Simon sacrifices yet another butt to the chopping block that is the ashtray. He’s lost count of how many cartons of tobacco that makes. Five? Ten? It doesn’t matter at this point anymore.

  His hotel room is now full of thick mist. But there is only the presence of complete silence. There isn’t even the humming of the air conditioning unit that obstructed his inner thoughts since his visit began weeks ago. At some point, Simon stopped caring about its breakdown. The temperature didn’t exactly bother him, and likewise, he can’t be bothered complaining to the staff about it. Speaking of which, they have been eerily avoiding him and Simon is not quite sure why. Sure, he is one of the most feared lieutenants of the Year 217 Mafia, but at the end of the day, he’s as human as anyone else.

  The first day when he started smoking, though, was likely the last human interaction he had with them. Simon’s memory of the incident is a little fuzzy thanks in no due part to becoming a living fossil with each creeping year.

---

  “Sir, you are not allowed to smoke in the lounge, you will set off the fire alarm.” A young staff had chided him not long after his first check-in, after seeing the senior Oliver flip a lighter for a cigarette.

---

   Reflecting on it, Simon had to commend the industrious lad for scolding a powerful figure on what he can or can’t do. Simon stares out his window—not that it matters much, the smog lingering around him makes it hard to make out anything. Thinking back on it, the young hotel staff member most likely did not know better. To Simon’s knowledge, his supposed fearsome reputation does not extend to those of the everyday folk. Or rather, his heyday of publicly is long over. Because if the young man knew who Simon was, the whole incident could have been avoided.

---

  “Hmm? Is that addressed to me, young one?” Simon politely asks, flipping the lighter shut.

  “Yes air, our hotel policy is no smoking outside of the designated smoking areas. There are rooms you may smoke located at the end of each floor…”

  Simon, who was sitting down in the lounge rose to his feet and dusted himself off. He invokes a forced cough and crosses his arms while scanning the room. All the while, he avoids eye contact with the hotel staff man.

  “—I take it we are not allowed to smoke in our rooms, either?”

  “Yes sir, that is correct.” The young man says attentively, “it is against company policy for customers to smoke anywhere on the premises —with the sole exception of designated smoking rooms. Otherwise, the staff and I will be forced to bill you for the smoking fee.” He finishes in a calm recital manner.

---

  Thinking back on it, Simon regrets not walking out then and there in immediate search of a new one. If it had come to it, he could’ve just resided at Dong’s palace. But he wished for something a little less grandeur— but at his age, having such an enormous compound to himself makes loneliness a nagging mistress.

---

  Simon shakes his head and tries to contain his laughter. “Young one, do you have any idea who I am?”

  The two of them finally make eye contact. The staff member shows no signs of being intimidated by Simon’s imposing height.

  “I do not care who you are outside of this hotel’s establishment. As it stands, you are a patron of our beloved hotel first and foremost.”

  Just the fact that the fool had the gall to say something so outrageous would be good enough to make this equally old fool chuckle. If this poor individual had to confront anyone else from the Mafia — even someone like Li — Simon is sure this poor soul would be found at the bottom of Brunsbüttel’s artificial lake with cement boots and the place mysteriously burned down.

  No, that can’t be right. Certainly he — or the management — has butted heads with the Mafia by now. You can’t be part of a hotel chain with good customer reviews and expect the Mafia not to drop by every once in a while as potential guests.

  Civilians sure are a one of a kind.

  “With all due respect…” Simon twirls a cigarette between his fingers, a useless skill he is proud of. The hotel employee raises an eyebrow questionably.

  Simon paces around the hotel staffer. “…In this case, I believe it is important you know I am from an organization that is…”

  Simon slides a hand on the man’s shoulders.

  “…No laughing matter.” With a free hand, Simon comfortably slips the cigarette into one end of his mouth. “That is…”

  Simon doesn’t like to harass civilians. It was never his thing. He believes that a humble pirate should keep their matters between each other, not the innocent commoners. But he wants to smoke a goddamn cigarette in peace. So it’s something that Simon is willing to do out of character, if only for this occasion.

