…!
My eyes shoot open, and the recognizable pale white ceiling greets me—much different from the glass ceiling of the battleship I previously found myself in. The room is poorly illuminated, unlike that of the Federation vessel. Slowly raising to straighten my posture, I give the room a slow scan, this certainly isn’t a medical bay either. identical like my cabin on the Castelforte.
“…”
That experience… was it a dream?
I sit up straight and give myself a quick pat over. The rough fabric of the cloak that once belonged to Simon, and my comfortable old clothes. If I were injured, they would’ve certainly stripped me down into a medical gown… and no armor plating in sight. No traces of blood splatters anywhere, no signs of bruises—nothing. It’s almost like it never happened—or my caretakers were careful to keep things tidy.
My hand makes its way up my neck—the familiar cold touch of gold jewelry given to me as gifts by some of my men. I remember receiving those after that fateful day—so then, that must mean…
Cautiously, I brush a hand against my face…
“Kgh…!” The texture of a mature scar issue resonates with a hurtful sting—if only a little.
A few careful knocks at the door. A tall, slender figure with golden bobcat hair enters the main cabin room. “Madame? Is everything alright?” She asks.
Olga. Leave it to her to check on me out of even the slightest concern. I’m thankful for it, but I wish she would stop calling me by that dreadful pseudonym. She hasn’t even addressed me by my proper name in years.
“—My apologies, Olga, did I cause you to worry?” Where was she anyway, to hear me let out a small wince? Olga doesn’t shy away from guarding my door—something I never understood why. It’s not like anyone would ever try and assassinate me. No one would be idiotic enough for that.
“With you, Madame, even the smallest amount of worry causes me no trouble. But that aside… I have been informed you are summoned to the Don’s ship.” She says with that warm smile of hers.
“The Don, hm… it’s most unusual for my presence to be requested. I wonder if the Federation has made their move already?” No, wait, if that were the case, there’d be more urgency in Olga’s words, and she seems particularly calm. Indeed, Olga shakes her head. “I was not given the specifics, but supposedly, it is a pressing matter from Lübeck.”
“Lübeck? You said Lübeck?” I ask for clarification, and Olga nods. “That’s even more concerning. I wonder if Simon is facing unrest or some sort. Even so… it would make sense for Simon to send notice to Che instead—that way father doesn’t become stressed from two sides.
“But regardless, let us make haste for father’s ship.”
“Aye, Madame.”
“—And stop calling me that already, will you?”
“…My apologies, Madame.”
A rather quiet ride aboard the shuttle. Notwithstanding the shuttle operators, there is only Olga accompanying me. She takes a seat across from me, enjoying a moment of rest.
Is she dozing off, I wonder? I never took Olga for being physically active or taking on bureaucratic tasks; she must have nothing better to do than monitor the hallway my room resides in. For as long as I’ve known Olga… the common thugs always murmur rather… envious things behind her back, but they generally retract those statements when I make my presence known.
From what I’ve surmised, Olga generally pays them no heed—nor does she get angry with them. It almost seems like… she accepts them in a way. I don’t appreciate the way the men speak of her, but Olga brushes it off like they are nothing—and that always causes a sense of worry for me. She’s always been like that—so say the ones who knew her in the time before Olga and I became acquainted.
I always wondered if she does it for my sake—Olga wouldn’t wish to cause trouble by sending a few knuckleheads to the medical ward. But… a part of me wishes she would be more open about her feelings about the way she is treated.
“ Mm…h…” Olga stirs in her sleep. Her head sways gently to the sides.
Oh, my. She must be more than tired; perhaps exhausted. The poor thing.
“No… not there, Madame …”
For some reason, I can’t resist an eye twitch. Even in slumber, Olga clings to that dreaded… name.
That’s right. The alias that I earned after that resentful dream. I always hear of papers calling me that throughout the years and it leaves more to be desired—
I have trouble reading Metropolitan linguistics, so Simon has read reports to me on occasion. The Federation soldiers I spare refer to me as the ‘Madame Scarface’ that ‘ruthlessly leaves no quarters upon surrender of allied ships.’
The insolent fools know not of the fact that life as a prisoner of war only ends in death. That the Don relishes in a spectator blood sport involving them—the captives—and large canines who are deliberately starved before being unleashed on their human victims. It’s a nasty practice—one I detest but powerless to lift a finger to stop. The only thing I can do is spare them that gruesome fate by taking no prisoners. Just thinking about the whole ordeal makes me grip my leggings.
