Episode 246: The Number Five

"Wait, did I hear that right? You can't crack it?"

Alan’s voice crackled through the communicator, dripping with disbelief. Taro offered a noncommittal "Well..." before pivoting to a question of his own.

"Hey, Alan. Is every BISHOP communication band in this sector currently being routed through my terminal?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I mean, not every single one, but I’ve got ninety percent of the traffic funneled your way. It’s not like there’s anyone else out here to talk to anyway."

"I figured. In that case, we’re dead in the water for now. This encryption is the auto-generating type. No matter how many layers I peel back, it just re-encrypts itself instantly. I can’t even find a path to the root."

"Ah, I see. So that’s the game. You’re saying the BISHOP control hardware inside that room is just flat-out better than what you’re using?"

"Bingo. I’m throwing in the towel."

Taro stood up, letting out a long, loud groan as he stretched his stiff muscles.

"Well, that’s a problem," Bella said, leaning against the wall with a cocked eyebrow. "If it’s a research lab’s BISHOP controller, it’s bound to be high-end. If your rig can't keep up, what are we looking at? A custom military order?"

"High-end doesn't even begin to describe it," Alan’s voice returned, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. "That room is running a unit in the 20,000 range. If you want a processor with a lower number than that, you’re looking at a massive headache. We might have to start requisitioning hardware from the military."

Taro tilted his head, looking confused. "Number?"

"The replication count," Marl chimed in from the side. "You probably know this already, but every Drive Particle Detection Element in the galaxy is a copy of a copy. BISHOP can only predict the future because of those elements, but the hardware degrades every time you replicate it. The lower the number, the better the performance."

"Righto," Taro nodded. Then he paused. "Wait, is 20,000 supposed to be a low number? It sounds huge."

Bella let out a pained laugh. "You’re kidding, right? The original source material degrades during the scanning process too. No one knows exactly how many copies you can squeeze out of a single element, but think about it—how many control units do you think have been manufactured in the thousands of years since BISHOP was built?"

Phantom took over the lecture. "In the military, the absolute top-tier gear uses the 1,000-range units. Everything else is 100,000-range if you’re lucky. The so-called 'Originals'—numbers 4, 20, and 35—are locked away by the Imperial Guard. Those are the oldest surviving elements in the Empire. For civilians? You’re lucky to see anything below a million."

Phantom looked around for confirmation, and the rest of the group nodded solemnly.

"Hypothetically speaking..." Taro started, sounding uncharacteristically shy. "What would one of those 'Originals' actually be worth?"

Marl sighed, the sound of someone explaining why the sun is hot. "You can’t put a price on them. They’re the foundation of society. People generally accept the Emperor’s authority because he holds the Originals. If the galaxy ever runs out of elements, His Majesty is the only one who can authorize more copies."

Taro made a face like he’d just swallowed a lemon. "Right. Got it."

"So, yeah, finding a unit below 20,000 is a nightmare," Marl continued. "If the station’s BISHOP is outperforming us, we’ll have to beg Mr. Dean to pull some strings and get us a few military ships to bridge the gap."

"Yeah, no, I get that. I do. But..." Taro hesitated. "Could we just use the Plum?"

"The Plum? I mean, maybe? But we don't know if the Plum’s controller is even under the 20,000 mark. It might be better to just link a bunch of 100,000-range units together."

"Actually... about that..."

Taro trailed off, shuffling his feet. Koume, sensing his hesitation, turned her head toward him with a robotic whir.

"Mr. Teiro. Are you implying that you are aware of the specific element number used in the Plum’s BISHOP control device?"

The android sounded uncharacteristically intrigued. When Taro gave a slow nod, the communicator erupted with a chorus of "Oohs" and "Ahhs."

"Actually, that makes sense," Alan said. "Given how that ship performs, I wouldn't be shocked if she was packing something in the low thousands."

Nods of agreement all around. Taro bit his lip, wondering if he should just keep his mouth shut, but eventually decided it was too late for secrets.

"It’s a five."

Taro held up five fingers toward the nearest camera.

"Whoa!" Alan shouted. "The 5,000 range? That’s insane! Boss, you were right not to sell that thing. You would’ve walked away with a mountain of credits, but you’d never be able to buy it back."

"No, that's not—"

"Haha, I get it, I get it! You can’t put a price on the Plum. That ship has saved our necks more times than I can count."

