Episode 29

Military knowledge. It was the kind of stuff beaten into cadets at the Imperial Military Academy.

Technically, every gritty detail was available to the public on the Neural Network, but actually mastering the material was a whole different beast. For instance, if you looked up "Optical Weapons," you’d find you had to study a dozen other sub-categories just to understand the first one. The sheer volume of information was staggering. Most people didn't bother memorizing things that took the military elite years to learn, especially when it didn't help pay the bills or keep the lights on.

However, since Koume had "funneled" a complete set of related data directly into Taro’s brain, all that miscellaneous junk had been forcefully OVERRIDDEN into his consciousness.

"I’ve got the military specs down, sure. But trading? Man, that sounds like a lot more liability. High risk, high reward, I guess," Taro said, nodding to himself.

Marl cradled her tea cup like it was a holy relic. "Exactly. The amount we can put toward shipping fees is only a tiny fraction of the potential trade profits. We could keep doing straight transport, but since we’re flying a military ship, our cargo capacity is always going to be an issue. We’ll hit a ceiling sooner rather than later."

"True enough," Taro admitted.

Koume spoke up, her voice a calm, synthetic monotone. "Koume agrees with Miss Marl’s assessment. Rising Sun Corp’s ratio of revenue to overhead is deteriorating as the fleet size increases. It is a logical certainty that operational efficiency drops as more vessels are added."

"Thanks for the usual word salad, Koume-chan. But yeah, you’re right. We’ve had a good run because we’re the only ones crazy enough to deliver to hot zones, but the big corporations are finally starting to eye our turf."

Marl blinked. "Oh? That’s news to me."

"Check it out." Taro forwarded an email via his BISHOP.

"Let’s see... 'Invitation to join a Transport Fleet'... wait, what?" Marl’s eyes went wide. "What the hell is this? They aren't even sending their own escorts. They want us to be the bodyguards for their ships?"

"Yup. It was so ridiculous I turned them down flat, but I’ve been getting a lot of these lately. Delivery to danger zones is apparently a lot more lucrative than we realized."

"In that case, the sense that we’re tapering off is even stronger, Mr. Teiro," Koume interjected. "Speaking of things that are tapering off, Mr. Teiro’s tiny di—"

"ALRIGHT, WE GET IT!" Taro shouted, cutting her off. "You’re really leaning into that joke, aren't you, Koume-san?! What is it? You like it? You a fan? Sigh... Maybe I’ve been hauling too many adult toys lately."

Taro slumped, his soul leaving his body for a moment as he thought about their primary cargo.

"Still, the outlook is looking pretty grim," Marl said, steering the conversation back. "We need to make a move. You don't have to decide on the trading thing this second, but keep it on the table."

"Fine, fine... and Koume-san, don't you dare react to the word 'grim' or 'short-term outlook.' My outlook has never been short, past or present. Ugh, saying that out loud makes me want to die... Anyway, Marl. We might as well get Alan in on this and hammer out the details."

Instead of answering, Marl tilted the holo-display on the table toward him. She pinged Alan via BISHOP, and a few seconds later, the man’s face flickered into existence.

"Whoa! Is this a holo-display? That’s fancy... but why is it just his head? Usually, you get the whole body."

A specialized mist was being sprayed from the table's emitters. Lasers lanced through the vapor, rendering Alan’s severed head in such hyper-realistic detail that it looked like a gruesome trophy resting on the table.

"HEY NOW, I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS ARE SEEING, BUT I FEEL LIKE I’VE GONE THROUGH SOMETHING HORRIBLE. ANYWAY, WHAT’S UP? I WAS JUST ABOUT TO HEAD TO A MASSA—I MEAN, THE PARK."

"Listen up, brother," Taro said with genuine affection, ignoring the fact that his friend was currently a floating head. He quickly filled him in.

"I SEE. TRADING, HUH? NOT A BAD SHOUT."

The floating head of Alan rubbed its chin thoughtfully. Since his hands were outside the projection range, his wrists appeared as flat, bleeding-edge cross-sections floating in mid-air.

"If we put up a hundred million Credits in capital, are there any products that look promising?" Taro asked.

"HM. THERE ARE OPTIONS, BUT IF YOU’RE GOING TO PLAY THE MARKET, DON'T SINK MORE THAN HALF THAT. IF YOU LOSE THE CARGO IN AN ACCIDENT, YOU’LL BE BANKRUPT BEFORE YOU CAN BLINK."

"Ah, good point. So, fifty million?"

