Chapter 43

Three jumps past Delta Station, at a vital relay point along the Central-Delta Line—the Empire’s logistical jugular—the three-hundred-year history of the manufacturing corp Makina was currently circling the drain.

"Thank you. Thank you so much... Finally, the weight is off my shoulders."

A middle-aged man had his head pressed so hard against the table he was practically trying to merge with the wood. He looked utterly drained, his spirit having long since exited the building.

"Ah, no, don't mention it. I mean... we’re only doing this for our own reasons anyway."

"Exactly! Please, lift your head. This is a win-win deal, so there’s no need for all this."

Teiro and Marl had arrived for the post-acquisition cleanup of Makina Corp fully expecting to be screamed at.

Makina was a peaceful little firm that churned out station maintenance parts. Teiro’s crew had essentially swooped in like vultures and snatched it up at a fire-sale price by exploiting its vulnerabilities. As Marl had predicted, the company’s finances were a dumpster fire; they’d been seconds away from drowning in a sea of debt. The WIND Incident had sent procurement costs into a localized supernova—a factor that had nothing to do with the factory’s actual productivity. In short, Rising Sun had bent them over the barrel.

But looking at the "victim" now, the two of them didn't know whether to celebrate or apologize. They shifted in their seats, rattled by the lack of hostility.

"Hey, Teiro, what do we do? He’s so depressed I’m worried he’s going to jump out an airlock the moment we leave."

"Don't say that! That's bad luck! But seriously, what the hell? This was a total tactical blunder."

The two of them huddled together, whispering furiously. Teiro felt a sudden, localized spike in atmospheric pressure and stole a glance over his shoulder. Behind them stood Bella, whom he’d brought along as a "just in case" bodyguard. She was currently wearing the expression of a demon king about to glass a planet. Teiro had specifically asked her to "just stand there," but she was being helpful in her own way, radiating enough killing intent to make the air vibrate.

Your kindness is a bit much, Bella-san. Actually, you’re scaring the hell out of me.

Teiro was fairly certain that anyone in the Galactic Empire would take one look at her and immediately identify her as Space Mafia. She wore a tight suit modeled after a military uniform with a jacket draped over her shoulders like a cape. A very specific, very lethal-looking bulge in her shirt suggested she was packing heat.

"If you're gonna sign, sign already," Bella growled, leaning in. Her voice was low, resonant, and terrifyingly polite. "We don't know your life story, and we don't care. We bought you out fair and square under Imperial law. You know it’s too late to wiggle out of this, right?"

"Yes! Yes, of course! If there is work to be done, my employees will give it their all. I promise you!"

The former president of Makina Corp kept his eyes glued to the floor, bowing over and over. Bella eventually shot Teiro a look that clearly asked, Now what?

"Uh, seriously, please look up, Mr. President. Or... Former President? No, that sounds like I’m rubbing it in. Look, as long as you make what we order, we’re good. You’re free to use any spare production capacity however you want."

Being bowed to by a man more than twice his age made Teiro feel like a complete jerk. The former president finally looked up, his face a mask of confusion. "Free to...?"

"Yeah. I mean, you’re a subsidiary now, but we’re not absorbing you into Rising Sun proper. Keep your management rights. Unless you do something truly insane, we’re staying out of your hair."

To Teiro and Marl, this acquisition was mostly an experiment. Running a massive factory without any manufacturing know-how was a great way to leave their future to the roll of the dice, and they didn't want a failure to sink the whole ship. They weren't going to be negligent, but Makina was essentially a strategic pawn for future plays.

"I-I see. Thank you. In that case... what exactly are we manufacturing?"

The color was finally returning to the man’s face. Teiro hesitated for a beat.

"Well, it’s not exactly a 'peaceful' item, but I guess it’s a tool for peace...?"

"Hahaha, sounds like a riddle. What is it? Electric batons? Riot gear?"

"Close!"

"Oh! Is that so?"

"It’s the shells for ship-mounted, large-scale warhead weapons!"

The former president’s face turned to stone.

"I guess the pressure of carrying a three-hundred-year-old legacy is pretty heavy, huh?" Teiro mused.

"I suppose. He did seem happy once the shock wore off, though. He was just glad the company wouldn't vanish on his watch."

They were currently inside a high-speed transit car, sitting across from one another. The acquisition had gone off without a hitch, and since they’d finished early, they were heading to the Entertainment District to kill time over a meal.