“Please… Madame… let me…” Olga’s sleepish whispers bring me back into the moment. Putting aside the questionable circumstances of Olga’s dreams, seeing her relaxed like this brings me comfort. Notwithstanding the fact, she says that name so carelessly. She must do it with the intent of annoyance, but… well, I can’t exactly bring myself to hate her for it. Olga means a lot to me after all… perhaps that is why she is the subject of scorn?
The shuttle stops. On both sides, hydraulic clamps latch onto our craft and begin pulling us upwards—outside the windows, I watch as the endless ocean of stars gives way to the utilitarian interior of the mother ship’s hangar bay.
“Olga… wake up, we’ve entered the hanger now.” Leaning over, I give Olga a gentle shake on one knee, and her reaction is rather sluggish.
“Hm?…” Olga stands up to stretch. But given her height is an amusing sight as she struggles to avoid smacking arms against the ceiling. “My apologies, I did not intend to fall asleep. I hope my shameful exposure was not too unsightly, Madame.”
“You looked at ease—and that felt like a reassurance to me, so think nothing of it,” Olga fidgets and obstructs her embarrassment with an arm stretch “but the continued use of that ridiculous alias is more bothersome.”
Before Olga can deliver her signature response, the shuttle doors behind her open with a reverberating hum. Several men stand before us bearing chest salutes.
The one leading them steps forward, a tough man with unruly dark hair and claw marks across his upper face; Sergi. “It’s nice of you two to join us at last.” Sergi remarks with piercing eyes.
“Likewise, Sergi. I appreciate the warm welcome.” I reply as energetically as I can—but Sergi only raises a brow, “my, is that the Madame’s attempt at sarcasm?”
Sarcasm?
“Humor aside, we need you in the bridge as soon as possible.”
“What is this urgent matter that I am badly needed in person?” I ask as we stroll impatiently through the hanger. “Is it so fundamental that you could not address me firsthand through a secured channel?”
Secured or not, there’s always a possibility of the Federation intercepting our communications if the situation is that bad in Lübeck. They might capitalize on the situation in some capacity or another—whatever it may be in the first place.
Neither Sergi nor his company responds. We enter through a doorway that leads into more corridors and stairs. As we pass by crew members, they give me the typical chest salutes before going on their business. Sergi gives them shifty eyes as if waiting for a good opportunity for something.
It didn’t dawn on me until now, but he may be merely waiting for a chance to explain things to me. Whatever the problem is, it must be too risky to expose to the crew and risk getting intercepted by Federation code breakers.
We take a flight of stairs upward to the next level. Here it seems there are few people on this deck, so Sergi clears his throat.
“—I was going to wait until you found out for yourself once we reached the bridge, but I’ll ruin the surprise for you.” Sergi begins, there’s an air of tension as Sergi and his men shift their eyes for signs of personnel as we make our way down the industrious corridor.
“Out with it, Sergi. I’m starting to understand that these are not words meant for the lowly rabble, but this is starting to feel slightly unnecessary. What is unfolding in Side Brunsbüttel that you must be so secretive of? Is Simon experiencing some sort of dissent from the populace there?”
Sergi makes eyes with his men as he clears his throat again. “Very well, Madame… the news from Simon in Brunsbüttel…
“It has nothing to do with the capital — per se. It has nothing to do with Lübeck at all. No, the message from Simon…
“— is actually a forwarded message from Side Malabo — from Che himself.”
I stop dead in my tracks; Olga nearly bumps into me. With those words, I experience goosebumps all over and tightly grip the side of my leggings. From behind, I feel Olga’s exhaling brush the back of my hair.
Sergi must have picked up on the footsteps ceasing because he turns part way. The expression facing me tells me ‘no, Madame, this is no laughing matter’. Yet, a part of me doesn’t want to conclude the possibility I didn’t think is feasibly possible.
A gnawing feeling that I know where this conversation is going. I don’t want to doubt my subordinate. But there’s no telling Sergi could be playing an unusually cruel joke on me—the kind of humor that under normal circumstances could have him face trouble if I so desire it.
“…Sergi, just so I have some clarification…”
“Yes, Madame?”
I need to confirm it.
“—You are not… erm… what is the saying? You are not…” My voice trails off, and Olga leans into my side and whispers, “— pulling your leg, Madame.”
Yes, that’s the saying; thank you, Olga.
“—You are not… ‘pulling my leg’ — or anything like that. Are you, Sergi?” I ask with the warmness of my heart.
