Chapter 231

“Well, well. Do I have the pleasure of meeting the infamous Mr. Teiro for the first time? We surely know enough about one another by now that introductions would be redundant, wouldn’t they?”

A woman's voice crackled through Taro’s comms. A holographic display shimmered into life, projecting the upper body of a young woman wearing a poised, practiced smile. Under any other circumstances, a face like that might have made Taro’s heart skip a beat, but it was a different story when the caller was the enemy commander.

“Yeah, yeah, hey there. Great timing, actually. I was just thinking of giving you a ring myself. Miss Etta... oh, wait. No, no. Wrong one. Not my Etta—the bad one over there.”

Taro directed the first half of his sentence into the Mike, then clicked the transmission off to mutter the second half to his crew on the Bridge. Rising Sun Etta, currently rubbing the sleep from her bleary eyes, twisted her face into a mask of pure annoyance and looked away as if the entire universe bored her.

“Oh, is that so? Perhaps I should have waited a bit longer for your call, then,” the Mercenaries Etta replied, shrugging with playful theater.

Taro snorted, unimpressed. He cocked a provocative eyebrow. “So, what’s the occasion? What do you want?”

“What do I want? Let’s see. To put it simply: a Surrender Recommendation. You’re at the end of your rope, aren't you? You’ve done quite well, honestly. Even if you threw up your hands and gave up now, no one would blame you. In fact, why not come work for us?”

Etta let out a silky chuckle.

“Go to hell,” Taro shot back. “I’d rather die quietly than serve a piece of work like you. If you’re going to tell jokes, at least find some that are actually funny, you monster.”

“My, how cold. But think clearly. Unless you’re a total moron, you must realize things are about to get very ugly for you. Look into the eyes of your three companions. Do you really want to throw their lives away?”

Three companions?

“Three... oh, yeah. Of course they’re precious to me. That’s exactly why I’m going to kick your teeth in as fast as humanly possible. We’re already geared up for it. If you’re just here to talk trash, I’m hanging up.”

Taro cut the connection unilaterally and spun around to face Marl.

“Hey, Marl. Quick question. Do people usually count androids as 'one person, two people'?”

Marl tilted her head, tapping a finger against her chin. “I wonder... Some might, I suppose, but it’s definitely not common. Usually, it’s 'one unit, two units.' Except for Koume, obviously.”

“Right. Figures,” Taro muttered, falling into deep thought.

After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen—items so old they were basically Antiques. He scribbled a set of instructions in Galactic Standard Language and thrust the paper toward Marl.

“Give this to Koume. Things are about to get interesting.”

Marl tried to peek at the note, but Taro hurriedly waved her off, shaking his head to signal that it was for Koume’s eyes only.

“Fine, fine,” Marl huffed, puffing out her cheeks in a faux pout. “But you better explain everything later. I hate being the only one not in on the joke.”

She wasn't actually angry, though. Taro watched her hustle off the Bridge, waited a few beats, and then sent a request to reopen the channel to the enemy.

“Hanging up so suddenly? What an impolite brat,” the Mercenaries Etta reappeared, her voice now sharp with genuine irritation. “Didn't your mama teach you any manners? And yet, here you are, crawling back to call me.”

Taro’s eye twitched at the mention of 'mama,' but he forced himself to stay cool.

“Mama, huh? Sorry, don’t remember her. Anyway, I only called back to give you a heads-up. If you’re gonna tuck your tail and run, now’s your last chance.”

He dialed the smugness up to eleven, wearing the most mocking, punchable expression he could muster. He couldn't tell if it was actually working, but the woman on the screen let out a curious, airy hum.

“And what, pray tell, are you planning to do?”

Her gaze felt like it was boring a hole through the screen, trying to peel back his skull and read his thoughts. Taro clenched his fist out of sight and wiped his sweaty palm on his trousers. He heard footsteps—Marl returning—but he didn't dare break eye contact with the hologram.

“Like I’d tell a moron like you. It’s a... uh, you know. A plan to wipe you all out in one shot! A real 'all-or-nothing' move!”

“My, such confidence... but are you truly alright?” Etta’s eyes narrowed into a predatory, cat-like slit. A hauntingly gentle smile played on her lips. She slowly raised an index finger, pointing it directly at the camera. “Can you really win against us with that little plan? There won't be a second chance, you know. Are there no flaws? Are you absolutely sure? What if something unexpected happens? Did you carry a zero? Is your estimate too naive? Really, truly... are you going to be okay?”

The questions hit him like rapid-fire physical blows. Taro knew she was just trying to rattle him, but a cold sweat broke out nonetheless. Those eyes... it felt like she already knew everything. Taro instinctively took a step back.

“We’ll win... we have to... I’ve checked the data... a thousand times...”

Taro averted his eyes from her serpentine gaze and frantically began accessing the ship's database—specifically the file containing his "secret" trump card. Beside him, Marl was waving her arms and saying something, but her voice was a muffled roar in his ears.

“...Pfft. Honestly, that’s enough. I’m sorry for scaring you so much.”

The suffocating pressure vanished instantly. Etta was laughing now, sounding like any ordinary girl you'd meet on the street. Taro shook his head to clear the fog and opened his mouth to snap back.

The screen went black. She had hung up on him.

On the enemy flagship, the Mercenaries Etta leaned back in her Captain’s Seat, looking like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

“What a greenhorn. He folded after just a little pressure. Though, I must say, the BISHOP COMMUNICATION BAND is shockingly wide. The ship's hardware is impressive, but more importantly, the sheer volume of data they process is immense. It was quite a chore to intercept and decrypt it all. Simply marvelous.”

