Episode 263

Exactly where it all started, nobody knows.

But given the sheer, mind-boggling scale of the galaxy, it was almost certainly something trivial.

It happened on the literal opposite side of the galaxy from the Alpha Region Space. A petty squabble over passage rights along a major trunk route in the Epsilon 2 Region Space.

In that relatively backwater corner of the void, the management of the local large-scale Stargate was—to put it delicately—a dumpster fire of corruption. Bribery was the local currency, and the "waiting list" numbers were about as reliable as a politician's promise. The corporation in charge did whatever the hell they wanted, and for a long time, nobody cared.

It wasn't like this was a new development, either. Ever since the Empire had slapped down a few "regional development" Stargates in the ancient past as a half-hearted PR stunt, things had been this way for nearly two thousand years.

To the local residents and corporate drones, this was just Tuesday. Sure, it was inconvenient, but they figured being able to grease a few palms to cut the line wasn't the worst thing in the world. After all, everyone has those "I need to be there yesterday" emergencies.

"It seems these locals have zero intention of letting us through at the standard rate," an employee of a corporation based in the Imperial Center muttered on the Bridge of a heavily armed vessel. "They’re practically begging for a reality check."

The ship was a beast—pristine, cutting-edge, and the kind of high-spec model you rarely saw in the sticks. And it wasn't alone; several identical monsters were hovering nearby.

"The word is the Government doesn't give a damn what happens in Outer Space," another replied. "Let's give them a lesson they won't forget."

And just like that, with all the gravity of deciding what to have for lunch, war was declared.

The misfortune started when the Center-based corporation turned out to be actually good at fighting.

It was compounded by the fact that the corporation running the Stargate didn't actually give a crap about the region.

And the final nail in the coffin? The aggressors made a killing—literally and financially.

The greatest tragedy of the whole affair was that the war was a smashing success.

"Outer Spacers are basically cavemen," some keyboard warrior posted on the network. "Just kick 'em over and take their toys."

It was just another piece of digital vitriol in a virtual world, but out in reality, plenty of people were thinking the exact same thing. For every decent corporation, there were a dozen vultures. And in a galaxy this big, that added up to a whole lot of vultures.

"This is... wow. I mean, even for this galaxy, this is pretty messed up," Taro said, spinning aimlessly in his office chair. "Is this partly our fault?"

He was sitting in his company's First Conference Room, which had grown significantly larger and more opulent since the early days. He held a sheet of electronic paper in one hand, looking deeply concerned.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Liza, sitting right next to him, huffed indignantly as she slammed her own documents onto the table. "If we were selling contraband, that would be one thing. But we can't be held responsible for how people use the stuff we sell!"

Her manners were atrocious, but since everyone else was nodding in agreement, nobody called her out on it.

"Don't sweat it, kid," Bella said, exhaling a thick cloud of cigar smoke. "I've never heard of a knife salesman being sent to the gallows just because someone got poked."

She squinted at her documents with blatant suspicion, occasionally fumbling with the digital display like someone trying to program a VCR for the first time.

The topic of the hour was the escalating friction between Outer Spacers and Imperial citizens. The "Broadside"—as these electronic news sheets were called—had been a pet project of the Public Relations Department for a few months now.

The idea of physically transporting information like cargo was hopelessly primitive, and the lag time was horrendous. The PR department had initially fought the idea, but the management had insisted.

"I feel like we’re sprinting backward through history," Bella remarked, sounding somewhere between annoyed and amused. "A necessary evil, maybe, but what a weird world we live in."

She was right. The only reason they were using physical media was the absolute necessity of communicating without BISHOP's prying eyes. It was Taro's idea, inspired by ancient Earth newspapers—simple, low-tech, and reliable.

Sure, people still used Pulse Chips to move data into isolated networks—and those things plug directly into your brainwaves!—but for real counter-intelligence, you couldn't beat a good old-fashioned physical copy.

The Broadside covered everything: RS-controlled territory, contested space, and everywhere in between. The content even scaled based on the reader's security clearance. A rank-and-file employee got the "fluff" news, while Taro and the inner circle got the juicy, classified dirt.

The intel came from everywhere, but the bulk of it was sourced from the Outsiders—those galactic pariahs who lived everywhere and saw everything—and the Phantoms' elite spy network. The former provided the broad strokes; the latter provided the surgical precision.

"The only reason the Center is winning right now is the Surprise Attack factor," Taro said, leaning on his military knowledge. "What happens when guerrilla fronts start popping up everywhere? You can't do business in a war zone. This is going to be a disaster."

"Too true," Bella agreed, watching her smoke get sucked into the high-tech ventilation system. "If you aren't prepared to finish a fight so thoroughly the other guy can't even crawl, you shouldn't start it. This half-assed amateur hour is just going to leave a legacy of blood and grudges."

"Right? But are we okay? I mean, the real friction with the Center hasn't even started yet. Can we just lock the front door to the Alpha Star System and call it a day?"

"Wait, since when did we become an Outlaw Corp?" Bella asked, confused. "Just ignore them."