Sergi only stares at me. In situations like these, he would throw back his head and let loose a chuckle, and exclaim something like ‘you’re an odd one, Madame’ and offer a weak smile.
But Sergi does no such thing. He only stares unflinchingly, unlike his men who averts eyes.
I don’t need a verbal confirmation at this point. The look in his eyes is the only reply I need. This is indeed no laughing matter—and without question no leg-pulling involved. “…Very well, Sergi—please continue, if you may.”
Sergi straightens himself. The corridor’s temperature suddenly feels as though it has abruptly dropped, and despite the warmth of my poncho I begin shivering, if only slightly.
“A lone messenger crash-landed into side Brunsbüttel…”
Crash-landed?
“—and told Simon of an impending threat that caught Che and his fleet completely off-guard. That threat is a Federation invasion from Bordeaux.”
“…?!” The shock makes me and Olga recoil from the impact of those words.
Federation forces… in the Frankish realm? It would be an understatement to say that my perception of reality is shattered like a relentless wrecking ball.
But that can’t be possible… we’re facing down an enormous Federation fleet as-is—the largest fleet in being I’ve ever seen yet. This isn’t like their expeditions we’ve come to face in the past, they completely pale in comparison. From the satellite imagery we gathered, their fleet is inexplicably Metropol—there is an extremely low chance of its composition being Ruthenian or even those from the Merican regions.
Just the fact that the Federation showed up on our doorstep with such a large host challenges my theory of loss of strength gradient—such a force of power so far away from their capital region would no doubt mean their military capabilities elsewhere suffers greatly. By focusing their whole force here, they increase the chance of harassment from pirates in regions elsewhere and less chance of maintaining civilian stability in others. Through this concept that Simon and I conceived together, we believed it was the sole reason why the Year 217 Mafia came to fruition and managed to strive, at least until now.
So then, what is this other fleet composed of? It is nigh impossible it could be a Metropol fleet—no less a Frankish one. That would only confirm the notion that the Federation is letting other pirate factions run amok. From the snippets of news we receive, those Franks are largely obedient, and so far no standing navies that they operate on their own…
Did the Federation, under these circumstances, allow the Frankish people to raise fleets of their own? If so, are they cooperating with the Federation fleet staring us down across the Rouen corridor, or are they acting on their own?
No… if this Bordeaux-based force is cooperating with their Rouen counterparts, surely the Federation would begin an assault phrase by now. This could mean they don’t have a timetable to synchronize a two-way assault… or perhaps they intend to wait for Valspon and Lübeck to fall and initiate an encirclement behind us?
Madame?
There is a chance the Valspon assault force is acting on its own, and that gives us a window of opportunity to…
Madame? Are you alright?
It could take a few days at most to send a communication relay to the Rouen corridor, lest they attempt to send an encrypted message through Toscana itself. It’s risky, but it cuts time in half…
“Madame…?” The hoarse voice of Sergi, followed by a cough. “Madame? I apologize for the bombshell, I did not intend to throw you into a panic.”
Panic? I must have looked stricken at the least. “Think nothing of it, Sergi—I was merely recollecting my thoughts. Now then, who else have you told about this?”
“For fear of causing mass panic, as you may know, I have not informed anyone but—”
The roars of a monster accompanied by what sounds like the smash of wood a few floors above us cut Sergi off. “—I have not informed anyone, including the Don yet.”
When we arrive in the command center, I can only watch in disdain as our crew runs around like pathetic cowards. It seems that the presence of father alone is not enough to stop this fever pandemic. The man in question stands behind a crushed desk—now reduced to nothing more than a pile of scrap. If I had to guess, father must have gotten frustrated with his subordinates and took his anger out on it to grab their attention—but it only partially worked.
Father’s face is a dark hue of red—his ogre flabs of rotten flesh has an even darker shade of purple than usual. His chest heaves and beads of sweat roll down both sides of his face. Beneath the veil of sweat, his eyes twitch and flicker around the room—shortly before his eyes fall on me.
“Ah! Oh! If it isn’t my beloved and most treasured daughter!” Father bellows and stomps over his desk towards me. As if on cue, the pandemic dies down almost virtually after—cries of relief and chants of my name follow suit.
Father slams a hand down on one of my shoulders—behind me, Olga stiffens and digs her nails into crossed arms.