Etta spoke with a giddy, almost manic energy. Her Adjutant nodded stoically. “Is that so?”

“It is!” Etta chirped. She reached out and handed a Pulse Chip to the man. “I’ve got the gist of their 'trump card.' It seems they’ve fired a massive volley of live rounds in advance, set to INERTIAL CRUISE. They’re timed to slam into the coordinates where we’d drop out of OVERDRIVE. The plan was filed under the codename 'Dense Jungle.' Nearly five thousand rounds. Quite the logistical nightmare for them, I imagine.”

The Adjutant’s eyes widened as he scanned the data. “I see... hitting us during the fleet reorganization phase immediately after a Drive-out. We’d be sitting ducks. It’s actually a viable tactic.”

“Yes, and they’ve accelerated the rounds to a terrifying velocity. Oh? What’s the matter? You look a bit green.”

“...No, I’m fine, ma’am. I just shuddered at the thought of actually flying into that.”

“Well, go rest in your quarters for a bit. But do get used to it; we have a long way to go. Oh, wait.” Etta stopped the Adjutant as he turned to leave. She grinned wickedly. “Signal the fleet. Reduce our cruising speed to 70% of current output.”

The Adjutant froze. “Reduce speed? Not increase it?”

Etta tapped the chip in his hand. “Precisely. They’ve been running away to bait us into a chase. The sporadic skirmishes were just to keep us focused while they timed the arrival of those live rounds. Since those bullets are just drifting on inertia, they can’t exactly hit the brakes or change their arrival time, can they?”

She looked immensely proud of herself. The Adjutant let out a breath of realization and mirrored her smirk.

“I see. We let the 'Dense Jungle' pass right by us, then march in at our leisure. Understood. I’ll relay the orders immediately.”

The Adjutant gave a crisp salute and hurried off. Etta watched him go, wondering if he really was feeling sick—he seemed to be moving awfully fast.

“I swear, when you dropped the firewalls and started bumbling around the database, I thought you’d finally lost your marbles,” Marl said, clutching her chest in relief.

Taro let out a decidedly unheroic, villainous cackle. “Guhehe! Phantom and Admiral Sod warned me that BISHOP traffic can be leaked if someone knows what they’re doing. This is a total win for the Info-War department. Besides, she said something that gave her away.”

“Gave her away?”

“Yeah. She called us 'three people.' She was counting you, Etta, and Koume. To us, that’s normal, but to a stranger? They’d see two people and an android. Most people don't count 'units' as 'people.'”

“Ah. So you realized she was watching us through the cameras... and then she called us 'companions,' which is definitely too friendly for a robot. Unless she thought you were such a hardcore android-fetishist that the distinction didn't matter.”

“Hey! I only sexually harass organic lifeforms, thank you very much! I’ve never done anything like that to Koume. Even if they had a spy—and that’s a big 'if'—even Ando wouldn't make that mistake.”

Taro turned his attention back to the Radar Screen. The enemy fleet icons were already beginning to decelerate. Marl leaned over to look.

“I have to hand it to you, though. That was some Oscar-worthy acting. You really looked like you were about to pee your pants.”

“I was actually scared, okay?” Taro admitted with a shiver. “She’s definitely using something. Hypnosis? Some high-tech subliminal frequency? I felt like my soul was being sucked out through the screen. It wasn't like she was mind-controlling me, but it felt like she was... I don't know, playing my emotions like a fiddle.”

Marl looked skeptical for a second, then nodded as if a piece of a puzzle had clicked into place. “There are labs that use BISHOP to manipulate visual impressions. Advertising agencies sink billions into that kind of 'sensory marketing.' It’s not impossible... But wait, how did you rewrite the database that fast? Was it Koume?”

Marl smirked. Taro opened his mouth to answer, but a flat, mechanical voice beat him to it.

“I am capable of establishing a direct hardware uplink to terminals without the use of BISHOP, Miss Marl,” Koume said, stepping onto the Bridge. She was staring blankly at her right arm—or rather, the stump where her right wrist used to be. “As it was an emergency, I breached the nearest private quarters to access a terminal. In my haste, the room was left in a state of moderate disarray. I shall have to apologize to the occupant.”

Taro stared at the missing hand in horror. “You... you actually built a Rocket Punch?!”

Koume looked at him and gave a tiny, terrifying smirk.

“Affirmative, Mr. Teiro. A weapon of extreme peril that incorporates propulsion and high explosives into one's own limb—a concept no sane person would entertain. The warhead is disposable, requires a specialized attachment, and I only have two shots. It is inefficient. It is wasteful. It is the antithesis of versatility. However, humans are creatures who adore the absurd and the wasteful, often referring to such things as 'Romance.' Therefore, I have decided to embrace Romance as well.”

“I... uh, right. Cool. Glad we're on the same page,” Taro stammered. “But, uh, no casualties, right? You didn't blow anyone up?”

“Negative, Mr. Teiro. No biological organisms were harmed. However, I did accidentally terminal-velocity-delete two love dolls. Their garments were labeled 'Julia' and 'Rosa.'”

Taro winced. “Alan’s room... Sorry, Alan. My condolences to Julia and Rosa.”

He offered a brief prayer toward the crew quarters, then checked the time on the electronic seal on his wrist.

“Now that they’ve slowed down, we’re going to take a lot more harassment from their ELECTRONIC WARFARE CRAFT. It’s gonna hurt, but if we can just grit our teeth and bear it until we hit the mark...”

Taro smiled as the timer on his wrist synced up perfectly with their projected arrival at DELTA POINT.

“It’s finally our turn to play.”