Chapter 71: The Pitter-Patter of Elite Paws

Taro was currently buried in a mountain of bureaucratic chips at his brand-new office on Katsushika Station. The sheer volume of procedural paperwork was enough to make a lesser man weep, but he was holding it together. Mostly.

"Man, Clark-san is a lifesaver. Hiring him was the smartest thing I’ve ever done."

The data chips sent via express from their Delta headquarters were masterpieces of efficiency. Everything was summarized so perfectly that only the absolute high-level decisions—the stuff only the boss could sign off on—were left pending. It allowed Taro to breeze through the grunt work and actually use his brain for the complicated stuff.

"Well, he’s the General Manager everyone swears by," Alan remarked from the next desk over, where he was busy sketching out a fleet reorganization plan. "He’s young, brilliant, and has a hell of a future. The crazy part is he doesn't have a single Gift. Life’s a coin toss, isn't it?"

Alan let out a massive, bone-creaking stretch, signaling a temporary ceasefire with his workload.

"How’s the new lineup? Done yet?" Taro asked, leaning over to peek at Alan’s screen.

"Getting there," Alan grunted, tilting the terminal so Taro could see. "The scale is basically doubling. Sorting the ships is the easy part, but people? People are a pain. I’ll ask one more time—you’re sure you won't let me lead the Second Fleet?"

"Nope. I mean, if you threw a tantrum I wouldn't stop you, but I’d really rather have you here. You’re the only one I can count on when things go south. Plus, let’s be real—I have zero confidence I could actually control Bella-san."

"Fair point. She’s... a lot," Alan conceded. "Still, it makes things smoother if she’s at the top of the chain. But that would mean another company would be technically running Rising Sun’s fleet. I’m not a fan of that look."

"Oh, good point. Hey, what if we just 'loan' them to the Union? Problem solved?"

"Hmm. That’s actually a solid workaround. We could even frame it so the allotment funds count as a usage fee." Alan’s fingers began dancing across the screen again, recalculating on the fly.

A voice crackled from the other side of the door. "President, it is almost time for your meeting."

Taro jumped. Right. The guests. He beckoned Alan to follow as they hurried toward the reception room.

"Remind me, this is that four-person bounty hunter crew? The fighter aces?" Taro asked as he flopped onto the sofa in the reception lounge.

"That’s the one," Alan said, double-checking his terminal. "Group name: Cats. Leader: Gon. They specialize in high-mobility fighter ops using a frigate as a mobile base. Get this—their main members have a one hundred percent survival rate over a ten-year career. That’s not just skill; that’s a statistical anomaly."

"So they’re the best of the best? I mean, Bella-san recommended them, so I figured as much."

"Luck is definitely a factor, but they’re clearly the real deal. Most hunters either die or retire within a decade—the average fatality rate is fifty-four percent. And these guys are a bombardment squad. They hunt the big stuff."

Taro’s brain whirred as his [OVERRIDDEN PRIVATE MILITARY KNOWLEDGE] coughed up a relevant file.

Ah, right. These guys charge inside the Shield Reaction Distance to deliver direct hits. "They’re total daredevils, aren't they?" Taro muttered.

The math was simple but suicidal. If you get close enough to a ship, the travel time for your shots becomes shorter than the Shield Generation Device's reaction window. You bypass the barrier entirely and hit the hull directly. Since shields can't stay up forever due to power constraints, it's a devastating tactic.

The catch? You’re also close enough for the enemy to swat you like a fly. In a tiny ship with paper-thin armor, one direct hit from a main battery meant you were instant space dust.

"It’s basically like someone decided to manually ride your Railgun rounds into the enemy," Alan noted. "They aren't technically ramming, but the vibe is the same."

"Sounds terrifying if the enemy has HAD. But WIND doesn't use that stuff, right?"

"For now," Alan said darkly. "But those things have been getting weirder lately. Anyway, looks like they’re—"

[NOTIFICATION: GUEST ARRIVAL]

BISHOP pinged the notification directly into their minds. Taro and Alan straightened their jackets and put on their 'Serious Corporate Executive' faces. Five minutes later, the door slid open with a whisper.

"............Huh?"

A very unintelligent sound escaped Taro’s throat.

There, standing in the doorway, were four small cats.

"Greetings. Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Gon, the leader."

A white cat suddenly leaped onto the seat opposite Taro. To put it politely, he was 'stout.' To put it accurately, the cat was remarkably fat, and his belly jiggled with a rhythmic thrum as he landed.