"To be honest, I’d have an ulcer. If a company that lasted for generations folded while I was at the helm? Even if it wasn't my fault, the stress would be legendary."

"True. There are corps in the Empire that have been around for over a millennium. I can't even imagine what it feels like to run one of those."

They both stared up at the car’s ceiling in silence. Teiro didn't hate the quiet, but he did feel a bit twitchy. It might have been easier if Bella were there, but she’d already headed back to the Plum.

"So... the president seemed pretty shocked when I mentioned the artillery shells. Think their equipment can handle it?"

"If it couldn't, he would have said so. He seemed fired up at the end, didn't he? Called it a 'new challenge.'"

"Pretty sure that was just him accepting his fate and entering a fugue state," Teiro deadpanned.

The conversation died again. Silence returned. Teiro was frantically scouring his brain for a new topic when a ping came in from Alan. He accepted it immediately, feeling like a drowning man catching a life preserver.

"Sorry to crash your big date, Teiro. The Military wants a face-to-face. Outskirts of the Delta Star System, day after tomorrow, noon. I doubt they’ll pull anything funny, but keep your head on a swivel."

"I appreciate you providing such high-level intelligence to the Imperial Military, Teiro-dono. Though I must admit, when I heard from Alan, my first thought was: 'Him again?'"

Dean, Lyza’s older brother, spoke while staring holes through Teiro.

"Ahahaha... Yeah, well, I’ve got enough male acquaintances to last a lifetime. I was hoping for a reunion with a beautiful lady, personally. By the way, is this a 'casual vibes' meeting, or should I be sweating?"

"Casual is fine," Dean replied. He had a slender build that didn't scream 'soldier,' and short-cropped blonde hair exactly like Lyza’s. Teiro pegged him as an elite track officer rather than a grunt who’d crawled through the mud.

"I wonder what the statistical probability is of our paths crossing again in a galaxy this vast. I’d love to run the numbers sometime. Regardless, how is Lyza? Is she being useful to you?"

Dean sounded like he was in his thirties. His voice was calm and deep—not quite as deep as Squall’s, but it carried an air of effortless command.

Teiro scanned the room. They were in the reception lounge of the Battleship Gray Arrow, the flagship of Dean’s Imperial Military detachment. The place was dripping with luxury that felt entirely out of place on a warship. The shelves and tables were made of wood—actual, honest-to-god wood!—and covered in intricate carvings. There was a chandelier held up by wires that was a bit too "nouveau riche" for Teiro’s taste, but the way the crystals caught the light was undeniably beautiful.

"It’s incredible in here... but honestly, Dean-san, shouldn't you be worried about whether I’m being useful to her?" Teiro asked, still staring at the ceiling.

Dean let out a sharp grin. "You’re far too humble, Teiro-dono. Partnerships only exist when there’s mutual profit. But seeing your face, I take it things are going well. I’m relieved. Your company seems to have grown quite a bit."

"More or less," Teiro replied, his mind drifting back to the recent evolution of their Union.

The TRB Union, born during the trek to Alpha Station, was currently raking in obscene profits by trading with the Alpha Star System—a frontier sector effectively cut off from the Imperial core.

Teiro’s Plum acted as the muscle for Lyza’s transport ships, leading the way with his superior maps and warp calculations. Meanwhile, the Arzimof Siblings handled market research while simultaneously "stabilizing" (read: seizing control of) the surrounding space. It was a well-oiled machine. The TRB Union had ballooned into a collective of over a thousand people.

Rising Sun itself now had over two hundred employees, with a head office at Delta and a branch at Alpha. They were turning a steady profit, and while the hyperinflation of certain goods was a headache, they were weathering the storm. The new subsidiary, RS Rising Sun Makina, was still in its infancy, but Teiro hoped it would fix the group's supply chain issues.

His only real worry was that Rising Sun was starting to look less like a transport company and more like a private military contractor. It wasn't a problem yet, but the mission creep was real. Plenty of his employees had signed up for a quiet life in logistics only to find themselves manning railguns on a combat deck.

"Maybe one day you’ll be a mega-corp with a hundred million employees," Dean joked, shrugging. "If that happens, maybe I should look into a career change?"

Teiro gave a weak, non-committal smile, unable to tell if the officer was actually joking.

"Anyway, jokes aside. Let's get down to business." Dean leaned forward, his eyes turning cold and sharp. "I want you to be completely honest with me."

He paused for effect.

"Just whose jurisdiction are you actually under?"