  “…A state official…” It’s only slight, but the staffer stiffens up for a brief second, “…who reports directly to the Don.” Although the poor man remained a concrete composure Simon notices his face begins losing some color, “…and although the Don is currently away from Side Brunsbüttel… it would be a shame if I told him of my disaffection I have here at this nice establishment, no?”

  Simon stops pacing around the man, and leans into his ear, and with a deep voice utters “I imagine you have a roof to keep and some mouths to feed…”

  And with a final blow of air into the man’s ear, Simon moves away from the staffer towards the receptionist desk, where he picks up his key and heads for the hallway lined with elevators. As he heads into the elevator, a voice calls out from behind him.

  “A technician will be up to your room and disable the fire alarm—have a good day sir.”

---

  It’s been a rough few weeks. Having to do paperwork related to the everyday activities of a bonafide pirate republic is taking its toll on this old man. Simon never considered himself much of a magistrate despite his golden touch for it. He always preferred pushing it onto the younger Che instead if it was something truly mundane.

  Mundane. Yes. That is what it was. It’s truly boring work. There is no satisfaction to be found tackling stacks of paper that his underlings occasionally show carting up to his room every so often. It’s like dealing with Federation reinforcements — except the documents he gets literally grows up trees. If this was a battle he would’ve surrendered at the onset.

  Simon rummages through one of the last remaining tobacco cartons for any stray cigarettes, but he comes up short — Coming up with only an exasperated utterance.

  And speaking of the Federation…

  It baffles him why Zhui decided to draft Che and not him. It’s no secret Che is a total buffoon at being a marshal. The younger Dong has about as experience leading troops as a babe does leading a herd of sheep.

  But Zhui’s word is final and Simon has no chance but to abide by it. Who knows, maybe it will help Che grow a little bit more — not that it will matter since the Federation assault will not be coming through the Valspon system, both Simon and Li are confident in that.

  And Li…

  Simon slumps into his chair, tossing the empty carton across the room. The haze is still going strong, due in no thanks to the lack of ventilation. What a bother, Simon thinks as his eyes feel increasingly strained from glossing over petty stacks of documents. It’s all so bothersome…

---

  “Zhui, surely you jest.” Simon shrugs.

  The fleet under Dong Zhui was finishing preparations for a long term stay at the Valspon system. From the brief report given to him by an adjutant Simon received during the flight from his home retreat, Simon became aware of a reconnaissance report on a Federation formation across the Rounen corridor; the biggest contingent of Federation ships not seen since the mid 210s’.

  Just the approximate numbers gave him chills.

  Simon had dropped everything he was doing and made way for the naval yard that Zhui was at. Although surprised he was not in any way summoned by the Don or any of his servants, Sim was going to rise to the occasion once more and ward off the Federation threat, heaven or hell.

  But once he had met with Zhui, the Don had other things in mind.

  “You’re not given me command? Why?”

  Zhui did not immediately respond. He was busy looking at documents that his servants were presenting him, and thus, Simon’s words were not reaching him. Finally, after some time, Zhui nodded at them and gave them a dismiss. With the two of them left alone, Zhui turned around and headed for his ship.

  Surprised, Simon jogged to catch up with him. For a man of Zhui’s physique, it is a surprise he is a quick walker.

  “—Zhui.”

  The man stops in his tracks. Simon walks past him without realizing the fact and stops to face him.

  “—Simon, I apologize for not notifying you sooner about these developments.” Zhui replies in a dry manner, “these are troubling times indeed…” He strokes his beard whilst observing some of the pirate ships that are cruising out of the naval yard. “But now that you are here, I will brief you on your role for the time being.”

  “And that is?”

  “Please do not cut me off, Oliver.”

  “Right, my apologies. Please continue.”

  Zhui resumes walking, but it is slower this time. Simon is quick to accompany him with his pace.

  “Originally, I did toy with the idea of giving you command of some ships. I did. I truly did.” Zhui shakes his head in such a manner that Simon can’t take it seriously, but that is aside from the point.

