sharp, nasty snort before her lips curled into a malicious grin. "There are a thousand ways to handle this. Just shut up and watch."

Twenty hours had passed since the Rising Sun began its retreat. The void was a mess of long-range sniping from Large-caliber Cannons and sporadic, violent skirmishes. Both sides were bleeding, sustaining damage that was becoming impossible to ignore.

Each fleet had lost about ten percent of its strength. To an outsider, it looked like the RS side was punching way above its weight class given the numbers, but considering the distance left to reach The Facility, it was anyone’s game. The fleets ground forward, locked in a slow-motion sprint toward the finish line.

Just as the fleet crossed the two-thirds mark and Taro was beginning to think they might actually make it without a total disaster, reality intervened.

"Miffu? Juft miffu?"

Taro sat in the dining hall, his cheeks bulging with mochi kneaded with enough sesame to choke a horse. He looked toward Etta—the one currently poking her own piece of mochi with a look of profound confusion.

"Yes, three. Three little black dots, Teiro. More than two, fewer than four."

Etta muttered this with the intensity of a scientist discovering a new element, her eyes never leaving the mochi. Taro glanced at Marl, who was across the table happily devouring a gray mass that was roughly ninety percent sesame and ten percent rice. She responded with a silent, "don't look at me" shrug.

"President, shall we head to the bridge?"

Taro looked up at the Security Department Section Manager, who was currently filling in for Alan on the second bridge. Taro shook his head. "Nah. We’ve got this for now," he said, pushing himself up from the table. "You guys heard the lady. Clear the table for us, would you?"

Accompanied by Etta and Marl, Taro headed for the exit.

"You're stuffed, but are you feeling sleepy at all?" Taro asked as they grabbed the handrail of the High-speed Moving Lane. Etta shook her head silently and latched onto Taro’s waist.

"I'm fine. Stop... treating me like a baby."

Etta pouted. The lane accelerated, the sudden G-force pulling them horizontal until they were effectively flying parallel to the floor.

"What do they think they're doing with only three ships? Did some idiots decide to go rogue?" Taro wondered aloud.

Etta had pinged what were almost certainly enemy Stealth Ships. She was the type of girl who would admit it if she was guessing, so if she said three, there were three. But out of a fleet of a hundred, why only three? Taro felt a greasy sense of unease.

"Teiro, Koume said she’ll be along shortly. She’s coming from the Workshop, so it’ll take a minute," Marl said from behind him. She was somehow still eating that tan-colored sesame lump while hanging onto a high-speed rail. When she saw Taro looking, she tucked it behind her back like a guilty toddler.

"Look, I'm not gonna steal your snack... but seriously, Marl, do we need to build you a dedicated sesame Cultivation Station?"

"I-I don't eat that much! It’s just... well, my Personal System just flagged a message."

[FAT BURNING AGENT DEPLOYED]

"You are definitely eating too much! Look at Etta—she’s literally having lipids pumped into her. Meanwhile, I’m over here with a constant zinc deficiency warning... and what the hell is Plum doing in the Workshop anyway?"

Plum's Workshop was less of a "shop" and more of a "high-end industrial fabrication plant." Marl had designed it herself, and it was capable of doing pretty much anything short of mass production.

"She said she was 'optimizing' her chassis. She asked me if it was mechanically feasible to decompose organic matter for energy transport. I think she wants to build herself a digestive system."

"No, no, no! Why would she get rid of the best part of being a robot? Where is she even going with this? ...Wait, is it actually possible?"

"Not at that size, no. Miniaturization tech isn't there yet."

"Thank god. I was worried for a second."

They reached the bridge and immediately fell into their respective grooves.

"Data Link updated, Teiro. Setting Alert Level to 3?"

"Let's stick with 2. Three ships aren't a threat—yet."

"Coordinates sent," Etta chimed in. "Projected vectors and trace lines on screen."

"Thanks, Etta. Holler if they twitch."

The Stealth Ships weren't showing up on active scans, but they were definitely there. Three "Provisional" markers blinked on the Radar Screen, drawing the trio's focus.

"Lock-on complete. Bella's asking for permission to delete them," Marl reported.

"I mean, obviously we should... wait. Hold on." Taro felt a cold prickle on the back of his neck. "Marl, if we give the ECM a directional focus, we can hit them from a distance, right?"

"Sure. But the signal strength drops off with range."

"Right... but... oh, crap. This is a trap, isn't it?"

A memory from the Imperial Navy Officer Academy bubbled up. It was from a history class—the subject Taro sucked at most—and the memory wasn't a happy one.

"Colonel Doan’s reconnaissance tactics... but they're doing it with live pilots. This is going to be a long day."

Taro’s face twisted. Marl looked at him, confused. "Colonel who?"

Taro kept his eyes on the screen. "An old-school Navy Colonel. He came up with 'Exposure Tactics.' Basically, you flood the area where you think a stealth unit is with drones. Even stealth ships can be pinged if you get a drone close enough. It’s a brute-force search."

Marl tilted her head. "But they’re the ones using stealth, not us."

"The genius of Doan wasn't just the drones; it was the cost-benefit analysis. He turned 'throwing crap at the wall' into a legitimate tactical doctrine. He proved when it was worth the sacrifice."

"I still don't see the—"

"If we shoot them now, we're telling them Etta is awake."

Marl started to nod, then froze. "Wait... oh. Oh."

She chewed on the thought for a second, her expression souring. "So, if we intercept them at long range—"

"The moment we stop intercepting them, they’ll know exactly when Etta goes to sleep. Then the whole Stealth Fleet jumps us. They hit the Warp Jammers, and we're space dust."

"And if we let them get close?"

"We're in their kill zone. And even if it's only three ships, they're Electronic Warfare units. They'll redline their systems to fry ours without caring if they survive the feedback. We’ll lose a ship or two for sure."

"...I see. But if we take the hit, Etta’s schedule stays a secret."

"Exactly. We don't have to be total martyrs, though. We’ll roll some dice—intercept some far out, let some get close. Keep 'em guessing. Either way, we need to kick this fleet into high gear."

Taro threw together a randomized interception table and flicked it to Marl. She began transmitting the new orders to the fleet. After a moment, she paused, her voice tinged with disgust.

"Teiro... these stealth ships they're sending. They aren't drones, are they?"

Taro didn't look at her. "Probably not."

"You called it a drone tactic... but no sane pilot would sign up for a mission where the goal is to be shot down."

"Yeah, well... I have a pretty good idea of how they’re convincing people." Taro thought back to the Suicide Ships and the hollow-eyed crews they'd found.

"It might be effective, but... God, it's horrible. Why would anyone do this?" Marl’s voice was thick with a mix of anger and grief. Etta sat beside them, scowling and twisting a lock of her hair.

"Who knows? Money, power, or maybe they were just born rotten. I couldn't tell you—wait."

An unauthorized ping cut through the fleet’s encrypted network. Taro stared at the notification in shock, then spat on the floor.

"We’ve got an incoming comms request from the enemy. You want to know why they’re doing this? Let’s ask the scumbag ourselves."