“I am most delighted, oh I could cry!” Father exaggeratedly kisses his fingers. “Our beloved maiden disguised as a knight in shining armor has finally made her breathtaking debut on the stage!” He cries out enthusiastically—but his trained pupils and twitching brow tell me a different story.
Father’s arm wraps around me, and his physique obstructs me from seeing Olga—who is no doubt exercising a titans amount of self-control right about now.
“Oh, my sweet Li—the wonderful… what is it that the men call you? Hm?” He gazes around but nobody answers—the chants have long died down to silence. “Hmm… oh! Yes, that’s what it was—” He brings me closer to him—”my well-intentioned Madame Scarface.” His breath completely reeks of booze, I try to refrain from visibly gagging—for the sake of the men.
“ I’m sure you are certainly well-aware by now, but… allow me to give you a little refresher!” He releases his grip on me and walks towards another table that activates a pale blue holographic projection.
It is taken up by imagery of polygonal blips representing our adversary across the Rouen corridor.
“Say, my dear beloved Madame Scarface, what was that complicated concept you spoke of… of something about military projection and… something about gradience. Give me a little lesson for me! For them! I implore you.”
This passive-aggressiveness is giving me a migraine—never mind the fact about the Federation assault underway in Valspon. We don’t have time for this nonsense or a lecture about a concept that the Federation shattered in the blink of an eye.
“I do not believe there is any need for that, father. I’m about as surprised as you are about the Federation incursion into our rear—and the ramifications of a two-front battle if Che fails to hold his ground.” The words cause a few worried murmurs among our onlookers. From the corner of my eye, I notice some are stricken at the confirmation that this is reality.
Father clasps his hands together, “Ah! Now you went and done it! You had to go and drop the bombshell on our poor men, again! Though, the first is on me. Very well, then… my wonderful Li, how do you intend for our beloved pirate republic to claw its way out of this wonderful change of events? I have a rather simple plan…
“I will withdrawal as discreetly—like a mouse, if you will!—with some of our best men—not all of them! No no no, not at all,” father wags a finger at me, clicking his tongue in rhythm “no my wonderful Li, I will only take a token amount—the cream of the top—and leave you with the rest here. You will stand watch and stare down the Federation lapdogs.”
“With all due respect, father… “ I can’t afford to hesitate, not now. “I have a better plan—one that will guarantee us victory.”
Father raises a brow and combs the crowd with his gaze. “Oh? A better plan than yours truly? Go on, I am truly all ears . Let me hear firsthand what the famed Madame Scarface has up her sleeve!”
I’m not sure I can—or want to—go through with this after all. It’s beyond risky—I will be putting myself in jeopardy. Not only myself but the men too—and Simon and the rest of the Year 217 Mafia.
But there is no other way to go about it. There is objectively no way that father can shoulder the responsibility by himself. It would be foolish to believe that this man has the martial capability to withdrawal amid the eyes of the Federation and reach Valspon in time to turn the tide. It would only end in disaster on my mend, and father would be forced into two battles at once anyway.
Father is incapable of actually fighting—for all the time that I’ve known her, all he’s ever been good at is running from reality. Our shrinking influence across this part of the Orion Arm can all be contributed to father alone—and the buffoons that enable his cowardliness. For all I know, he just wants to turn tail and leave me to perish. For him, it’s one less thorn to worry about.
The flotilla under Che is small but formidable—and if he’s having trouble, an elite force will stand no chance given numerical superiority—all it will lead to is an unnecessary loss of lives and material. If father and his elite force die in battle without achieving much, the rest of the republic will crumble no doubt.
“Rather than a small elite force, I propose scrambling most of our fleet to the Valspon system instead.” Walking over to the holographic display I select a large portion of the fleet and swipe most of it towards the direction of the Lübeck hyper-lane. There are some gasps of realization and murmurs from the crowd—and if I have to guess, father must be fuming red. “Not only that but to accomplish this feat, what we need is to deceive the Federation force across the corridor into believing our entire force is present—and I will accomplish that by deploying decoy ship balloons… and stripping down transponders to attach to them. This way we can keep up the facade for a little while. Since I believe we do not have decoy balloons, we will have to supplement them with shuttle crafts and attach any remainder transponders onto those.
“I also want to note that a meteor shower is set to occur in this star-zone—that can help to mask my departure, and even disrupt radio signals, at least for a while. Nonetheless, the layers of deception will be able to fool the Federation for several hours at most.” Taking a deep breath, I turn away from the holographic display to face the awed crowd—and father, who remains expressionless. “This method is the only possible way for me to neutralize the threat in Valspon without worrying about my rear—and return in time before the Federation realizes what is going on and launch an assault of their own.
