Episode 51

The room was a tomb of shadows. Taro only realized he had a visitor when a sliver of light from the hallway sliced through the darkness of the doorway.

"Alan, huh? How’d you even get in here?"

Taro was a miserable ball of limbs on the bed. He didn't even bother looking up at the intruder as he muttered the question.

"I can crack military databanks, kid. A door lock is basically a toddler's toy by comparison. I don't care how 'elite' you think you are, the hardware on this thing has its limits."

Alan swaggered in, snagged a steel chair, and slammed it down next to the bed. The magnets in the chair’s legs engaged with a sharp, metallic clack that rang through the silent room.

"Drink."

It was a command, not a suggestion. Taro tried a weak "I'm not thirsty," but Alan shoved the glass into his hand with zero regard for his personal space.

"I didn't ask if you were thirsty. I told you to drink. Now, listen to your elders—it might actually do you some good for once."

Reluctantly, Taro dragged himself upright. He stared into the cup. A faint, sickly yellow light from the floorboards reflected off the liquid, which shimmered with the oily sheen of something dangerously high-proof.

It’s not like I want someone to tell me we did nothing wrong.

Alan’s voice cut through the gloom. Taro didn't answer; instead, he gave a solitary nod and downed the contents in one go.

"GAH! Cough! What... what the hell is this? Rocket fuel?!"

Taro doubled over, his throat feeling like he'd just swallowed a blowtorch. Alan actually cracked a gentle, almost sadistic smile.

"Fireball 925. Aptly named, since it’s ninety-two point five percent alcohol. Usually, people are smart enough to mix it with something."

Alan started pouring a mixer from a pitcher into his own glass. Taro silently shoved his empty cup forward, letting Alan refill it without a word.

Once the liquor was tamed by a splash of fruit juice—though it still felt like drinking liquid fire—Taro began to feel the world tilt in that familiar, fuzzy way. The silence stretched between them for a long minute before Taro finally broke it.

"Hey, Alan... you were a soldier, right? Did you... ever actually kill anyone?"

The word kill felt heavy and jagged in his mouth, like something he was terrified to even touch. Alan, however, didn't miss a beat.

"I did."

Alan’s voice was disturbingly casual.

"I won't bore you with a 'woe is me' story, but things were pretty grim back in my day. I don’t think I mentioned it, but I started in Land Combat. The Landing Force. You know the type? Grunts. We’d strap into Armed Suits, hoist our rifles, and charge headfirst into whatever hellhole they pointed us at."

Alan set his glass on the table and looked toward the ceiling, his eyes distant.

"It wasn't all grand spectacles like the Era of Imperial Strife, but we were always busy. Tax-dodging politicians, drug cartels, smuggling rings... basically, we spent our time hunting pieces of shit."

He snorted, crossing his arms with a scowl. Then his gaze dropped. "But..."

"It wasn't always pieces of shit. Sometimes, I’d put a bullet through a woman standing on a street corner just because she was in the way. You know how it is—the Empire doesn't give a damn about people without a family registry. They’re non-entities. And we? we just did what we were told."

Alan stared at the floor, his mouth snapping shut into a hard line. Taro struggled to find a response, his brain scrambling to process the casual brutality of it all. He stayed silent, waiting for the rest.

"I wouldn't say I regret it, exactly. But I do wonder if there was another way. I think about it all the time, actually. I’ll probably keep thinking about it until I’m dead. It’s just how things are."

Taro frowned, his head swimming from the booze and the heavy conversation. "I don’t get it... even if they didn't have a registry, you can't just do whatever you want. Doesn't that just breed resentment? If the people rose up, the military would be screwed, right?"

"Sure," Alan shrugged.

"But the brass decided that a few sacrifices were a small price to pay for 'overall stability.' Sacrificing the few to save the many—that’s the golden rule for anyone at the top. The second you start pushing that responsibility onto the guys at the bottom, the whole organization is doomed. Ideally, we’d have handled things with a bit more grace, but the Galactic Empire just got too big for its own good."

Alan took a massive swig of his drink. Taro tried to wrap his head around the logic, but it felt like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. It sounded right, in a cold, mathematical way, but he couldn't just nod and accept it.

