Episode 31

"Right, sending the contract over BISHOP now. Oh, no, I totally get it. I’ll be sure to swing by after the next procurement run. Yes, of course. Eh? Daily necessities? Ah—see, we don't have a dedicated transport ship, so we’re a bit tight on space... No, no! Of course, I’ll do whatever I can!"

Inside the control room of the Plum II, Taro was busy bobbing his head in a series of frantic, apologetic bows toward the display. On the monitor, the president of his latest business partner looked on with a smug, satisfied grin. Finally, the two of them performed the standard salute—two fingers to the forehead—and terminated the connection.

"Phew. Talk about an anticlimax," Taro muttered, switching the monitor over to the Network Map. "I didn't think I’d offload the entire inventory at the very first station we hit. Things must be even more screwed than the Empire let on."

In the two months since they had commissioned the Plum II, the map’s colors had undergone a radical transformation.

"They say it’s the first Emergency Declaration Level 2 in about eight hundred years," Marl said, leaning in with a finger pressed to her lips as she studied the screen. "I always thought the Empire was a bunch of indifferent bureaucrats, but they really move when they have to. I never would’ve guessed they’d try to patch the damage like that."

"No kidding," Taro agreed, reflecting on the Imperial response.

The fractal network collapse had threatened to plunge the entire galaxy into a dark age of information silence. In response, the Galactic Empire government had rolled out a solution that was as primitive as it was absurdly effective.

"Even if you had the idea, who actually goes through with it? Stationing a literal wall of ships just to bridge the communication gaps... how many was it? Three million Communication Ships scattered across the stars? That’s insane."

"To be precise, it is 2,885,232 vessels, Mr. Teiro," Koume clarified. "By the personal decree of His Majesty the Emperor, every spare hull—from reserve fleet ships to rusted buckets on the verge of being scrapped—was mobilized at once. I imagine the communication hardware manufacturers are currently drowning in an unprecedented economic boom."

"It was a gutsy call," Marl added. "We studied this stuff in school, but I never really felt it until now. An autocracy really does have an edge in crisis management. If this were a parliament, they’d still be arguing over whether or not to form a committee to discuss a potential strategy meeting."

The Network Map displayed a massive blue blob radiating from the Imperial core. The Communication Ships acted like a chain of galactic telephone poles, linking roughly fifty percent of the known galaxy. The remaining sectors were no longer a chaotic mess of static, but had begun to coalesce into larger, stable clusters.

"The funniest part is the rebranding," Taro said. "The order to start calling the Solar System Net the 'Neural Network.' It basically means the Empire has zero intention of fixing the old one, doesn’t it? I wonder what really happened to the original?"

Marl crossed her arms and let out a pained groan. "It’s creepy, but they’ll probably never go public with the details. This is the biggest crisis since the Empire's founding. If they ever do tell us, it’ll be when the new Neural Network finally catches up to the old one's performance."

"The probability of that is high, though it seems somewhat unrealistic in the near term, Miss Marl," Koume interjected. "Even with the Communication Ship relays, there are gaps—like the Adela Star System—where the distance is simply too great to bridge. Furthermore, the amount of stored data currently accessible is likely less than one-hundredth of what we once had."

"Well, nothing we can do about that," Taro sighed. "We’ll just have to wait for some genius to invent a new way to talk across the stars."

He tried to wrap his brain around the technical side of FTL comms for a second before his mental gears started smoking. He promptly gave up.

Let the nerds handle the hard stuff, he thought.

"Anyway, Marl-tan. What are we doing about the baggage behind us? Should I just jam their sensors and disappear?"

"Don't even think about it," Marl replied, her voice laced with exhaustion. "Besides, we don't even have a jammer installed. They aren't actually interfering with us, so technically they isn't violating any Station Ordinance... Should we maybe ask Mafian Corp to deal with them?"

Behind the Plum II, trailing by a few kilometers, was a literal parade of transport ships. They were clearly piggybacking on the Plum II’s formidable firepower for protection. Ever since leaving Delta, they had been sticking to Taro’s tail like glue.

"It’s still annoying," Taro grumbled. "It’s like we’re being stalked by a fleet of fanboys. They’re probably back there going, 'Ooh, look at the Quadro-Pulse Engine on that Plum II, it’s so hot.' Total freaks."

"To be fair, the Plum’s engine is breathtakingly beautiful," Marl said with a dreamy sigh. "If I could, I’d lick it. I mean, the radiation would kill me instantly, but it’d be worth it."

"Great, the pervert was inside the house the whole time... Anyway, what’s this 'Mafian Corp'? Some kind of space yakuza?"

