Episode 32

[WARNING: EXITING NEURAL NETWORK RANGE]

The warning flashed in obnoxious, blood-red text across BISHOP.

"Gee, thanks for the news," Taro muttered, swiping the notification away before performing one final check on the Overdrive Device. "Koume, what’s the projected error margin post-jump?"

"At maximum, approximately 340,000 kilometers, Mr. Teiro."

"Roger that. Marl, how’s the Overdrive looking? Seems happy from here."

"The break-in period is over, and she’s purring. I don't think we’ll be ending up as space dust today."

The crew squinted at their newly installed monitors, cross-referencing radiation levels and navigational hazards. They fed the data back into BISHOP to fine-tune their trajectory. On the massive monitor mounted to the wall opposite Taro, he could see other ships dropping out of the Stargate queue—poor saps who likely couldn’t finish their math before the jump window slammed shut.

"Looks like only half of them made the cut," Marl remarked, looking up from her console. "They’ll probably try again on the next jump in an hour, but it’s a little pitiable."

"They’re paying double the transit fees for the privilege... though honestly, it might take them more than two tries to get it right," Taro said.

The destination beyond this Stargate was, as the warning had so helpfully pointed out, beyond the reach of the Neural Network. With no navigation beacons to guide them, every ship was forced to calculate its own coordinates manually. One decimal point out of place, and you were history.

"When you consider the price of failure, you can’t be too careful," Taro noted.

"Precisely, Mr. Teiro," Koume chirped. "Otherwise, you would end up quite literally lost in space, which would be a remarkably pathetic way to go."

"Hey, the Stargate is basically just a giant particle accelerator! Whatever happened to me last time was totally beyond my control!"

Taro squinted as his vision began to bleed into a brilliant, neon blue. As Koume had warned, if the math was off, the Overdrive—now being boosted hundreds of times over by the gate—would hurl them into the absolute middle of nowhere. He’d done this several times now without dying, but these "cross-border" jumps still gave him a nervous stomachache every single time.

[JUMP DRIVE: CONFIRMED]

The world turned a blinding, sterile white. The output levels of the Overdrive Device redlined, climbing toward infinity.

[JUMP DRIVE: EXECUTING]

"We’re heeeere... Ugh, what is wrong with me? I think I’m actually getting used to this nausea."

Taro felt like the universe had just tried to pull his brain out through his ears. As he slumped back into his seat, Marl tossed a drink pouch at his head. "Drink up."

"Thanks. So, how are the coordinates? Did we land in a sun?"

"Nah, we’re fine. We’re about 32,000 kilometers from the old beacon position. Honestly, the way you two crunch numbers is terrifying."

"Hehe, please, Miss Marl, you'll make me blush," Koume giggled. "The day is fast approaching when Koume’s name will be known across the galaxy as a truly 'calculating' woman."

"That is not a compliment!" Taro barked. "And the gap between your cute face and that personality is just tragic!"

By Taro's standards, Koume looked like the quintessential fragile, beautiful girl. Marl shot her a sidelong glance. "That's unexpected. Are you really the type who cares about looks, Taro? A bad woman is going to eat you alive one day."

"Ugh... I mean, maybe. But if it’s a beauty like you doing the deceiving, Marl, I might not mind so much."

"Huh?! Wh—... are you an absolute moron!?"

Actually, aren't you the one being played right now? Taro thought, but he kept his mouth shut. During his tenure with her, he’d learned the life-saving importance of knowing when to stop talking.

"Anyway, I’m not the type to trick people!" Marl huffed, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. She began mumbling to herself as she fumbled with the Overdrive settings. "Come on, let’s just get moving. Where’s the next station?"

The Plum continued its trek through the danger zone—a sector where all contact with the Imperial center had vanished. Following behind them were several transport ships that had somehow managed to stick to their tail. Taro caught glimpses of WIND ship signatures on his long-range scans a few times, but he ignored them. They were hauling a full load; even a minor scrape would mean a major hit to their wallet.

"It’s surprisingly busy out here," Taro mused as they hopped between long-distance Stargates and docked at various stations. "The world’s basically at war, but merchants are like cockroaches. They just don't quit."

Though the stations were thick with tension, economic activity was booming. At every stop, Taro was hounded for news from the core systems, all while he focused on offloading his cargo for a tidy profit.

They were halfway to the Alpha Star System when a communication request pinged on the bridge.

[NORMAL CHANNEL: TS-3323]

Taro looked at the string of characters on BISHOP. TS meant Transport Ship. He realized it was one of the shadows that had been following them for days.

"Calling them a Transport Ship is generous. They’re more like 'Train Stalkers,'" Taro grumbled.

"Oh, bravo, Mr. Teiro," Koume said with a deadpan expression. "Shall I fetch a floor cushion for your comedy debut?"

"You know way too much useless trivia!" Taro snapped at the AI’s smug face. "Whatever. Let's see what they want."

He opened the channel.

"Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you. This is TS-3323. I’m Lyza Francois, representative of Speed Carrier Corp. I have a bit of a proposal for you—do you have a moment?"

A video feed flickered to life, showing a woman in her mid-twenties wearing a sleek headset. She had blonde hair tied in a side-tail—a style Taro associated more with trendy teenagers than corporate executives. The "President" fixed her blue eyes on Taro through the screen, her lips painted a sharp, aggressive red.

"I’ve heard quite the rumors about you. The 'Rising Sun' Corporation. Growing as fast as the dawn, willing to haul goods anywhere for a price. Even if it means dodging WIND or the mafia."

Lyza narrowed her eyes, appraising him.

"Well, that’s a flatteringly embarrassing reputation," Taro replied, playing it cool. "Honestly, I’d love to trade sweet nothings with a beauty like you, but I’ve never been a fan of being followed."

Marl, who was eavesdropping from her station, let out an exasperated sigh and smacked the back of Taro’s head. Lyza blinked in surprise, then let out a refined, melodic laugh.

"You’re an interesting man. Just like Dean said you were."

Taro silently cut his eyes toward Koume. The AI glanced upward for a millisecond before whispering, "No matches for that name in our recent logs, Mr. Teiro."

"Do you happen to remember an Imperial soldier you met back in the Alba Star System?" Lyza asked.

"Alba? Ohh... that guy. By the way, can we just delete this call log? This isn't exactly 'open channel' talk."

"Yes, of course. I have no intention of discussing Alba further. It wouldn't benefit me, my brother, or you. But I have something much more important to discuss."

A guy with a hot sister? Definitely an enemy, Taro thought. But he focused. "For a merchant, nothing is more important than Credits. So, what’s the deal? Speed Carrier Corp is a big-shot company, right? Why talk to us?"

He glanced at the data Koume had pulled up. 220 employees. That made them nearly four times the size of Rising Sun. They were technically rivals.

"I appreciate the high marks, but 200 employees hardly makes us 'big.' Maybe if we had another zero at the end of that number," Lyza said. She paused to take a drink, her throat moving elegantly as she swallowed. Taro kept his gaze sharp. "Don't be so defensive. I apologize for following you, but I had to see if the rumors were true."

Taro waited for her to continue, swallowing his question of 'Why?'

After a long silence, Lyza leaned forward. "I have a proposal. Why don't we form a Union? We have the transport fleet, and you have the teeth to protect it. It would be mutually beneficial, don't you think?"

The plot continues to thicken at a leisurely pace.

For those of you itching for a fight, please hang on just a little longer.