I-It talked... No, no, wait, what? Those are literal cats. Why are there cats?!

Taro sat there, frozen in a state of terminal confusion. Sensing his distress, Alan looked at him with a baffled expression. "What on earth is a 'neko'?"

"I—what do you mean 'what is it'?! The thing right there! These... these people?" Taro stammered, his brain short-circuiting.

Another cat hopped onto a chair next to the fat white one. "I’m Taiki. Good to meet you. You from the Central systems? I didn't think the Kato Tribe was that rare of a sight."

This one was a long-haired brown cat. Taro took a deep breath, realization slowly dawning that these were aliens. He forced his twitching face into something resembling a smile.

"No, haha... right. Sorry. I’m a bit of a country bumpkin. If I’ve offended you, I apologize. Uh, do you need a booster seat? Is the chair too low?"

Taro reached for the height adjustment, but before he could touch it, the chairs hummed and rose automatically, bringing the cats' faces level with the table. Taro stared. They can use BISHOP. They’re actually using the neural link.

"Don't sweat the small stuff. We can handle ourselves," said a tabby cat, touching a front paw to its forehead. "I'm Cha. Sup."

Taro tentatively raised his own hand, mimicking the gesture—the standard Imperial Style salute. "Right, yeah. Nice to meet you... Uh, you’ve got really nice paw pads."

Taro wanted to punch himself the moment the words left his mouth. What am I even saying?!

Cha, however, seemed pleased, letting out a smug little huff through his nose. "I keep them groomed to perfection. This white one over here is Yuki. She’s fifty-four years old. Impressive, right? Even for a Kato, she’s a senior."

Fifty-four? Taro’s eyes nearly popped out. Okay, definitely not Earth cats. Their lifespans are way longer.

"Wait," Taro whispered. "Were all those cats I saw wandering around the station actually..." He suddenly remembered how weirdly Marl had reacted whenever he brought up 'cats.'

"Enough with the pleasantries," Gon, the leader, interrupted. his eyes were sharp and piercing. "We’ve all seen the data. I’ll get straight to the point, Mr. Teiro. What’s the catch? This contract is way too good to be true."

Gon placed a front paw on the table. Taro’s heart skipped a beat when he saw the unsheathed, razor-sharp claws glinting in the light. He shot a frantic 'help me' look at Alan.

"Just be straight with them," Alan sighed. "They’ll sniff out a lie anyway."

Taro hesitated, then laid it all out. He told them about Rising Sun’s current predicament and their goal of taking on the Enzio Alliance.

The cats listened in stony—well, furry—silence. When he mentioned going to war with the Alliances, their ears flattened. They looked at each other, whiskers twitching in silent communication.

"I see. You're planning to pick a fight with the Big Four," Gon said, raising an eyebrow. His long whiskers swayed, and Taro found himself hypnotized by the movement. "You lot are suicidal. You’re at a massive disadvantage."

"Maybe. But unlike the EAP, we aren't backed into a corner yet. If things get too hot, Alpha can just pack up the station and warp away. I’m not planning on leading my employees into a meat grinder."

Taro was as honest as he could be. Gon let out a thoughtful "Hmm" and tilted his head. He looked at his teammates, saw their collective nods, and turned back to Taro.

"And what exactly do you want from us? We’ve fought humans, but don't expect miracles. Small fighters are sitting ducks against HAD."

"That’s fine. Your main job is still going to be hunting WIND. We’ll leave the Alliance fleets to EAP and the Dingoes."

"I see... so your company is taking the lead on those 'troublesome' WIND variants?"

Taro’s cheek twitched. "You’re well-informed," he said with a wry smile.

Gon smirked, flashing sharp fangs. "We’re pros. Information gathering is half the job. It’s not public knowledge yet, but the rumor mill is buzzing about WIND units that actually use pack tactics."

Taro decided to skip the fluff and pulled up a star system map on the big monitor. It showed the Trade Route they had carved out from Alpha to EAP, highlighted in a brilliant neon line.

"Look, compared to the EAP, we’re a tiny startup. If we try to hold the front line, we’ll be crushed. So, our primary mission is keeping this route stable and investigating these weird WIND units."

He zoomed in on the Katsushika Star System, the terminus of the route. Multiple points of light appeared, each marked with time-stamps of WIND sightings.

"The sightings are concentrated right here, between Katsushika and deep EAP space. EAP thinks there’s a nest or something nearby, but the search area is just too huge."