  “I agonized on who should lead a formation, and I agonized even more on who shouldn’t. It was a tough choice, it really is! Believe me. Being in my shoes, there is not enough booze for me to relieve the pain of making tough decisions.”

  “Get on with it, will you?”

  Zhui shoots him a glare but brushes the interruption aside. “Having such a big family means some sacrifices will be made…

  “Between you… and her… and Che…” With the mention of Li, Simon squints at Zhui as he continues, “I’ve decided that, given the circumstances, you will be given the short end of the stick.”

  Simon stops in his tracks, but Zhui pays it no mind at first. “I’m getting the short end of the stick? What the hell does that mean?” Though, in truth, he has a nagging feeling that this means…

  Zhui notices that Simon is no longer trailing him, and unleashes another forced sigh. He crosses his arms.

  “I think you’re getting more senile than I am, Simon… what I mean is… you will be staying here, at Brunsbüttel— and someone has to… for lack of a better wording, uh… hold the fort down. Maintain the front that everything is going swell. Reassure the civilians that everything is alright. That’s the real battle—never mind the Federation dogs barking up our tree. If the civilians got wind of it—we will be done in from the inside.” Zhui says matter of factly.

  “And you chose me over Che, why?” Simon is trying not to sound agitated over it.

   “The boy is an administrator, for sure. He has demonstrated that time and again, and I appreciate him for that. But in the event of a Federation-aroused uprising… I don’t think he will stand much of a chance in the way of an open revolt. You are more than capable of martial law than he is, and I’ll be lending you a fair amount of my best men to install order. I trust they will do their job well—they kind of have to, yes?”

  “And where are you sending Che?” Simon asks.

  “He will be at Valspon. As much as I detest that runt, she makes a valid point of there being very little chances of an assault through there. She said something else also, but I wasn’t paying any attention to her ramblings. You know how much she rambles on about bogus stuff. But that aside, I have to be cautious—there’s no telling if some daring fool will try to advance there on his initiative.

  “With that in mind, my beloved boy will have a small force to play around in Valspon —it’s good practice for him, no? And we will assemble at Velksland until the Federation backs off.”

  “I can’t say I appreciate you being so dismissive of your daughter, let alone calling her an insulting name,” Simon replies bitterly. “What do you plan to do with Li, anyway?”

  Zhui procures a bottle of liquid from his jacket. “She’s less of my daughter and more of a… strategic asset. There is a reason I did not bestow the name of Dong on her, you know. But that’s beside the point—you ask what I planned to do with her, no? Well…”

  Zhui takes a long swig from the bottle, for what seemed like an eternal second. After the last gulp, Zhui lets out a cheery cry. “Aah! That hits the spot! …Mmm, the runt… yes, she is going to accompany me in the fleet. I cannot trust her with any other matters while I am away on the front lines. If she did not have such skill in combat, I wanted to place her under strict house arrest… in the wilderness too, perhaps. She is too dangerous, Oliver. Her influence is too much for me to ignore.” Zhui’s eyes widened for a second, “I cannot afford to have the runt lead her own. Or rule unchecked from the Brunsbüttel. It’s too risky to my—our— beloved Mafia. She could sell us out to the Federation without hesitation!” Zhui takes deep breaths after another gulp from the bottle. “But enough of that. She will serve as an adviser to me and nothing more. It will be business as usual after this blows over.”

  Simon squints again. Li alone with Zhui can only spell trouble—bloodshed, even, if he is not there to mediate between the two.

  But Simon has no choice but to respect the choices of the Don. His personal feelings have to be suppressed for the betterment of the Mafia. If it is what his good friend Zhui wishes, then it is as he says.

  Simon begrudgingly suppresses a sigh and gives a short bow to Zhui. “If that’s what you wish, Zhui, then I have no qualms with it.” He repeats his thoughts out loud.

  “Good, good, that’s all good then. Good. If you excuse me, now, I must head for my ship. I cannot afford to waste any more time.” Zhui briskly walks off out of sight.

