Chapter 59

[SAFETY LOCKS DISENGAGED. BISHOP INTERLOCKING SYSTEM ACTIVATED.]

The location: a void far removed from Delta Station. An exposed gun barrel, aimed squarely at the star Delta, trembled with a high-pitched whine as the experimental hardware mounted to the Plum II’s hull roared to life.

"Fifteen seconds to fire... thirteen, twelve, eleven..."

Marl’s voice carried the countdown. The Makina Corp employees—who, until a moment ago, had been screaming at each other in a chaotic whirlwind of technical jargon—instantly fell silent. Alongside Teiro, every eye was glued to the monitors displaying the device.

[BALLISTIC CONTROL LINK: START.]

Teiro accessed the warhead via his usual mental interface, scanning the simple Attitude Control Functions etched into its code. Operating BISHOP from the Plum’s dock was an unfamiliar experience, but it didn't seem to be throwing a wrench in the works.

"Eight, seven, six..."

Someone swallowed audibly. The air in the room was thick with the sound of shallow, nervous breathing.

"Three, two, one... FIRE!"

The railgun barrel spat a geyser of flame and light. A glowing "magical" projectile tore through the vacuum at a speed that defied logic, broadcasting its relative coordinates back to the Plum in a constant stream of data.

Right... left... feint... and now, charge!

Lost in a trance of total concentration, Teiro muttered under his breath, performing his divine duty within the digital realm of BISHOP.

"It’s a hit, Mr. Teiro. Error from target accuracy is fifteen percent. Within the acceptable margin."

"Sweet. Stage one is a success. Let’s see how the next one goes."

Teiro let out a long sigh and watched the Makina Corp staff descend into a frenzy of button-mashing and lever-pulling.

"Move it, move it! Cool the barrel! Load the next round, double time!"

"Did we get the data? What’s the status of the sensors?"

"Thermal sensor is fried! We need a replacement, now!"

Workers in bulky space suits scurried around the railgun turret like frantic ants. In the dock, staff members huddled over terminals resting directly on the floor, their faces twisted into masks of grim determination. Teiro felt a surge of genuine respect for these obsessive gearheads.

True craftsmen, he thought. People who get this worked up over a machine are the same in every era.

"Quite the sight, isn't it, Mr. Teiro? Watching humans throw themselves so earnestly into a task is inherently refreshing."

"Yeah... though I’m sure their motives aren't entirely pure."

Teiro had promised them a direct bonus and a mountain of paid leave if the experiment succeeded. Even now, if he strained his ears, he could hear whispers of "ten thousand credits per person" and "two weeks of vacation" floating through the room. It was raw, unadulterated greed—and Teiro loved it. If cold, hard cash was what it took to get them moving, he’d pay up gladly.

Honestly, compared to the cost of the ammo, their salaries are a bargain.

This had been Teiro’s stock answer whenever his employees questioned the massive piles of capital he was shoveling into Makina Corp.

The price of machinery across the Delta Region was still skyrocketing. The climb had slowed down a bit recently, but it was still heading for the stratosphere. One of Teiro’s custom-made warheads was currently pushing seventy thousand credits per round. That was more than the entire payout for his very first job back when he’d started with the original Plum.

Every time I pull the trigger, Marl makes a sound like her soul is leaving her body... but yeah, I get it.

They’d burned through roughly sixty warheads during this expedition. That was five million credits—enough to buy a fully kitted-out combat frigate.

"Preparing next round. Countdown to launch—"

Teiro shook off his wandering thoughts as Marl started the next count. He refocused on the ballistic controls. To him, money was just an item used to clear an objective, not the objective itself. If he could buy his comrades' safety with credits, it was the best deal in the galaxy.

The day’s shooting session concluded with a list of completed goals and a ship full of grinning employees. Even if they hadn't hit the "full" bonus criteria, the Makina staff were clutching their pay stubs and dreaming of their first vacation in ages.

"Eh? A discount? Ah, no, I’m sorry, but that’s just not feasible. Going below our current procurement cost would be... yeah, yeah. I understand. Of course, I look forward to our continued partnership. Ahaha, talk soon!"

In the Plum II’s lounge, Teiro was wearing a look of pure, unmitigated villainy that stood in sharp contrast to his polite tone. He crossed his legs on the sofa and leaned back with a satisfied smirk.

"The supplier for the old warheads?" Marl asked, buffing her nails with a palm-sized device.

"Yep," Teiro chirped. "The second I told them we were done buying from them, they went into a total tailspin. Serves the bastards right. They actually offered to drop the price to forty thousand per round at the last second. What a joke. Just goes to show how much they’ve been gouging us."

"Wait, seriously? That was High Technology Research Corp, right? We should probably just cut ties with them entirely."