“On top of it all, I have an accumulation of experience fighting Federation forces—unlike you—and can reliably produce results of eliminating them without so much of a dent in our own losses.”
Though, to be frank, I can expect to suffer considerable losses—but it all depends on how the battle is unfolding by the time I force march to Valspon. That part is too variable to make any grounded guesses in. It’s a gamble—a necessary gamble.
When it is clear I have finished, my father claps with thunderous applause.
“My! My! Bravo! As expected of the tactful Madame Scarface—my very own not-so-flesh-and-blood daughter! Truly, your resolve has blown me away. Honestly! I am astonished. It’s like your rebellious phase bloomed one too many years late. My beloved regime would not be here if it were not for your and Simon’s fruits of labor. Truly, I owe a lot to you, Li.”
Even though it sounded so forced, hearing those words mean a lot to me.
Father claps a few more times. “Well then! If nobody objects, then I suppose it is time we empty out this room to kick the plan into full gear, no? OUT! The lot of you.”
Like a current, the men leave us three—Olga, me, and father—alone.
Nobody speaks, but I can feel Olga stare down father as she tugs at the back of my poncho, as if to say something about this isn’t right, I’m not leaving you alone with him. Leave it to no one but Olga to sense hostility from another person.
“I believe I asked EVERYONE to leave the room, miss Kaiser, ” father sniffs at the air, “that includes YOU.”
“Olga… I’ll be okay, please do as he says.”
“Do as who says? I believe I did not hear anyone speak but you, Madame.” Olga says in a sharp tone. That’s sure to ruffle some feathers, but father doesn’t react in any way. His eyes are trained on me alone. I suppose I have no choice but to conform to my father’s wishes… I’m sorry, Simon.
“Olga—if you may…”
Please stay with me. Please.
“…Leave the two of us alone.” It takes a bit of effort to get the words out. Olga’s soulless, black eyes give a harsh squint at father—nonetheless, she yields and storms out of the room.
“Li…. Li, Li, Li, Li, Li…”
Father circles around me.
“I’ll give you one thing. Your plan… it’s brilliant, there’s no doubt about it. I truly, truly expect no less from you…”
He stops in front of me. His unsightly, over-sized tumor that encompasses half his face and neck never fails to make my stomach churn. I’ve seen it countless times before and will continue to see it for times to come. There’s no doubt
“However…”
In the blink of an eye, he grabs me by the mantle—
“LI CHOU! IF YOU SO MUCH AS BETRAY ME — OR ATTEMPT TO STAGE A COUP IN LÜBECK… MARK MY WORDS, YOU CAN BE SURE THAT YOU WILL NEVER LIVE TO SEE THE NEXT DAY. PRAY THE NEXT TIME WE MEET, IT IS NOT IN HELL.“
Sensing that he has softened his grip, I push the panting Zhui away.
“…I am not so spineless that I would depose you through cowardly means. I have no hidden agenda along the way to Valspon; you can relax well knowing that much. If you worry I am letting the Federation lapdog strike you down at your weakest; fear not, since that is reserved for me alone—just not under these circumstances. We are suffering in this together, father. I have no intention of splitting ourselves into a civil war when enemies are at the gates.
“Now, if you excuse me—I must take my leave to oversee the illusion… to let the Federation see what they want to see. Farewell.”
Father sees me off with a simple hmph.
The next time I see Olga, she can barely contain her resentment. “I take it everything went well, Madame?” She asks impatiently “just give me the word—and I’ll make sure to silence him for good.”
“Yes, Olga, everything is fine—and keep your voice down. I don’t want anyone to get misconceptions. How is the process with the decoys going?”
“Very smoothly, Madame. We are still working to retrofit all our transponders onto them and any spare shuttles we can scrape together.”
“Excellent… but one thing.”
“Yes, Madame?”
“…I believe we should strip all of them except the Castelforte. This serves two purposes—one is to maintain the face here, of course…”
Olga rubs her chin. “What is the second one, Madame?…”
I can’t help but crack a smile. “It will theoretically conceal our total number strength when we warp into Valspon—depending on how the Federation deploys after Che’s force falls, we may even catch them off-guard as they embark to the Lübeck star-zone.”
“…An intriguing idea, Madame!”
“Let us hope it is one, Olga. Let us hope so.”