"Eh? Oh, right! We're a Mafian Corp now. Wow. Paying taxes actually paid off for once!"

By being a government-certified entity, they paid their dues and followed the rules. In exchange, they got the Empire's protection. It was a world away from being an Outlaw Corp, where you had total freedom—and the "ultimate self-responsibility" of being blown up without a second thought from the feds.

Taro felt a brief pang of sympathy for Rin, who was likely pulling her hair out over this. Then he thought about the White Dingo group and his sympathy immediately curdled into a satisfying sucks to be you.

"We pay a fortune in protection money every month," Bella continued. "If those Center hotshots want to pick a fight with us, they have to file a formal declaration of war with the government first. Think that’ll get approved?"

"Public opinion has been on our side ever since that Mercenaries mess. If we stay clean, General Dean will probably just shred any complaints. Man, I'm glad he's on our side, but that General is still terrifying."

Taro shivered at the thought of the General's reach, while simultaneously thanking his lucky stars for the alliance.

Of course, there were already murmurs in the council about breaking away from the Imperial Government's yoke—a headache for another day. But Taro figured they could use this current crisis to shut them up. Once the council members realize that 'peace' is provided by the Empire, they'll pipe down.

"The General is a shareholder, so we’re 'fine,' I guess, but I feel like we’re getting dangerously tangled up with him. Are we walking into a spider web here?"

Dean was making a killing off Taro's success; it was unlikely he’d pull any petty power moves. But "the General" wasn't the only player in the game, and the risk of being collateral damage was always there.

"A bit late for cold feet, isn't it?" Bella teased. "Just play nice with him."

Taro scratched his head. "I'm really not good with that guy..."

Bella rolled her eyes. "Please. Getting along with the man himself won't buy you an ounce of loyalty. He’s not the type. If you want a real insurance policy, you’ve got a much better option right next to you."

Taro blinked, thinking it over. Then he realized what she meant and looked to his side. There sat Liza, wearing a devious, "little devil" smirk that was clearly a family trait.

"Spoken like a true pro, Bella," the General's sister purred. "You really understand the value of a... binding connection."

With the grace of a stalking cat, Liza slid onto Taro's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. Taro froze, his brain short-circuiting as he felt her warmth and softness pressed against him.

"Well, I’ve got fleet maneuvers to oversee. Have fun, kids," Bella said, casually waving a hand as she stood up. The fact that she actually put on her Admiral's hat suggested she wasn't just making an excuse to flee.

"W-Wait, Bella! Don't leave! This is bad! This situation is extremely against regulations!"

"Have a spine, Taro. What’s the problem? It’s a great deal," the Admiral called back over her shoulder, disappearing through the door with a smirk. Taro could only watch her go, his face a mask of betrayal.

"My brother is a hard man, but he’s incredibly soft on family," Liza whispered into his ear. "I’m sure he’d treat the company even better if we were... closer. Bella’s right; it’s a win-win. And don't overthink it. It's just for now. Can't we just enjoy the moment?"

She blew softly against his neck, sending a literal wave of goosebumps down Taro's spine. Where does she even learn this stuff?! he wondered, even as his internal alarm bells screamed that there was no such thing as "just for now" with a woman like Liza.

"I-I mean... I don't know about this. Teiro-chan doesn't really know much about this kind of stuff!"

"It's okay. I'll teach you everything. If you just stay still—"

"You two seem to be having a wonderful time. Perhaps you could teach me, too?"

Marl appeared in the doorway, looking slightly out of breath.

"WAHHH!?" Taro yelped, reflexively hoisting Liza into the air and holding her out toward Marl like a human shield.

"No thanks, I don't want her," Marl deadpanned. "What am I supposed to do with that? If you want her chest to be bigger, you need a doctor, not a mechanical engineer."

"Oh, you’ve got a sharp tongue today!" Liza shot back, still dangling in Taro's grip. "Men prefer the scent of perfume over machine oil, you know! I’m plenty big enough... wait, Marl? Why aren't you in the Alpha Star System?"

"I have subordinates for that. I can't do everything myself forever, or the next generation will never grow. Besides, I updated the schedule last week. Didn't you check it?"

"O-Oh? Really? Maybe I... missed that..."

"Whatever! I didn't come here for that. Look at this."

Marl shoved Taro (who was still awkwardly holding Liza) aside and slammed an Information Terminal onto the table. The two of them crowded around her to see the screen.

"This is a breaking report from AFN—Andor First News. They’re a massive political and economic outlet, funded by Gigantech. They’re as straight-laced as they come."

Marl swiped through the data. Taro’s eyes scanned the text, and his blood went cold at the headline.

"Emergency Bulletin: Signs of Insurrection within the Imperial Government Military. Informants suggest a faction led by Grand Marshal Reinhardt is moving... wait. Insurrection? Rebellion?! Wait, eeeeek! Isn't that Dean's boss?! That’s his whole faction!"

Taro spiraled into a panic, nearly dropping Liza. He unceremoniously dumped her onto the table and leaned in so close to the terminal he was practically licking the screen, his eyes darting frantically across the lines of text.