"Mmm, I’d love to, but HTR Corp has friends in high places. Snubbing them completely would cause a headache with our other partners... corporate politics are a nightmare."

Teiro locked his hands behind his head and gave a massive, bone-popping stretch. They were inside the Plum II, which was currently tucked safely inside the Delta Station dock. It was the first time in a long while he’d felt truly secure, and his body was finally starting to unclench.

"Oh, right. We got a ping from Alan and the boys. How’s it looking over there?"

Koume, who had been standing motionless at Teiro’s side, nodded. "All quiet on the western front, Mr. Teiro. They report that training for the 'special operation' is proceeding according to schedule."

Teiro flashed a grin. "Perfect."

He had left Alan behind at Alpha Station for defense, leaving him with a few "creative" tactical ideas. Koume and Marl had argued that the Alpha Star System was unlikely to become a war zone, but Teiro knew better. Alan agreed. Teiro still remembered how Dingo had moved during their accidental skirmish; the man was not someone to be underestimated.

Furthermore, the private military knowledge Teiro had recently Overridden gave him a chillingly clear picture of Dingo’s goals and tactics. Teiro was certain: Dingo was coming for Alpha.

That freak noticed the railgun after only three shots. He was actually trying to dodge the damn thing. Honestly, he’s a monster.

It was Teiro’s honest assessment. Alan was equally wary of the danger Dingo posed, and the two of them had spent hours debating exactly how Alpha Station would be turned into a slaughterhouse.

"Also, Mr. Teiro, the newly built vessel for the operation has been delivered. They found a few glitches and are currently fine-tuning the systems, but it doesn't look like anything deal-breaking."

"The new ship? Oh... that thing. Are you sure a tactic like that will actually work?"

"Who knows? Apparently, the military used to do it all the time back in the day. I think privateers still use it... well, maybe. Who can say?"

Teiro caught himself and quickly pivoted. "Anyway, Liza-tan is late. Like, an hour past our meeting time late."

"Now that you mention it, you're right," Marl said, tilting her head with a finger to her cheek. "I thought she was a stickler for punctuality. I hope nothing happened."

Teiro found himself momentarily distracted by how cute the gesture was, but he quickly pinged BISHOP.

"Oh, speak of the devil. Looks like she just hit the dock. Let’s go be polite and greet her for once."

Teiro stood up as the station monitors caught Liza’s transport vessel. Koume and Marl fell in line behind him as they strolled through the familiar corridors of the Plum.

"Hey, Teiro. Are you really sure about this?" Marl asked from behind him.

"Sure about what?"

"Leaving the Union."

"I have to. We ignored their warnings and went out there anyway. Now we’re about to drag the whole Union into a shooting war. It’s the right move."

"I mean, I get it... but from a corporate standpoint, this is going to hurt."

Teiro nodded. Marl wasn't wrong.

The TRB Union’s bread and butter was the transport business, and that business relied heavily on Liza’s massive fleet. Rising Sun had its own ships, sure, but they were rowboats compared to Speed Carrier Corp’s ocean liners.

It wasn't just about size, either. Moving food required specialized preservation tech. Then there was the precision machinery, the Razor Metal, the volatile gases, and the radioactive isotopes—all of which required expert handling. Those were the high-demand, high-profit items.

Eventually, the trio reached the dock. Following Liza’s invitation, they stepped onto the elevator ramp leading into her ship.

"Why is this thing made of glass? This isn't 'luxurious,' it’s terrifying."

The transport ship’s airlock was massive, and the elevator began a dizzying fifty-meter ascent.

"If we were still at the bottom, we might have been able to look up your skirt, Mr. Teiro," Koume noted tonelessly.

"...Koume-san, why couldn't you have mentioned that three minutes ago?"

"Don't look at me," Marl snapped. "I was never going to let you board first."

At the top, they were greeted by a manager from Speed Carrier Corp and ushered into the reception room where Liza waited. Teiro sat down and laid it all out: the chaos in Outer Space, and Rising Sun’s intention to withdraw from the Union to protect the other members.

"You can keep all the Union’s shared assets," Teiro added. "And if you want reparations for the trouble, just name your price."

Liza’s expression soured. She shook her head, her long side-tail whipping through the air, and stood up in total silence. Teiro squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for a slap—or maybe a punch.

"Wait... what?"

The impact never came. Teiro cracked an eye open to find Liza had moved. She hadn't hit him; instead, she had squeezed herself into the tiny gap on the sofa between Teiro and Marl.

She leaned in close, staring directly into Teiro’s eyes with a smile that was equal parts bewitching and dangerous.

"There will be no 'sneaking away,' Teiro-san. Our company intends to support you with everything we have as a fellow Union member. Trying to keep such a 'sweet deal' all to yourself... how very cruel of you."