Getting a Technology System in Modern Day

“You know,” Kumakar began, his voice low but heavy with restrained fury, “when I first received word that the Empire had attacked my fleet, I had a hard time believing it. I didn’t want to accept it. It was only after I saw the recovered data myself that I even began to consider it might be true.”

He stared at Aron, eyes now glowing faintly red with anger, his expression sharp and unwavering.

“But seeing you go so far as to fabricate evidence, evidence that can be disproven with a simple scan, like the transponder codes? Claiming you attacked them because they matched those of pirates? That’s a pathetic excuse,” Kumakar said, his voice rising just enough to carry across the room.

With a quick motion, he brought up his own holographic display. A transponder code appeared, hovering in the air for all to see.

“This,” he continued, “is the code my fleet was using. The universal one assigned by the Conclave to all authorized military and diplomatic ships. And that code you’re showing as the one we used? It’s not even close. It’s either fake or misidentified. Either way, it doesn’t justify a massacre.”

He didn’t pause.

“No one received any communication attempts either, at least according to the records retrieved from the fleet’s black box. So if you did try to reach out, either your systems failed, or you’re lying.”

He leaned forward slightly, narrowing his eyes.

“As for the so-called ‘disheveled’ look of the fleet, let me give you a short history lesson. Camouflage or disguise is a strategy we’ve employed for centuries in pirate-infested sectors. Perhaps it’s still a novelty for a civilization of savages that has just stumbled into interstellar space after crawling out from its evolutionary from monkeys.

Many of our pirate-hunting fleets are designed and trained to look like pirates, intentionally. Their formations, movements, and ship appearances all mimic pirate behavior until the moment they strike. It’s a strategy that works. That is, until someone like you mistakes them for the real thing and shoots first.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, the heat in his voice returning.

“For a civilization that’s only been navigating space for a few years, you’re incredibly foolish to forge such easily disprovable claims.”

Kumakar’s gaze never left Aron, challenging him, taunting him, his every word a calculated act of provocation that rode the razor-thin edge between justifiable outrage for a leader who was attacked and lost highly skilled people and open insult.

“I’m sure you want to do something about my disrespect,” Kumakar thought, his expression unreadable. “So what are you going to do? You warned me about crossing that line… it should be impossible for you to go back on that now. But retaliating would be the same as admitting guilt, and worse, it would make it look like you’re trying to silence me.”

His gaze lingered on Aron, calculating.

“You must be burning up inside, aren’t you? A man like you… cunning enough to orchestrate an attack behind our backs, would hate, absolutely hate, being accused of something you didn’t do. Especially when you are currently doing things worse than this in front of our eyes while feeling satisfaction from it. Come on. Show your true face. I know you want to kill me. Go on. Do it.”

But none of this storm of thought showed on Kumakar’s face. His tone remained cold and steady. Every movement, every breath was measured.

He had come to this meeting prepared to be injured, if it meant forcing the emperor to reveal his true nature. And if this gambit failed, he had more plans. He wasn’t here simply over lost territory. That could be reclaimed with time. No, this ran deeper, far more personal.

It was his son, his only heir, whose current condition was still unknown.

Their civilization, bound by ancient laws, maybe even curses, allowed only one child to inherit a parent’s will. This wasn’t symbolic; the will was a real metaphysical transfer. A spiritual and ancestral inheritance passed on during the consummation period. They could have other children, but only one would be the vessel for the family’s legacy, the only one who could lawfully ascend to the throne.

And once chosen, no other will could be created until the current heir was confirmed dead.

If Kumakar assumed his son was dead and tried to create another vessel, his soul would suffer fatal backlash. But if he waited too long without any confirmation, the traditional laws of his people would strip him of his title and, worse, condemn him for failing the will of the forefathers. A failure of that kind would result in soul torment, agony beyond the physical. Legacy-bound damnation.

This was not about fatherly love alone, though he did love his son. This was about survival, political, personal, and spiritual.

So Kumakar pressed the emperor, hoping to provoke a response, to force a mistake. Either Aron would lash out, giving him justification for a larger conflict, or he’d say something that could be used as proof of his involvement, and more, because war with the Empire would buy him time. Time to find his son or to make sure he dies.

One way or another, he needed an answer.

Aron, who had been silently listening to Kumakar’s attempt at deflection, remained seated with his expression unchanged. Even when Kumakar had mockingly referred to his people as “savages,” there was not the slightest flicker of emotion in his eyes.

Finally, in his usual calm and composed tone, he spoke.

“I warned you,” Aron said, his voice steady but with a cold weight behind it. “I asked only for a semblance of decorum and respect so that this dialogue could proceed in good faith. But since it seems listening is not part of your civilization’s leadership curriculum, I will now keep my promise.”

He paused just long enough to let the room grow tense.

“From today onward, until your civilization offers a public apology for the disrespect shown to us, all wormholes within your territories will be closed. Your share of VR earnings will be suspended and held in an escrow account. And every transaction involving mana stones with your civilization will now carry a 100% disrespect tax on top of the base price.”

The moment Aron mentioned his form of retaliation, Kumakar’s thoughts ground to a halt. This… this wasn’t the reaction he had expected. He had braced for violence, insults, maybe even an outburst, anything he could twist. But this? retaliation that cut through vital veins of trade and access that they had already seen benefits of and started adjusting to it accordingly?

Aron wasn’t finished.

“And until we reach an understanding,” he added, “and receive a formal commitment to conduct future conversations with the respect owed between sovereign powers, this meeting is hereby adjourned.”

Without waiting for any response, Aron stood, and his delegation rose with him as if already aware of his plan.

And just like that, they left, without another word, not giving Kumakar even the satisfaction of eye contact.

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