"Rude. Well, I don't know what a 'yakuza' is, but 'scary people' is the right ballpark. They’re the types who operate in the gray zones of local ordinances and Imperial law."

"Ah, so they're basically a 'human resources' firm covered in tattoos. Got it. What would people like that do in this situation?"

Taro asked purely out of morbid curiosity. Koume tilted her holographic head.

"One moment, please. I have located a relevant precedent in the archives, Mr. Teiro," Koume said. "Standard procedure involves intentionally lowering scan resolution while simultaneously inducing a 'malfunction' in the communication output to ensure warnings don't actually reach the target. After 'attempting' to warn them several times on the dead frequency, they would then conduct a 'test fire' of their weaponry at debris near the target ships. If the fire is sufficiently 'low-precision,' there is a high probability of a stray shot hitting the target. As long as the sensor tampering isn't caught, it violates no Imperial laws. Shall I begin the calibration?"

Koume flashed a wicked smirk. While Taro and Marl were glad to see her becoming more expressive, the sheer sociopathy of the suggestion left them with nothing but strained, awkward smiles.

[EMERGENCY COMMUNICATION: ALAN]

The notification blinked onto Taro’s BISHOP interface. He raised a hand to silence the girls and opened the line.

"This is Plum. I’ve got your emergency signal. Go ahead, Alan."

"Hey, Boss. Good news! I accidentally hit the emergency frequency in my excitement, so forgive the drama. You got a sec?"

Taro let out a sigh of relief at Alan’s upbeat tone. He switched the audio to the control room speakers.

"The Human Single-Planet Origin Theory. Remember that? I found the big-shot scholar who leads the movement. He’s the real deal."

Taro nearly vaulted out of his captain’s chair. "Are you serious?! Where? I’ll go right now! Do we leave now? I feel like we should leave now!"

"Calm down, Boss. The Doctor is currently at a Research Station in the Alpha Star System. I got the tip from a guy who used to be his assistant. It’s solid. The guy hasn't worked there in a year, but the Doctor has lived there for decades. Doubt he’s decided to pack up and leave just as the galaxy’s falling apart."

"Let me see... Alpha Station..." Marl muttered, searching BISHOP. Her face fell. "Whoa. That is ridiculously far. It’s way outside the Central Communication Zone. Are we really doing this?"

"Damn right we are," Taro said without a second's hesitation. "The cargo hold is empty anyway. We’ll head back to Delta, load up on as much junk as we can carry, and then we’re gone. Man, I’m pumped! A real-life doctor... I bet he’s got a huge nose and crazy, frizzy hair."

"You have watched far too many cartoons, Mr. Teiro," Koume sighed. "Or was that the standard appearance of an Earth 'Doktor'?"

"Hahaha! Well, the shaggy hair is actually spot on, but his nose is pretty average," Alan laughed. "Sending a photo now."

A high-res color image popped up via BISHOP. It showed a man at a ceremony, smiling warmly as he accepted a trophy.

"Dr. Isaac Alzimov, age seventy-two," Taro read. "Wait, he looks like he’s forty. Is that the anti-aging stuff?"

To Taro’s eyes, the man looked like he was in the prime of his life.

"Probably," Marl said. "The medical cosmetic firms claim they can keep your physical age at half your chronological age. I wonder what it's like, though? Looking like a kid while being an old geezer on the inside?"

"You tell us, Koume-san," Taro joked. "You’re the queen of the 'inner-outer gap,' even if you’re a hologram. Any thoughts?"

"Yes, Mr. Teiro. Miss Marl, men are notoriously weak to such 'gaps.' I suspect even Mr. Teiro is no exception."

"Yeah, okay. Didn't ask, don't care," Marl said, standing up and stretching her arms over her head. "But hey, we have a destination! Time to go shopping. We’ll take on some transport contracts to fill the gaps and pack the cargo bay to the ceiling. It’s payday!"

"Hell yeah!" Taro cheered. "We’ll leave the office to the General Manager. Now, what are we hauling? Since it’s a Research Station, maybe some high-end servers?"

"No way," Marl countered. "They’re too fragile. Unless we get a specific order, don't risk it. We should stock up on compact Warp Stabilizers. Those things are guaranteed to sell."

"I agree with Miss Marl," Koume added. "Consistent profit is preferable to high-risk ventures."

"Hey, Boss," Alan’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Don't forget the adult goods. They’re still our number one breadwinner. And if you’re gonna do business out in Alpha Station, you’ll need a local base. We’re gonna need to hire some local staff."

The four of them dove into the logistics of their new trek. The Rising Sun Corp leadership summit continued aboard the Plum II until a completely exhausted Taro finally collapsed onto the floor.