Episode 262: The Grind and the Glitch

"So that’s how it is? The WIND are..."

Marl’s face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated distaste. Taro let out a non-committal grunt, a low "Muu," as he squinted at the map spread out before them once again.

The data displayed a psychedelic array of colors. Deep shades of blue marked the high-probability zones for Eden—or Earth—while pulsating red veins traced the Predicted Route leading into the unknown. Several patches in the furthest reaches of the Galactic Depths were stained a bruising navy. From their current base at Nuke, a crimson river with a dozen jagged tributaries flowed directly toward those dark spots.

As for the marginal zones themselves, they were a total mystery—unreached territory, at least since the dawn of the Galactic Empire. But looking at that three-dimensional river of red, one thing was blindingly obvious: the "flow" was perfectly aligned with the highest frequency of WIND sightings.

"Now, now, let’s not jump to conclusions," Dr. Arzimof mumbled, his voice trailing off into a series of evasive coughs. "Since those creatures utilize Drive Particles for their own activities, it’s only natural for their distribution to be somewhat proportional... Though, I suppose this time the numbers are a bit... well, quite... exceptionally high."

The doctor scratched his wildly unkempt hair, ending his sentence in a series of indecipherable murmurs. Taro processed the "consolation"—which provided zero actual comfort—and turned his gaze toward the floating sphere on the desk.

"Koume."

"Yes, Mr. Teiro?"

"When we get back, cross-reference that Blue Distribution Map with extractable resource data. I want to see if there’s a correlation. I’m not holding my breath, but still."

Even the WIND couldn't ignore the laws of physics. If they wanted to replicate, they needed raw materials. Sure, some of them acted like parasitic Salvagers, swallowing ships whole, but it was a documented fact that they also operated their own automated factories.

Taro’s crew had stumbled across several of those Facilities already—back when they rescued Dr. Arzimof, when they punched a hole through the route to Nuke, and when they’d saved Marl’s skin.

"Understood," Koume chirped, her chassis flickering. "I shall begin the analysis the moment I interface with the neural net."

Taro gave a curt nod and began mentally sketching out their next moves. He was already exhausted just thinking about it. First, he’d have to lobby the Council—a massive pain in the neck—to convince them to divert budget and resources to a project with zero guaranteed ROI. Politicians hated nothing more than spending money without a kickback.

"This overlaps with the EAP’s sphere of influence," Alan interjected, his face grave as he stroked his stubble. "We should probably give them a heads-up. With the Enigma craze spreading, everyone’s screaming about pushing deeper into the void. If someone pokes the hive the wrong way, we’re all screwed. Also, something’s been eating at me."

Alan looked the part of a seasoned veteran, his eyes sharp and serious. Unfortunately, the effect was somewhat undermined by the electronic sticker Taro had slapped onto his forehead earlier, which currently displayed the kanji for MEAT. No one had the heart—or the maturity—to point it out.

"Back during the fight, we were too busy staying alive to notice, but looking back... the Dandelion Squad took way too much damage," Alan continued. "The post-war report chalked it up to a margin of error, but is that right? Those guys were the elite of the former Enzio Special Task Force."

Taro frowned, trying to follow Alan’s train of thought. He’d been there for the debriefing and didn't remember any red flags. Then again, the Electronic Warfare Craft Unit was a brand-new toy; they were essentially making up the rules as they went along. They had been facing tens of thousands of WIND of all shapes and sizes—a total clusterfuck by any definition.

Wait. If the math didn't add up, that means...

"Ugh, you’ve got to be kidding me," Taro groaned. "You think some of them were immune to the Enigma?"

Marl let out a sharp, sympathetic hiss from the side.

"Maybe immune, maybe just resistant," Alan shrugged. "Or maybe I’m just seeing ghosts. It’s a gut feeling. But I think it’s worth a deep dive, General."

Alan was in charge of the Dandelion Squad now. He clearly didn't want his subordinates’ deaths to be a statistical fluke. Gone was his usual "cool guy" facade; his eyes were dead serious.

"Fine," Taro sighed. "I’ll help you run the numbers. We can’t have the EAP folding on us now, so we’ll send a warning. I’m not giving it away for free, though. I’ll see if I can haggle something out of Rin."

Rin, his contact in Little Tokyo, was a friend, but in the corporate world, they were rivals. He could have just given her the info to build "goodwill," but he’d already saved their butts in the last war. If he piled on too many favors, it would just create political friction within the EAP Council. Better to keep things transactional.

And then there was White Dingo. They were playing nice for the moment, but that was just because they hadn't seen an opening yet. The second they smelled blood, the fangs would come out.

"Agreed," Marl chimed in. "No freebies. Ever. So, the plan is: head for the Depths, watch the WIND like hawks, and maybe invest in Enigma 2.0. Also—"

Marl began summarizing the meeting notes. The group spent the next hour nitpicking details and refining the strategy until a tentative conclusion was reached. They called it a day, everyone already buried in their own to-do lists.