"No! Listen to me!" Taro yelled. "It’s a five. Just five. One, two, three, four, five. At least, that’s the number listed under the 'Copy Counter' function."

The communicator went silent. The room went silent.

"........................What?"

"Don't make me say it again! Based on what you guys just said, does that mean it’s the fifth copy ever made from the absolute original?"

Taro turned to look at his crew, only to find them frozen in a state of pure, unadulterated shock.

"How should I phrase this?" Koume whispered, her head tilting a full ninety degrees to the side. "This is a catastrophic development."

"Gah! Quit it!" Taro barked. "You look too human for that to be anything but creepy! Look, I get it, low numbers are worth money. If we copy the Plum’s element and sell it, are we talking 'buy a planet' money?"

"Affirmative, Mr. Teiro. Provided you ignore the fact that it is impossible."

"Oof. Why impossible?"

"Standard replication methods cause massive hardware degradation. The only organization capable of high-fidelity replication is the Drive Conductor Devices Replication Service—the DCD. They are managed directly by the Imperial Guard. And if the Guard manages it, His Majesty the Emperor manages it."

"Yikes. Okay, yeah. They sound like the kind of people I want to avoid at all costs. Are they even scarier than the 50 Materials?"

"Affirmative. The DCD itself is a small, reasonably priced wholesaler. However, in terms of raw authority, no organization in the galaxy surpasses them."

Taro paled. "Yeah, I can already see the future. The Empire seizes the Plum, and we all get 'disappeared' without a trial."

"That is a highly probable outcome," Koume agreed. "Furthermore, while we cannot take back what has been said in this room, you must never speak of this again. If word got out that someone found a way to replicate elements from a number five unit, they could start a galaxy-wide independence movement."

"Okay, so it’s that bad. Got it. Memory deleted. I am not starting a Great Galactic War today. I don’t even have the Force on my side."

Taro hugged himself and did an exaggerated shiver. Phantom stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on Taro’s shoulder.

"If we’re going to do this, we need to move fast," Phantom said. "And we need to do it without outside help—including Dean. After that last war, we’re already standing out too much."

"He’s right," Marl agreed. "Just getting here was a nightmare. We had to use body doubles and fake schedules just to slip away. That won’t work forever."

Taro nodded, his brain whirring. "Mr. Dean’s whole deal is 'The Prosperity of the Empire.' If we push things too far, he might actually become our enemy... and he’s definitely in my Top 3 list of People You Never Want To Fight."

"I concur," Phantom said with a grimace. "He’s not like the rest of the corrupt brass. He’s one of the most powerful men in the galaxy. If we cross him, we’re finished in a heartbeat."

Phantom opened his clenched fist as if to show their lives blowing away in the wind.

"But we have a problem," Alan’s voice cut in. "Everyone’s forgotten that the Plum is a super-kilometer-class battleship. You can’t just fly a warship into the Delta Star System without a permit. Heck, you can’t even cross the neighboring systems without the military breathing down your neck."

The crew’s faces fell. Warships were strictly regulated during peacetime. They clogged up the Stargates and generally made the civilian population panic. Nobody wants a four-kilometer monster with enough firepower to crack a moon idling in their front yard.

As the silence stretched on, Bella suddenly grinned.

"Why don't we just flip the script?" she asked. "Instead of rushing the job here in secret, why don't we just do it at home where we’re comfortable?"

Taro blinked. "Righto. You mean we move the whole station? That’s... actually not a bad idea. Wait, no, it’s a terrible idea. Even if we take it apart, moving something this big would require a Gigantech-scale transport ship."

"And?" Bella asked.

"And? There are only a handful of companies that own ships that big, and I don't trust any of them. Even if we rent one, they’ll want to inspect the cargo. We’d have to bribe or silence half the crew."

"So just buy one."

"Well, I guess if it were Gigantech, we could—wait, what?"

"I said: buy one. We’ve got the budget for it. If you own the ship, you don't have to explain the cargo to anyone. Besides, didn't you say it was your dream to fly a super-freighter? I bet Lyza would be thrilled."

Taro stared at her. "Bella... it’s an ultra-large transport ship. Those things are four kilometers long."

"Exactly. It’ll look good on your resume. Buy it."

Taro looked around the room. No one was laughing. In fact, they all looked like they were already picking out the paint color.

The decision was final. He was going shopping for a very large boat.