Still, he knew he had to figure out his own stance, and he had to do it fast. Alan’s "man at the top" was him, and the organization was "Rising Sun."

"I don't think I can be that cold-blooded..." Taro groaned, pouring himself another round.

"You don't have to be," Alan countered.

"You can worry yourself sick, cry until your brain leaks out your ears, and keep screaming that you’ll find a better way. That’s how everyone survives this miserable world, more or less. If you don't like it, quit being the President."

Alan fixed him with a sharp, piercing stare. Taro met it head-on.

"That’s easier said than done."

"Damn right it is. It’s a pain in the ass. But at the end of the day, you’re the only one who can find your answer. So go ahead—fret. They say worrying is the only thing young people are actually good at, right?"

Alan stood up and started for the door. As he passed, Taro called out one last time.

"Hey, Alan."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not smart enough for the big-picture stuff. But I can promise you this: I’m not going to actively murder people, and I won't let anyone else do it either. I’m not trying to be a saint, and I get that sometimes things have to happen, but..."

Taro paused, swallowing the last of the liquid fire.

"Like you said, I’m probably going to mope about it. I’ll probably have a toddler-level meltdown. So, when that happens..."

"Yeah, yeah. I’ll come hold your hand again. It’s an old man’s job to keep the youth from losing their minds."

Alan cut him off before he could get too sentimental. Taro managed a smirk.

"Acting pretty high and mighty for a virgin," he muttered.

"Look who’s talking," Alan shot back.

The two of them shared a brief, genuine laugh before the door hissed shut.

Alan stepped out into the blindingly bright hallway and stretched until his joints popped.

"Man... I thought he’d be a total wreck, but he’s got a bit of a spine after all. How was it on your end?"

He spoke to the empty air, leaning back against the wall. Bella materialized from the shadows, waving a hand dismissively.

"Easy enough," she said. "She cried until she ran out of tears, took a breath, and she was fine. The girl’s got way more steel in her than the boy does."

"Figures," Alan grunted. He held out a hand. "Got a spare?"

Bella handed him a cigar. "They say women are the more realistic gender, after all."

Alan crushed the ignition capsule on the tip with a click of his thumb, took a drag, and exhaled a cloud of pale blue smoke.

"Don't act like an expert on women when you're a virgin."

Bella smirked at him. Alan just laughed. "Teiro told me the same damn thing."

He leaned his head back, looking up at the indirect lighting on the ceiling.

"Well, every spacer hits this crossroad eventually. Self-defense or not, you eventually have to cross that line. Teiro and the kid just hit it a little earlier than most."

"I killed my first person at twelve," Bella said, her voice flat and cold. "That’s old enough."

"Hey now," Alan sighed. "Your upbringing was a bit different from theirs. To a hardcore Mafia brat, this is probably child's play. I don't know much about Earth, but Teiro clearly came from some peaceful, high-society bubble. You saw it too, right?"

"Hard to miss," Bella agreed. She tossed a portable ashtray at him and lit her own cigar.

"For an Iceman who woke up after thousands of years, the boy adapted way too fast. He clearly had a top-tier education. He’s honest, he’s got a sense of justice, and he actually feels responsible for things. He’s a product of a very peaceful era."

She brushed her long hair back, looking annoyed.

"But he’s got balls. I heard his exchange with the other fleet over the HAD. That was some world-class bravado. Most people couldn't pull that off. He’s going to be a hell of a man one day."

Bella’s expression turned uncharacteristically soft for a moment before twisting into the grin of a predator. Alan saw it and felt a sudden wave of pity for Taro. The kid's caught the eye of a very dangerous woman.

"Whatever the future holds," Alan said, flicking his ash. "Tomorrow is back to the boring-as-hell travel routine. If you aren't busy, come with me. It’s time for the 'Old People’s Reminiscence Hour.'"

He started walking toward the lounge-slash-liquor-cellar.

"I’m not that old, and I’m definitely not that bored," Bella called out, the cigar clenched between her teeth. "But I think I finally figured out why you’re still a virgin... Fine. I'll have one drink."

She glanced back at Taro’s door one last time.

"Sleep tight, boy," she whispered, then turned and followed Alan into the light.