  Unable to contain the sigh any longer, Simon unleashes the exhausted exhale for all to hear.

  Now then, where was Li?

  Simon scans the proximity of the naval yard but does not make her out anywhere. Which is a given, Li is good at that kind of thing, she tends to blend in quite well with the crowd.

  After some sight searching, Simon finally does recognize the familiar poncho—the cloak that was once his many years ago—standing in front of a shuttle away from the business of the harbor. Next to the cloaked individual was a figure that was statuesque in comparison.

  Simon takes long, quiet strides toward the two, being careful not to announce his presence. When he gets close enough, Simon plants his burly hands on the petite one’s shoulders.

  “—Hello, Li.” Simon utters in a warm voice.

  Truth be told, he knows better than to do this. Li doesn’t like it when someone sneaks up on her— and in the past, she had flat-out given a careless character much larger than her a mighty suplex.

  Simon kind of wishes he had written a will before coming today—if Li did that on him, well…

  Although the young maiden does emit a split second body twitch, there is no subsequent maneuver that sees Simon slammed in front of Li, much to the relief of Simon.

  Li and her companion turn around to greet the old Oliver with radiant smiles.

  “It is so nice to see you join us before departure, Simon.” Li says in a soothing voice. “I concur, master Oliver.” The towering woman says. Simon responds with a beaming smile and his gaze shifts to the tall woman. “Ol…ga… was it? I apologize for being selfish, but can you leave the two of us alone for the time being? I will return her to your care in a few minutes.”

  Olga subverts his expectations and does not budge. She peers into his eyes with soulless eyes and a grin that’s ever so light.

  “Olga, if you may, could you leave me and Li alone for the time being? I wish to discuss with her in silence.” Simon asks the question again, refraining from a tone of annoyance.

  Once again the towering beauty does not move a muscle. Her empty eyes stare him down, her smile is frozen at a perfect angle.

  “Olga, if it is not an issue, I wish for you to give us some alone time. —just me and Li here. It won’t be long.” Simon asks, once again, trying to avoid sounding agitated.

  “…”

 

 

  Olga stands there with the resolve of a die-hard guard dog. To Simon, the aura around them gives off a sense of tenseness. The creepiness of Olga certainly does not help, this almost feels like it could go on like a broken loop if Simon doesn’t try a different method.

  He briefly exchanges eye contact with Li, who breathes a delicate sigh and cranes her neck to Olga.

   “…Olga.” Li begins in a warm, soothing voice. As if on cue, the spell is broken, and Olga snaps to attention. “Yes, Madame.”

  “…Please stop calling me that.” Li mumbles under her breath in slight annoyance.

  “As you say, Madame.” There is a slight twitch of an eyebrow from Li in response.

  “As Simon suggested, please give the two of us some alone time… I will join you later.” Li finishes with a warm tone. Olga nods then moves away before turning back to face us. She gives us a courteous bow and resumes with embarking on Zhui’s ship.

  “The woman can be a bit troublesome sometimes, can she?” Simon says offhandedly once he is sure she is out of earshot. Li responds with silence, but her averted gaze only tells Simon she agrees.

  “…But I suppose that can be a good thing. She has served you well all these years.” Li only nods as a response. “She can be there in situations where I can’t…” Li gives another nod, with an affirmative murmur.

  “—much like the predicament I am in now.”

  Li breaks off her averted eyes and returns Simon’s gaze. Even with the ugly, intimidating scar strewn across her face, she looks distressed. “—You’re not joining the fleet?”

  “You didn’t know?” Simon asks in surprise. “I figured Zhui told you by now.”

  Li only shakes her head. “As shocking as it may be… we did speak… but he made no mention of you… I figured you were going to accompany us in some way or another.”

  Simon frowns, annoyed at the lack of communication between the two, and rubs his temple. “Ah… that does complicate things a bit… No, Zhui has informed me I am to maintain all matters of governance from Brunsbüttel. It’s frustrating for me too, but the Don’s word is final.”