Taro wanted a nap. The universe had other plans.

"Alright, Doctor, keep at it. If you need anything, just ping me and I’ll come flying. Don’t be a stranger."

The doctor nodded enthusiastically as Taro exited the conference room. Marl followed, carrying Koume like a football, with Alan bringing up the rear.

"By the way, Alan," Marl said, spinning around the moment they hit the hallway.

Alan raised a confused eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"I am not impressed by you pulling stupid stunts in a serious meeting. Do not let it happen again, or I’m docking your pay."

She turned on her heel with an indignant huff and marched away. Alan stood frozen, blinking in confusion. "What? What did I do?"

"Mr. Alan," Koume’s synthesized voice echoed through the corridor. "I must confess my utter disillusionment. I truly thought you were a man who understood time and place. Alas."

Alan was now spiraling into a total panic. "Hey! Wait! What the hell are you talking about!?"

"Well, I’m sure you were just trying to lighten the mood," Dr. Arzimof said, appearing from the room and patting Alan’s shoulder with pitying gentleness. "But perhaps it wasn't the most effective method. Let's make this the last time, shall we?"

The doctor wandered off in the opposite direction.

"Doctor! Wait! Dammit, why is everyone—...huh?"

Alan finally noticed the Electronic Sheet stuck to his brow. He peeled it off, staring at the word MEAT for a long, silent second. He slowly looked up. His eyes met Taro’s.

Taro bolted.

Alan exploded into motion, screaming obscenities. The slapstick chase echoed through the facility for quite some time.

In the weeks following the Nuke summit, the galaxy enjoyed a rare bout of relative peace.

The catalyst was Gigantech’s "Enigma." It was the biggest hit the company had seen in decades, sweeping through the stars like a fever. Its performance during the final showdown with the Mercenaries had been the ultimate marketing campaign, and once the Imperial Navy officially adopted it, the hype train went off the rails. Despite factories running at triple capacity, the device was sold out everywhere.

"Fifteen times the MSRP?! I don't care! Buy it! Buy every unit on the market!"

"Just slap it on the hull! It’s Gigantech-certified, it’ll be fine!"

"This isn't a retail market anymore, it’s a goddamn riot!"

For anyone operating in the "Danger Zones," the demand for an Enigma unit was bottomless. Early adopters who recognized its value made absolute fortunes reselling their surplus. While the price tags were high enough to give a tycoon a heart attack, it was still cheaper than insurance—and infinitely cheaper than a new ship.

The result was an unprecedented territorial expansion. The "WIND Limit" that had held humanity back for generations was suddenly pushed outward. Corporations realized that instead of bickering over crumbs in the center, they could find entire loaves of bread in the frontiers.

"Welcome back, Mr. President. I’ve prepared a small mountain of work for you."

Taro was greeted in the Roma Star System by General Manager Clark, who was smiling far too brightly. That smile was the universal signal for "I am about to ruin your life with paperwork," which he promptly did by handing Taro a data chip overflowing with tasks.

"Wait, I’m supposed to lead an expedition in between all this? Is little old Teiro-chan just gonna drop dead?"

Taro cursed the fact that his "multitasking" ability was only good for mindless drudgery. He spent the next few days buried in "digital stacks" of documents, grinding through the administrative gears to keep the Rising Sun machine turning.

According to Clark, this was actually the "light" version of the workload. The company’s explosive growth was hitting its logistical ceiling. They only stayed afloat thanks to two key additions.

First was Admiral Sod. His arrival finally took the crushing weight of fleet management off Bella’s shoulders.

Second was Johnny Wells. The former president of Johnny & Virgin Corp—now a major RS shareholder—had taken over the entire Delta Star System operation. Both Sod and Wells were corporate veterans; they knew how to navigate the bureaucracy that left Taro wanting to jump out an airlock.

But "less busy" didn't mean "free." Taro and the crew worked themselves to the bone for the sake of the company and their employees, occasionally pausing their paperwork to swat away WIND swarms.

"Too many. Can't do it. Too many. Nope. No way."

Since they didn't know how long this shadow war would last, they couldn't afford a war of attrition. Battles with the WIND remained small-scale skirmishes. Their kill-ratio was a staggering hundred-to-one, but the "Violence of Numbers" was a constant pressure. It was sustainable, but it was exhausting.

"The other systems are all 'Go, go, go!' into the new frontier, right?" Marl screamed in frustration after their thirtieth skirmish of the month. "How is that fair?! I feel like we’re the only ones actually doing the heavy lifting!"

Every single person on the Bridge felt that in their soul. Taro just nodded until his neck started to cramp.

The battles continued. Society kept grinding on. The Empire endured.

At least, for now.