Episode 234

It’s been a while, so here’s a rapid-fire consecutive update by way of apology!

"Enemy Shield Ship RS8 is losing speed. [MODERATE DAMAGE ASSESSMENT]. That was a hit from the Samasa. There’s a gaping hole in E Block; what’s the call? Do we pursue, or keep the offensive?"

Despite the chaos of a space battle, the bridge was unnervingly quiet. While the crew worked like caffeinated drones, only the adjutant’s voice rang out with any gusto.

"Good work. We’ve always had the edge in a brainless slugfest," Etta said, her face twisted in a grimace. The drugs were kicking in, and the side effects were a nightmare. "But our timing sucks. We need to prep for that second wave of shells."

Etta set about the grueling task of massive calculation. The tide of war was currently leaning in their favor, but it wouldn't be long before that agonizing rain of physical shells came screaming back down on them.

I swear, I wish Coleman had developed a pill that didn't feel like a lobotomy before he kicked the bucket...

"All ships, patch your Future Prediction Control into my station," she commanded. "I’m going to feed the data back to you just like last time."

The thought of repeating that physically and mentally draining process made her want to weep, but Etta braced herself. She noticed Tetta standing beside her, looking like a lost puppy, and forced a strained, "I-have-this-under-control" smile.

"Just like before, Tetta. All I need you to do is pick out the coordinates for the incoming junk."

She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. Tetta gave a weak "Yes," but the cloud of anxiety hanging over her didn't lift.

"Big sister... you look like you’re in pain."

"Do I? Well, I’m fine. Don’t you worry your little head; just focus on your own job."

Etta turned away, signaling the end of the conversation. She waited. The moment Tetta’s Wide-area Scan Function spiked with activity, Etta intercepted the data. She began processing the info before it was even officially transmitted—a feat of mental gymnastics only possible for someone like her, capable of peering directly into BISHOP’s Future Detection. It was, quite literally, the fastest reaction time in the known universe.

It’s fine. I’ve got the rhythm now. I can cut our losses way better than the first time.

Etta talked herself up as she began mapping the interception.

The fleet revolved around the Samasa’s raw striking power, so protecting the big girl was the top priority. The super-dreadnought could shrug off a few kinetic rounds, sure, but if her engines or Turrets took a hit, their combat effectiveness would plummet. "Not sinking" wasn't the same as "winning."

"Priority targets: the large-mass warheads. If the pattern holds, there should be about ten of them."

Those were the nukes—the same ones that had deleted her Cruisers in a single flash. The blast radius was absurd; Etta had been left speechless. She’d read the intel, but seeing a ship vanish in person was a different kind of trauma.

"Large Mass... there they are. Hehe. You really are a masterpiece, Tetta. Being able to see them coming makes this a walk in the park."

Etta praised her "sister"—the girl who could literally see mass—while internally mourning how fleeting the girl's life was. What a waste. I could have found so many uses for her.

"Alright, it’s almost time... You! Issue Code 8. Time it for the exact moment the second wave hits."

The adjutant blinked, looking like a deer in headlights. They hurriedly closed their eyes, likely frantically searching BISHOP for the definition of Code 8.

"Code 8? W-wait a minute! Those ships haven't even arrived in the sector yet, have they?"

The adjutant’s face twitched as the realization of the plan hit them. Etta let out a derisive snort. "I sent them ahead."

"The enemy doesn't have the spare ships for a flanking maneuver, and they aren't even looking for one. I’ve judged the route safe... Now, get to it. Be ready."

Etta shut down the conversation and dumped every ounce of her focus into anti-air control. Her job was to beam the future coordinates of every single incoming shell to every single ship in the fleet. Even with her brain overclocked on drugs, the sheer volume of data was a mountain to climb.

"I really should have dragged some frigates along for a screen, even if I had to tow them... Well, here we go!"

The warhead coordinates Tetta calculated bloomed in Etta’s mind. She scanned for targets. The main cannon duel was still raging, so she couldn't just tell the ships to turn on a dime; she had to find vessels whose Anti-air Batteries were already pointed the right way.

[ALL VESSELS: COMMENCE SIMULTANEOUS FIRE] [EFFECTIVE HIT RATE: 3%] [12 WARHEADS DESTROYED]

The adjutant read the stats with a monotone drone. Etta was satisfied, but she shot the adjutant a murderous glare anyway.

"Issue Operation Code 8! What are you waiting for?!" she screamed, her eyes still squeezed shut.

The adjutant squeaked, "M-my apologies!" Etta made a mental note to dock their pay and lower their performance review.

"...Operation Code 8 issued. Attack commencing shortly."

The adjutant sounded depressed, but Etta ignored them. She tightened her eyelids—which were probably vibrating with bloodshot intensity—and shoved her concentration even higher.

[EFFECTIVE HIT RATE: 6%. 25 WARHEADS DESTROYED] [EFFECTIVE HIT RATE: 8%. 30 WARHEADS DESTROYED]

The results ticked up. The accuracy was climbing steadily, far outpacing her defense against the first wave.

"Enemy warhead cluster entering the danger zone. Remaining count: 527... 515... 488. Warheads have reached the [YELLOW ZONE]. Vanguard units commencing interception with Debris Incineration Beams. Threat level in the sector is—"

It was going perfectly. The shell count was dropping toward 400 without a single scratch on her ships. At this rate, it would be a flawless victory.

"......He... hehe... AHAHA!"

She couldn't help it. A victory lap giggle escaped her lips.

But just as she reached the peak of her triumph, the universe decided to pull the rug out.

"......Wh-!?"

Her eyes snapped open. Panic surged. Not understanding what the hell was happening, Etta physically shoved Tetta out of the way and lunged toward the main display.