  “Ksch…!” Li averts her eyes in anger and clenches her fists. “It doesn’t make any sense…!”

  “It’s unfortunate, but I have faith in you. Li…” Simon takes a step forward and places rough hands on her shoulders, being careful not to grip her too hard. “I may not be by your side, but I have faith in Olga, as peculiar as she is… I have no doubt Olga will protect you—from them—and him.”

  Li quivers, subsequently, Simon wraps her in a comforting embrace. With a gentle stroke of her head, Simon manages to calm the young maiden. Her body heaves a sigh that brushes against his clothes. “Everything will work itself out. I have faith you will find a way to achieve victory… Li, have faith in yourself and your comrades, Li.“

  In truth, not even Simon is confident in those words. There’s truly no telling if victory is certain this time—but for Li’s sake, Simon forces himself to believe it, too. It’s a white lie to both of them.

  Li slowly raises her head. “…You truly believe so?”

  Simon, forgoing hesitation, nods. “I am completely sure of it.”

  It’s a lie. But it’s a necessity.

  “Now… I think it’s about time you join the fleet, Li.” Simon lets go of Li and takes a few steps back. There’s a sign of hurtness in Li’s eyes that makes Simon’s heart ache, and his gaze averts to the ship that Li will depart on, the Castelforte; what was once his he had relinquished over to her some years ago.

  “…” Li hesitates to leave, and Simon looks at her again, eyes still full of sorrow. “Li?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m just… Farewell, Simon.” She gives a brief chest salute and turns to leave.

  “Li.”

  She stops in her tracks but doesn’t turn around.

  “It’s not ‘farewell’, because that implies we won’t meet again… try that again.”

  Li turns to face the old Oliver. With a veil of determination, she gives a more serious chest salute.

  “Goodbye, Simon—until we meet again.” She says in a soothing voice and turns once more to leave.

  “Goodbye… Li, come back to me in one piece.”

---

 

—Knock knock knock

  “Aaaaggh…”

—Knock knock knock

  “Aggghh….brrrrnghh…”

—Knock knock knock

  “Auuughhh…”

—KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOC—

  The gradual pattern of knocks turns into flat-out inconsistent bangs on the door. It’s enough for Simon to raise from the armchair he was previously resting on. “For Pete’s sake!!! Were my threats of burning this place down not enough for you!?!”

  The banging on the door doesn’t cease—there are some muffled sounds mixed in, but it’s impossible to make them out. The haze of misty fumes still obstructs the now groggy Simon as he coughs and flails arms around.

  Which way was the door again? Perhaps Simon did smoke too much after all… even in the far future of now, there’s always a surgeon general that sprouts some hogwash like ‘please avoid the use of excessive smoking as it can lead to… yada yada’.

   “Wait! Wait… I am making myself to the door. Hold on, damnit!!!”

  Wait… but there are fire alarms out in the hallway? Is there not? Maybe he should clear out the smoke… open the window maybe. That way the sprinklers don’t go off.

   “Er… hold on a second, I need to open the window!” Simon shouts out amid the banging— sooner or later that wooden door will break.

  Simon shifts directions and tries to heave the door open with all his strength— or what remains of it after all these years, anyway. The window is sealed shut, and Simon fears the chain-smoking might be his undoing. Maybe he should stick to the advice of the pesky surgeon generals after all.

  The banging stops… and now it sounds like the perpetrator is slamming his weight against the door!

  “Oh for god’s sake…” Simon moans burying his head into one hand. “Can you wait for one. Goddamn. Second. Before you…!” Each slam against the door wears away at the frame. The wood creaks and moans underneath the strain.

  But then it stops. What follows next is inaudible murmuring from the other side.

  “Give me one second! One second so I can clear out the smoke! The smoke!” He repeats, raising his voice again—but it falls on deaf ears. But ignoring that for now, Simon turns his attention back to the window and positions his body in a way to utilize all of its strength.

  And pushes up, to no avail. And again. And again. And again. The results are all the same.

  “Yikes… they really keep these things secured tight.” Simon mumbles as he slumps against the wall.

