Jamming the Signal
Two hours earlier. The Dimensional Credit Vault Kikiwai branch, after the end of business hours. An emergency meeting had been underway in the manager's office where the regular tellers gathered, dragging on for the full two hours.
"Jamming at a time like this? It's so absurd it's almost funny."
Elama let out a hollow laugh and tossed the document binder onto the desk.
-Thwack! Backing sheets scattered everywhere. Written across them was classified intel sent by the info brokers from Dimensional Credit Vault HQ.
[…For these reasons, interference from political heavyweights lobbied by hardliners continues. Few methods are expected to counter the anonymous signal jamming near the dimensional gates.]
"Even the cops have been bought off, and they're reporting the jamming as just some dimensional field effect. No matter how you slice it, this ain't normal."
"Their own peace and approval ratings matter more than the lives of folks in other dimensions... That's it, huh."
An extreme case of NIMBY. In a way, it was predictable. For most politicians, what mattered was personal gain, national interest, and peace of mind—in that order. Of course, plenty only cared about the first one.
No matter how precious the monatomic gold produced in Nanoi, no matter how advanced their tech, precious few politicians would risk cosmic monsters invading their own dimension to save the 0.1 solar system.
Even those who initially clamored to save the Nanoi people fell silent the moment they realized there was nothing substantial they could do for those truly in peril.
Politics might be the art of pursuing a statesman's ideals through a beast's path, but this wasn't even that. They were just scared—of getting bitten by cosmic monsters, of dropping approval ratings, of riots erupting in the streets.
So they plugged people's ears and covered their eyes. With lame excuses like "for the sake of protecting our world," they planned to bomb the monsters—and sacrifice countless lives in the process, hailing them as noble sacrifices.
All while herding the innocent toward deaths they never asked for.
"They've crossed the line by a mile."
Anyone would prioritize their own. Fine. But the insane idea of nuking the cosmic monsters and wiping out Dimension 0.1 along with them? What kind of bastard dreamed that up?
That wasn't statesmanship. It wasn't even a leader's tough call. It was the decision of cowards—vile ones, at that.
But as a mere banker, I had no power to overturn this shitshow. Our clients who'd borrowed from us needed to defend their stars unscathed.
"……."
No choice but to fight to the end. Handing out loans didn't absolve us of responsibility. As their handler, I had to watch until repayment and provide whatever aid was needed.
"The most urgent issue we face is how this jamming directly endangers the pilots' safety. Without solving it, Colossus Robotics will keep hemorrhaging usable forces."
The reason Nanoi was tearing their hair out over the signal jamming boiled down to two big factors.
First, as mentioned, no voices from Nanoi reached other dimensions. The trillions inhabiting the 0.1 solar system had no desire to nobly sacrifice themselves. They had flesh and blood and feelings just like us. No way they'd willingly go down with the monsters for strangers they'd never met.
If anyone bought that fake interview footage from "locals" and believed it, they were either dimwitted or willfully blind.
Even Dr. Sau, who'd crossed over directly from 0.1, couldn't get through to them. Frustrating as hell.
Truth be told, even if Nanoi's desperate pleas broke through, it wouldn't change much. Interfering in tiny Dimension 0.1 from here was borderline impossible to begin with.
But halting the jamming offered one major upside for us.
"As long as the jamming persists, pilots have to board the Colossus units directly. Unlike mass-producible Colossus frames, losing a pilot means a semi-permanent dent in forces."
What I'd just said came straight from Nanoi's military experts.
Colossus units could be repaired or reproduced, but pilots were rare elite assets with no substitutes. The ones who'd crossed via airship were all veterans trained to perfection.
The time, effort, and cash Nanoi poured into them dwarfed the cost of the machines. Without pilots, Colossus relied solely on AI—which couldn't match a pro's performance on the battlefield.
Why? Because a pilot's brain, resonating with the artificial neural net, unleashed capabilities far beyond any combat AI.
What if those pilots kept boarding for every fight, only to get mauled or killed by cosmic monsters? Those mosquito-lookalikes bred faster than humans ever could. No contest between their maturation rate and our pilot training pipeline.
Even sticking to the plan of deploying pilots nonstop would just be a war of attrition, burning soldiers' lives to delay doom. No path to victory.
But if we could break the jamming...
Pilots could command from safe spots, away from monster-infested space. Even if a Colossus got scrapped, they'd hop into a fresh one and keep fighting.
Someone might argue it's for soldiers and techs to handle—not bankers.
But protecting client assets from predictable losses? That's squarely our job.
"Yeah. If those jamming bastards weren't screwing with comms, Nanoi might actually win this war. Everyone already knows the crowdfunding will succeed."
Elama, face etched with exhaustion, sank into his chair.
"War ain't my expertise, but pump enough cash into it, and your odds skyrocket in any field."
"Top-tier designers already referenced commercially proven robots from Dimension 3-1 to craft the outer armor. And folks empathize with Nanoi's plight."
"They've got both the justification and the desire to open their wallets. Funds for mass-producing Colossus? Piece of cake. So what's left is—"
Keep the pilots alive.
Elama's eyes were calm as he said it—not pity or sympathy, but the cold greed of a banker gleaming in his gaze.
"War is opportunity. Even against non-sentients with no land to conquer, money always flows. What was a barren fight with no spoils turned into mass entertainment thanks to Kim Jian's idea. Cue full board support."
Board.
Emphasizing the word,