"What just—?!"

It happened in a heartbeat. A few seconds, maybe. Etta’s brain, usually five steps ahead, was lagging. For her, this was a logical impossibility. An "Error 404: Victory Not Found" situation.

"......Forty-four enemy shells have impacted the Samasa, Miss Etta. Two turrets are gone. The engine block and propulsion systems have sustained catastrophic damage. She can no longer keep pace with the fleet. No damage to other vessels, but... unfortunately, the Samasa is a [MAJOR DAMAGE ASSESSMENT]."

The adjutant’s voice was a low, somber drone in the sudden silence.

Etta stood frozen, her mouth hanging open.

"That's... impossible..."

Her own whisper sounded like a thunderclap in her ears.

Her control had been perfect! Except for those forty-four shells that hit the Samasa, she’d stopped everything!

But the unthinkable had happened: when the shell count dropped to 100, the warheads—which had been moving with the President's predictable, "monster-tier" precision—suddenly switched. It was as if a different hand had grabbed the joystick.

---

"Hehe! It actually worked. I thought I was going to be total dead weight in this fight, but I guess I’ve still got it."

Bella’s low, sultry voice purred right into Taro’s ear. Her warm breath tickled him, making the poor guy squirm in his seat.

"Y-yeah. Haha. Glad it worked out... U-um, could you maybe back up a bit? Taro-chan is feeling things... specifically happy and embarrassed things..."

Taro leaned as far back as the pilot’s chair would allow, his face turning a shade of red that matched the warning lights. Bella was sitting right on his lap, looking dangerously provocative, having spent the last minute with her cheek pressed against his.

"Hehe, fine, fine. The battle’s not over yet. Besides, it looks like a certain little girl is trying to burn a hole in me with her eyes."

Bella shrugged and hitched a thumb over her shoulder. She slid off Taro’s lap and strutted away. Taro glanced back to see Marl with her cheeks puffed out so far she looked like a blowfish, hurriedly snapping her head away to look at anything else.

"I must admit, I am impressed, Miss Bella. Had you planned for this eventuality?"

Koume gave a polite, formal bow. Bella just gave a wry smirk and waved it off as she plopped into a spare seat.

"My talent is Fleet Mastery Control. I can’t juggle as much as the kid here, but I can handle multiple streams of data at once. We’d talked about it before—the idea that I could probably pull off a decent imitation of his Warhead Control if he gave me a bypass."

"I see. That is logical, Miss Bella. Perhaps we should commission another ship dedicated to physical munitions."

"Nah, don't get ahead of yourself. Mine was just a cheap imitation. It only worked because the kid handled the heavy lifting, and the enemy wasn't ready for a mid-game sub."

Bella lit up a cigar and took a long, satisfied drag. Taro watched her through the smoke, knowing full well she was being modest.

In reality, she had manually piloted thirty warheads with surgical precision. The "Switcheroo Gambit" had worked better than he’d ever dreamed; he’d only hoped for a couple of lucky hits to shake them up.

"Bella-san, I’d honestly rather have you commanding the whole fleet than micromanaging shells, but I wouldn't mind putting a few racks on your personal ship... Anyway, how’s the Big Ugly doing?"

"Hold on," Marl called out.

"With an explosion that big, we definitely shredded a few of their guns... and—ooh, yeah. Looks like we tagged the engine room. Her speed is dropping like a rock."

An image popped up on Taro’s visor, courtesy of Marl. Red markers highlighted the jagged, burning holes in the enemy’s pride and joy.

"Talk about a lucky break. If she can't move, their options are basically 'die' or 'die slower.' Though, knowing those two, they’ll probably just leave the Samasa to rot... Whoa!"

The deck plates shuddered. A status window blinked into existence.

[[WARNING: BACKUP FUEL SYSTEM ABNORMALITY DETECTED]]

"I might be able to fix it from here, but I'm gonna go kick it in person. Fuel leaks make me twitchy," Marl said, ripping off her visor and sprinting out of the bridge.

"Good luck!" Taro shouted after her, then turned back to Bella. "...So, what do you think? Will they ditch it?"

"Hmm? Oh, absolutely. Based on their track record? They'll leave 'em behind. Lives are cheap in that fleet."

Bella’s voice was flat, but her eyes held a spark of genuine disgust. Taro nodded in agreement and reached for the comms to order a general push.

"Hold it!" Bella’s voice barked.

"Huh? Is it a bad time? I figured we should strike while they’re reeling..."

"The logic is sound, but look again. Something’s funky."

Taro squinted at the Radar Screen. To his eyes, it looked like a standard mess of blips and debris.

"That movement... that's not a defensive screen... Is that... an offensive?" Bella whispered.

"No way," Taro countered. "They just lost their heavyweight hitter! And we’ve still got the third wave of shells on deck! If they charge us now, they’re just doing us a favor—"

[[CAUTION: NUMEROUS SPACE RESERVATIONS DETECTED AROUND ALLIED FLEET]]

Koume’s voice was ice-cold and heavy. "It is a massive deployment, Mr. Teiro. They are threading the needles between the Anti-Drive Particles."

That meant whatever was coming was small—small enough to slip through the gaps in their warp-interference field. Taro’s blood ran cold as the realization hit him.

"N-no, wait. The Observation Team said they were still sectors away! There’s no way they could be here this—"

The screen flickered. Drive particles vanished, replaced by solid, terrifying mass. The camera feed cut to a visual, revealing a literal swarm of small craft.

"ALL SHIPS, PREPARE FOR ANTI-AIR DEFENSE! MAN THE BATTERIES! GODDAMMIT, THE CARRIERS ARE ALREADY HERE!"

Taro’s scream echoed through the bridge.