  Ah well, if they go off…

  THUDD-DUD!

   The door swings open— smacks against the wall, and falls clean off its hinges to the floor with a thump. As a result of the crash, the fumes are cleared, whilst the opening allows some to ventilate outside.

  “…Captain Oliver!”

   “Oliver!”

  “—Cap’n!!!”

  Some thugs rush into the room, covering their faces in light of the toxic fumes. Not like it will matter in a bit.

  ‘Capt’n! We—”

 Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

  The sound of mechanical sprinklers. Soon enough, the entire room—Simon, the thugs, everything—is doused in water. From the hallway and adjacent rooms, fire alarms join the company of hisses. Neighboring occupants exit their rooms in a combined chorus of confusion.

  “—Now you guys have gone and done it! Come, let’s exit the building now…”

---

  A bunch of stooges exit a building, soaking wet from head to toe. And they are a bunch of thugs belonging to the Year 217 Mafia. It’s a sight to behold, no less, might even make headlines later.

  Simon pinches his nose bridge, maybe a bit too tightly. The doctor once advised him to watch his blood level, but in cases like these, it’s hard not to get his blood boiling.

  “You know, a millennia ago they invented these things called phones—they never went out of style either.” Simon stresses while trying to quell a headache from forming. The troupe of fools gives one side glances too many at another, speechless.

  Simon tries to refrain from smacking each buffoon across the useless things they call ‘heads’. “There better be a goddamn good reason why you had to go and make a scene in front of the entire block.” Simon stands over the troupe, who whimpers in unison and grovel, but Simon waves it off. “Oh, knock it off—get back on your feet… that aside, did you lot come by in a car or something? Explain it on the way to the Don’s palace.”

  The group hop into a sleek black car and speed off from the hotel’s premises. “For Pete’s sake… did your excuse for brains accumulate an extra dose of space radiation? Seriously, what were you thinking?” Simon rummages through his cloak in search of a spare cigarette carton that might have been spared, but he comes up short. How frustrating. This is all very frustrating. And he’s still soaking wet.

  “It was an emergency, cap’n… we couldn’t wait around for the staff guys to call you—they seemed kinda timid when we showed up—we didn’t even come to bruise them up or anything, either!” The stooges do their comical side glances supplemented with grunts of agreement, and Simon rolls his eyes.

  “Hmm? This isn’t the route to the palace…” Simon trails off, and one of the idiots speaks up, “t-the e-emergency requires your immediate at-t-tention, we’re heading there now.”

  Simon peers at them. “What kind of emergency are we talking about?”

  “It’s a bit hard to put into words…erm…” One of the idiots does some fumbling with his hands, “we are not too sure about it ourselves… the higher-ups only told us to fetch you immediately.”

  “And I’m sure that’s also meant ruining a hotel’s business…” Simon slumps into the seat and groans. He’s going to hear some complaints from the hotel company’s shareholders about it later. The next few days are going to be frustrating… He might have to compensate them in some way, and that’s always a headache to do. Ahh, why is it always his underlinings that causes these commotions?

  “…I believe we are at the crash site now, cap’n.”

  With those words, Simon springs back to life.

  Crash site?

  Simon doesn’t even have the chance to roll down the window before the car skids to a halt. Alarmed, Simon hurriedly messes with the door controls.

  “Tch! This stupid door! This stupid car designer! They make shit too complicated for old folk!”

  The door swings open after enough brute force—and Simon leaps out straight onto the gravel road.

  “Agh!” Simon groans, shielding his vision. The sunlight is nearly blinding—but it doesn’t take long for his eyes to adapt to the new sensitivity change.

  What in the world?

  “What… is this?”

  A wide impact trail extends without limitless into the distance. Billowing smoke clouds trail encompass the landscape. Shuttles hover in the air, either projecting searchlights or putting out local fires. The trench crater had cut through as if with ill intent through a civilian district—there are herds of people shuffling away from the carnage. Simon squints— he can just barely make out hastily set up relief stations on the outskirts of the suburban area. Looking up, a gaping hole where the shuttle had crashed through, already mostly patched up from the inside by repair crews and covered by the exterior.