"WHY ARE YOU SO HELL-BENT ON GOING FULL THROTTLE FROM THE START, BOSS? JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE A GENIUS AT BLOWING STUFF UP DOESN'T MEAN YOU’RE A PRO AT COMMERCE. WHY NOT START SMALL? TRY TEN MILLION OR SO WHILE WE KEEP DOING THE REGULAR RUNS TO SEE HOW THE MARKET FEELS."

"Ugh, you’re right. My bad... So, what should we handle? Personally, I was thinking Warp Stabilizers."

"HOH? WHY’S THAT? I FIGURED YOU’D WANT TO PEDDLE AMMO OR TURRETS."

"Because of the WIND, obviously. Sure, it’s great if you can kill them, but most civilian ships see those things and just book it, right? Since those things can accelerate way faster than a human pilot can handle, people have to rely on their warp drives to escape."

Alan snorted a "Hmm" of approval. Marl glanced at the head, then raised a finger to Taro.

"So, you think this chaos is going to stick around for a while?"

Taro stared at her finger. "I mean, look at the situation. It’s obviously going to get worse, isn't it?"

Marl and Alan both stared at him with blank expressions.

"Mr. Teiro," Koume prompted. "Could you please explain the reasoning behind that conclusion? At present, I do not believe we have access to enough data to make such a definitive claim."

"Are you kidding? It’s plain as day. Look at the Stargate. The Stargate to Adela is still locked down. Isn't that weird? There was a whole Imperial fleet out there!"

Marl gasped, the realization hitting her like a freight train.

"I SEE WHAT YOU’RE GETTING AT," Alan added. "AT THE VERY LEAST, THE IMPERIAL MILITARY HAS NO INTENTION OF PICKING A FIGHT WITH THE WIND RIGHT NOW. THEY WOULD HAVE SEEN OUR SHIP’S LOGS. THAT DETACHMENT HAD A LANDING FORCE; THEY COULD HAVE LIBERATED THE STATION BY NOW IF THEY WANTED TO."

"But why?" Marl asked. "Even if it’s a backwater station, the monetary value alone is worth as much as a small fleet."

"I don't know the 'why,' but there’s definitely a reason. A reason... a reason... what could it be?"

The three of them—Taro, Marl, and the severed head—began muttering and brainstorming. Before a minute had passed, Koume spoke a single sentence.

"Could the Neural Network be the cause?"

Three sets of eyes locked onto the mechanical sphere.

"Wait, isn't that like... the ultimate worst-case scenario?" Taro asked.

"DOES THAT MEAN THE MILITARY LINES ARE DARK TOO? IT’S NOT IMPOSSIBLE, BUT THAT WOULD MEAN THE CORE ARCHITECTURE OF THE NEURAL NETWORK IS DOWN."

"If the Neural Network is actually dead... what happens?"

"Mr. Teiro," Koume explained. "Unlike the Neural Network, the Solar Net cannot transmit across distances of several light-years. Therefore, if the Neural Network fails, certain sectors will be completely isolated from information. I have a Network Map; would you like to see it?"

The three of them instantly synced their BISHOP units. A 3D model of the galaxy appeared, stars connected by thin white lines like a complex molecular structure. It only showed their current sector around Delta, but even then, thousands of stars were visible.

"Hey, Koume," Marl said. "Can you calculate which areas are going to be isolated based on the Solar Net's range? If we can map the blackouts, this data would be worth a fortune."

Koume shook her mechanical head. "I am sorry, Miss Marl. Calculating a small section might be possible given time, but the number of variables is far too—"

"Done."

Taro’s voice cut her off. Koume tilted her head, certain she’d misheard him. A moment later, Alan checked his feed and let out a strangled noise.

"YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME... DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY TRILLIONS OF COMBINATIONS THAT CALCULATION REQUIRES? BOSS... ARE YOU SOME KIND OF GIFT HOLDER? I’M GENUINELY SHOCKED... BUT THIS MAP IS EVEN MORE TERRIFYING."

"Yeah..." Marl whispered. "It’s hopeless."

The galactic Network Map on their displays had been color-coded by Taro based on connectivity. It looked like a schizophrenic painter had vomited onto a canvas—a chaotic, mottled mess of isolated pockets.

"Koume has finished her recalculations," the android said. "Incredibly, the map appears to be perfectly accurate. All 4,096 random samples I took match the projected values."

"I GET IT NOW..." Alan’s head bobbed on the mist. "I KNOW WHAT THAT DETACHMENT WAS TRYING TO DO."

"Yeah," Taro said, his voice grim. "I think I’ve got the gist of it too. Basically, it’s this."

Taro traced a finger over a black void on the map, sandwiched between a blue and yellow zone. Adela Station and its Stargate sat right on the razor-thin edge of the communication boundary.

"Those guys aren't an invasion force. They’re the Border Guard."