"Any word from the other Alliances?" Gon asked.

"I asked the Empire, but they played dumb. They definitely know something, though. My contacts say there are whispers of similar activity in other systems, too."

Gon nodded slowly. "I get the picture. Fine. We’re in. Give us the chips. We’ll be in your care, President."

Gon offered a paw. Taro reached out tentatively and gave it a shake. Oh man, the paw pads are so squishy. This is the best day of my life.

---

Once the cats had exited the room, Taro sat back, still feeling the phantom sensation of soft fur. "They were firmer than I expected," he remarked to Alan.

"You call them 'neko,' right? Are you saying Earth has Katos too?" Alan asked, sounding bored.

"Mmm, sort of," Taro mused. "They look identical, but the personality is different. On Earth, they were smart, but they weren't 'human intelligence' smart. They were just pets."

"Right. Word of advice: don't say that in public. You’ll have a Kato death squad on your tail for that kind of insult."

"Got it. Prideful cats. Noted... Anyway, I was thinking about the bombers. Why can't we just automate them?"

Alan blinked, looking genuinely confused. "I mean, we could, but why?"

"Because an AI has faster reactions! It could pull off maneuvers that would kill a pilot. Wouldn't it be better in every way?"

"...The maneuver part? Sure. But the reaction time? You’ve got it backward. Nothing is faster than a BISHOP-linked brain. It’s theoretically impossible to beat."

Taro frowned. "Wait, really? I read somewhere that humans take like 0.1 seconds to process info and move. On a battlefield where people are shooting lasers and beams, 0.1 seconds is an eternity."

"It is. So, let me ask you this," Alan said, leaning in with a mysterious grin. "How do you dodge a beam? Or a warhead? According to your logic, you shouldn't be able to."

Taro froze. Wait. He’s right. How am I doing that?

He thought back to his dogfights. He definitely saw the beams and moved. Sometimes he read the turret's aim, sure, but he’d definitely dodged shots that were already in the air. The math didn't add up.

"I can't believe you’re this clueless about BISHOP," Alan groaned.

"Hey, give me a break! I spent a few thousand years napping in a freezer!"

"Fine, fine. Every kid in the Empire learns this, so I guess nobody thought to explain the basics to you. I’ll skip the boring physics, but here’s the gist: BISHOP lets you see the future."

Taro’s jaw dropped. "Okay, look, I know I’m in space, but I didn't sign up for a fantasy novel. That’s impossible."

"It’s basic science to us. You know about Drive Particles, right? The stuff we use for warp?"

"Yeah, Koume mentioned them. Something about FTL travel."

"Exactly. Drive Particles move much faster than light. And as any classical physicist will tell you, anything moving faster than light essentially moves backward through time. BISHOP is just a communication system built on that principle."

Taro nodded, trying to wrap his head around the insanity. He didn't think Alan was joking.

"The Drive sensing elements pick up information from the immediate future and feed it to your brain. When we act on that info, the future changes. Scholars call it the Parallel World Theory—the idea that the act of observing the future branches the timeline. I don't care about the 'how,' but the 'what' is simple: BISHOP shows you what’s about to happen."

"So... I’m dodging because I already saw where the beam was going to be?"

"Precisely. There are limits to how much info you can get and how far ahead you can see, which is why your own reflexes still matter. That’s why the Kato are so good—their natural instincts are insane."

"Man... BISHOP is basically a magic wand. Whoever invented it must be the richest person in history."

Alan smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That’s the thing, Taro. Nobody knows who made the Drive sensing elements. We just use them because they work. Every human in the galaxy relies on a piece of technology we don't actually understand. Don't you find that a little creepy?"

Taro felt a chill run down his spine. "But we mass-produce them, right? We must know the blueprints."

Alan shook his head. "We just copy the originals using a specialized process. We can't build one from scratch. We don't understand the core logic. Who made the first one? When? Where? It’s the single greatest mystery in Imperial history... Oh, looks like the next guest is here. Get ready."

The buzzer cut through the tension. Taro shook himself, trying to clear the fog in his head. He wasn't sure if he was more unsettled by the secret of BISHOP or the way Alan had told it.

"When you say 'we,' you mean 'we' as in the Empire, right?" Taro muttered to himself, too quiet for Alan to hear.

Wait. Are they really just cats? Yes. They are literal cats. No standing on two legs. No human hands. Just cats.