Chapter 42
Chapter 42
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: Garbage Experiment and Border Fortifications
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With plenty of time until the next meeting, I immediately put my wild idea into action.
I headed to Talatulan's landfill, hoping to scout out where the food waste was piled up.
But that kind of thinking was straight out of a backwater country where you had to buy volume-based trash bags and sort your garbage like your life depended on it.
Civilizations in the space age handled waste in ways that were brutally efficient.
Sorting recyclables? Hell no.
They just loaded everything tagged as "trash" onto a spaceship.
Then they hauled it out into deep space, far beyond any star's gravitational pull, and dumped it.
Matter outside a star system's gravity well wouldn't stick around—it'd drift aimlessly through the galaxy.
Trash wasn't about to awaken psionic powers and hop a hyperlane, so it'd just float invisibly somewhere in the void forever.
That was the whole point: out of sight, out of mind.
In a process that simple, why bother separating out "food waste"? What a colossal waste of time.
It suddenly made sense why banning orbital trash dumping had even made it onto the conference agenda.
If one of those garbage asteroids came looping back for whatever reason, it'd be absolute chaos.
So why not just eat all the trash, no sorting required?
With Nesepalai genes, I could handle inorganic junk too, turning it into a solid resource grab.
I gave it a shot right then and there.
And just like that, I rewrote the definition of "trash" in my head.
What the hell did these people even throw away?
Hydrazine, beryllium, radioactive isotopes—you name it, all jumbled together in a toxic rainbow that would've killed a human a dozen times over.
This nation didn't bother separating industrial waste from household garbage.
No wonder their trash bins were armored heavier than most spaceship hulls.
Even my Hirak camouflage couldn't take it—I felt like I had gut inflammation for the first time since reincarnating.
Here I was, a head of state, digging through dumps for snacks and paying for it with a stomachache. What the fuck was I even doing?
I scrapped the trash collection plan on the spot.
Occasional space junk floating by? Fine, feed it to Colossus. That'd have to do.
The follow-up second and third rounds of talks didn't yield any real progress either.
On one side, forces trying to monopolize resources from someone else's turf.
On the other, forces just wanting to use what came from their own land.
It wasn't like getting shaken down by street thugs—this was never going to fly from the start.
For the premise to even work, the Holy Nation would've needed Ozz production on their own soil.
A Holy Nation without Ozz screaming about it just looked like a tantrum.
The mood actually got uglier as the talks dragged on.
In the end, they wrapped up without a single compromise.
No real conclusions, just an awkward fizzle—but the Holy Nation would definitely make a move for Ozz now.
Even without Talatulan's aggressive bullshit as an excuse, a faith-based nation couldn't ignore something that brought them closer to their god.
The conference handed me a few solid data points for judgment calls.
For starters, the Talatulans failed to explain two key issues throughout.
First: how space whale corpses ended up on the opposite side of the galaxy.
Natural wormholes, maybe? But the spread of Ozz discovery sites was too damn wide for that.
Too many cases to chalk up to coincidence.
The Talatulans claimed they hadn't specifically tracked the corpses, so they had no clue where they went. In other words, they didn't know jack.
Pair that with how hard it was to tell Ozz-infused rocks from Talatulan corpse innards, and suspicion was inevitable.
Second: how Ozz even formed.
Fragments of psyche drifting through space and crystallizing?
In this SF-fantasy world where some psychics hurled shit with telekinesis, sure, it was plausible enough.
But the Talatulans couldn't reproduce it.
They didn't even grasp the conditions needed—how the hell were they supposed to?
That's why they couldn't explain why Holy Nation space whale remains never yielded Ozz.
Based on that, I concluded Ozz didn't come from Talatulan corpses.
Even if there was a slim chance it did, it didn't matter.
Without explaining production or origins, their "it's useful, so we'll take it" stance looked like naked greed—no legitimacy whatsoever.
Non-oil countries yapping at producers about environmental damage? Good luck getting heard.
Either way, the Holy Nation's thirst for Ozz was crystal clear.
They'd gone from public condemnations to talks, suggesting they wanted a peaceful fix—but the battle priests' aggression clashed hard with the Prophet's vibe.
Unless it was a hive mind, no leader speaks for an entire nation. Totally plausible.
What do you think?
"Insolent. Implying my devoted followers harbor other thoughts?"
"Nah, it's true though. You didn't order that condemnation statement, right?"
"Talatulan faithful all act for Ozztulan. The ways of worship are as countless as the galaxy's stars. Petty differences in faith are only natural."
What the hell was that?
Subs acting on their own without orders? No big deal?
Way out of character for the Prophet's usual demeanor.
Thought he was a dictator—turns out he's just a front? A puppet?
With psionic power that strong across the whole Holy Nation? No way.
Or maybe just an idiot.
I bullshitted some agreement after that and cut the link.
Expected a rage-fueled purge of the Talatulans—got a lukewarm nothing burger instead.
Kind of a letdown.
Still, Prophet or not, his power was real as hell.
Who else could match those regular worship psionics?
Not the all-powerful fixer buddy I'd hoped for, but keeping ties open seemed useful enough.
The delegation finally wrapped up the long haul back home.
My first move: pump serious funds into the PATO coalition forces.
"Up to the committee chair's discretion."
"Our thanks for the support. We'll deliver."
With the Treegalaon threat already flexed, outright war seemed unlikely—but humans gonna human.
Prep for war early, or you're screwed when it hits.
Watching enemies cross the border before scrambling? Useless.
Ships especially—building, birthing, growing all take time.
Colossus was still in full growth mode too.
Fed it tons, but moon-sized was still a ways off.
As part of the prep, I shoveled cash into the Federation to start fortifying the Holy Nation border.
Space age "fortress" wasn't some Great Wall bullshit.
Just docking space stations for fleets, turret batteries, and supply stockpiles.
"You really building this? Holy Nation's gonna bitch."
"It's fine. Build it."
Obviously, popping up forts on the border screams "war prep" to the neighbors.
They planning to fight us? Yeah, that's the vibe.
But you eyed our resources first, assholes.
Once construction kicked off, Holy Nation lodged immediate diplomatic protests.
"What the hell you doing?"
"Oh, just a construction boom to cut unemployment."
Total horseshit, but whatever.
Not even a lie, really.
Solid Federation territory, so no Lushaka space stations—outsourced to them instead.
I'm footing the whole bill.
Win-win boom for the Federation.
Skimp on turrets in these games, and MuX-risk hands you your ass—generous investment it was.
Not overkill either.
Just the forts, swear.
Border's wide open, migration treaties intact.
Varisa Space Company and Amphibian Cooperative caravans cruise to Ozztulan peacefully.
Nothing changes from before—just basic "what if" insurance.
Feeling antsy? Build your own.
Laid it out like that to the Prophet, and he at least pretended to buy it.
Of course, I don't buy it for a second.
If Bahilila Holy Knights hadn't burned me before, maybe I'd trust 'em once.
But getting scorched by the same religious nuts? Paranoia justified.
Doubly so without plans to hand over Ozz.
If it turns out to be overkill, even better.