  Simon’s gaze falls to the cause of this monstrosity. A single shuttle—or what remains of it’s crushed and burnt remains, burns with such fierceness that squads of firemen struggle to put it out. It must have only occurred just recently in that case.

  His legs move on their own—a brisk walk—first a jog—then a sprint. It’s been years since he’s been on the run like this.

  Much of the shuttle wreckage has already been sealed off—the civilian workforce is quick as always.

  As he approaches the roadblock, he is stopped by a middle-aged police sergeant. “Halt! There is no trespassing past this— agh!” Simon shoves past him but briefly stops to address the downed sergeant. “—My apologies, officer!—But good work, keep it up.”

  Moving on, Simon approaches the makeshift medical tents next to the vicinity of the crash site. Personnel hustle between them.

  “Excuse me—pardon me…” Simon calls out to those that speed walks past him. “Do you know the location of the one that was in the shuttle?” He asks one young woman in particular.

  She stares at him as though he was an alien, and quietly points to the largest one that has various medical devices lining its exterior.

  Simon thanks her shortly before he enters the tent.

  A line of beds with numerous patients with varying degrees of injuries. Troops of nurses and doctors are tending to them. Singling out the one that looks like the chief doctor, he taps him on the shoulder.

  “Yes? What is it? Er… are you even authorized to be in he—”

  “That’s not important right now. Doctor, do you know the patient that was on the shuttle?”

  “Hmm…” The feeble doctor scans the room for a few minutes. He points to the bed at the far end of the end. “Thank you, doctor, I will make sure you are rewarded for your endeavors later.”

  Simon leaves the doctor hanging and makes way for the man responsible for all of this mess.

  “You there… can you hear me?” Simon kneels beside the man’s bed, next to a bulky pile of burnt astronaut gear. The man is partially mummified, and there is an assortment of medical instruments poked into him.

  “Excuse me, sir…” A nurse approaches Simon, clearly concerned for the wellbeing of the patient. “…We currently do not allow guests—”

  “Quiet! This is important business!” Simon exclaims with an outstretched arm. “Er… please excuse the behavior. But this is urgent.” The startled nurse backs off amid the room’s eyes.

  “Hah…Hah…..Sim…on?” The mummy struggles to pronounce each word. “Captain…”

  “Yes—yes, it is me… don’t strain yourself too hard. My apologies if I disturbed you after all…”

  “No…no! Captain, it is… argkk!!” The man sits up too quickly and coughs a splatter of blood.

  “Ah… young man!…”

  The nurse lets out a startled cry and tries to rush past Simon to assist, but Simon pushes himself up to face her. “Please stay back! You can treat them after I am done conversing with him. And young man— please relax.”

  “I’m sorry sir… I’m just… finally excited… to finally get the chance…to meet the legendary Oliver himself…But, if I’m telling the truth…” He flashes a bloody grin, “I wish it was the beautiful Madame instead comforting me… m-maybe with some nice…soup…haaa…”

  Although the mental image of a beautiful Li in classical maid wear flashes across Simon’s mind, he suppresses the thought for the time being. Now is not the time for that; Simon eggs him for more answers. “What brought this about? Why did you crash through the Brunsbüttel?”

  For one reason or another, Simon has a nagging feeling he knows why. Normally, he could write this off as a drunkard missing the harbor by a long shot—the local superior of this man could be held responsible, and Sim could go about his day as normal.

   But there is something about this that makes him concerned, why else would his presence be needed?

  “Hnngg, my apologies… about the forced landing, I was too unconscious to —A… message…”

  The man’s raspy voice gets weaker. Simon leans in closer to the mummy. “Message? From whom?” This wasn’t making any sense. If someone wanted to send a long-distance message…

  “From… hngg!… Annnnnnnnnnnnngghh! …”

  Simon instinctively raises his arm to block the panicking nurse from doing her business. The man’s torso heaves up and down in rapid pants.

  “From… Che.”

  Simon’s ear is nearly pressed to the man’s mouth. “—Che? Did you say, Che? But Che is at Valspon…”

  A part of Simon doesn’t want to connect the dots. If Che has to send a shuttle of all things to Side Brunsbüttel…

  “Fe….”
  “What?”
  “…Deder…”

  Simon impatiently grabs the patient by the collar. “For Pete’s sake! What are you saying, lad?!”

  Gasps from across the room, but Simon ignores them.

  “—Fed…”

  A splutter of blood. Simon wipes it away without a second thought.

  “—Er…”

  The machine monitoring his heart rate enters a series of rapid beeps.

  “—ation…….

  “—assault…”

  Federation assault.

  A Federation assault into Valspon?

  Is fate a cruel mistress?

  Is this what it means to rack up bad karma and dump it on him all at once?

  Did he and Li make a fatal error?

  Did fate twist around Dong’s words of an ambitious commander?

  “—Federation assault? Oi, young man…”

  The annoying machine enters a long, continuous ear-shattering beep. Simon sends crashing to it to the floor with a blunt smack.

  “Don’t you fucking die on me kid! You said Federation assault?!”

  The shaking brings no reaction from the mummified man— his pupils now diluted. He feels hands grabbing him from behind. “That’s enough now sir! I ask that you please leave! Come! Make way…”

  Simon has a sudden urge to clock the one trying to restrain him, but he begrudgingly lets the medical staff do their work. One brings along a defibrillator device and attempts to revive the mummified man.

  CHUNK!

  Then, the process of CPR follows suit.

  There isn’t much for Simon to do here now. He has to make his move. Simon gives the man one last glance as he departs the tent.

---

   Simon joins off with the idiots, who have been frolicking around the sleek car in the time being. When one of them spots Simon approaching, they smack each other in poor taste and give Simon chest salutes.

  Simon returns the salute and slides into the passenger seat.

   “Did y..y-ya finish your b-b-business, boss?” The stuttering one asks, moving aside hair that was covering one of his sunken eyes. Simon nods, and for several minutes remains silent.

  A Federation assault from an unexpected area. Truth be told, Simon was a fool after all. Both he and Li were too naive… But there is no use agonizing over it now. What’s done is done. The Federation has launched an invasion through the rear of the Mafia and it is only a matter of time before the regime crumbles. This is a fact that he cannot change.

  Unless…

  Unless Li can come to the rescue somehow.

  Rescue?

  Rescue… that would entitle Dong having to permit her control of a fleet—and the young man didn’t specify the strength of the fleet. But… it is telling that Che had to send a shuttle to get the information through, which means it is big enough to cause Che trouble—on top of him not being a capable commander…

  Simon searches inside his pockets for a dry cigarette carton to no avail. It’s frustrating. This is completely frustrating. It singlehandedly feels like the stress is aging him at a pace he never thought was even feasible.

  It doesn’t help the stooges gaze at him unflinchingly. He really should invest in better retinue.

  “…The communications center.”

  “Eh?”

  “Take me to the communications center.”

  “Right away boss!”

  If Simon is to relay a message to the Don, he has to word it carefully on suggesting who should go—but that matter is, ultimately, up to Zhui. It might just be better to leave the point omitted entirely—thinking on it some more, Simon believes that no matter what, Li will likely rise to the case with or without her estranged father’s support.

  In the end, Zhui won’t have a choice… Li is as beautiful as she is a skillful tactician.

  The car drives up to the gated entrance of the compound, and after some inspection with the guard lets Simon’s vehicle through. The chauffeur pulls up into the circular driveway, and Simon’s door is graciously opened by a valet.

  “Ah, there is no need to park the car. My men here will take it from here.” Simon says to the valet, then he addresses his stooges “take the car back to my residence. I will call you if I need anything.”

  Simon sees them off.

  All that is left now is to send a relay to the Velksland system.

  Regardless of who receives it, the fate of the Mafia more or less rests on her shoulders.