Chapter 907: Buzzing

The story of the spear and the shield has been passed down for generations. The merchant mocked for a thousand years has seemingly been nailed to the pillar of shame forever.

And perhaps the story will continue, accompanying human civilization to its end.

But no one knows just how wealthy that ridiculed merchant really was.

I sell nails and hammers—and also sell pliers to pull the nails out. It might look foolish, but that’s the key to wealth.

While everyone else was focused on developing aircraft to rival the Federation’s and getting them airborne, Lynch had already ordered the institute to study how to shoot planes down.

I sell planes—and the weapons that shoot them down.

It’s not hard to understand: once every country begins building aircraft, planes will soon dominate the battlefield. Controlling the skies—ours and theirs—will be critical.

Everyone was busy taking notes as Lynch shared more thoughts. “We can utilize unused space on the aircraft to install onboard weapons.”

“That way, we don’t need an extra crew member. We can save that weight for more ammo and fuel.”

“The wings, the engine cowling—any place that doesn’t affect flight performance can be modified for ammunition deployment. I don’t have the technical know-how here. That’s your job.”

“Also, we need to hire some weapons experts. You’ve all seen the real-world performance—we’re lacking professional weapon systems.”

“Whether it’s aircraft-mounted weapons or bombs, we need professional designs. This is your responsibility now…” Lynch pointed at the chief engineer, who nodded quickly and promised to take care of it.

Lynch added, “Feel free to poach experienced talent. If they can do it to us, we can do it to them.”

The researchers laughed. Some didn’t think it was funny, but seeing everyone else laughing, they couldn’t help but join in.

Lynch looked around and his expression turned serious, quieting the room. “One last thing. Due to the leak, and to avoid any foreign threats to your safety, please stay near the institute for the time being.”

“You may have noticed this place is now a military restricted zone. Troops will be stationed here soon to ensure your safety.”

“Of course, since you won’t be able to go home during holidays, I discussed it with the chief engineer. On holidays, you’ll be paid triple your normal daily rate—counted as regular work.”

Not that these scientists ever had holidays. Whether there were holidays or not, they were always at the institute. Some had no reason to go home, others simply found traveling to Eminence City too troublesome.

Scientists rarely had strong desires. Immersed in intense work, they often lost track of time—months could pass between lifting their heads from a tough problem.

Whether they returned home or not was their choice. But whether they got paid was up to Lynch’s conscience. And Lynch was a businessman with conscience, morality, and a sense of responsibility. He didn’t exploit his employees.

At first, some were unhappy about the restrictions. But once the triple pay was mentioned, no one had anything more to say.

What could have turned into an overtime backlash vanished in the face of generous pay.

On the drive back to the city, Lynch suddenly said, “I think the timing of those two employees leaving was very strange.”

Austin, sitting beside him, raised an eyebrow. She didn’t fully understand, or pretended not to. “You should bring that up with the two in the car behind us.”

The agents sent by the Security Council were in the car behind them. Austin meant it wasn’t her place to handle it.

Lynch ignored her and continued, “I’m worried the ones who recruited them aren’t who they think they are. Things are complicated now.”

“To extract useful intel, I believe they could resort to any method—maybe even pose as legitimate institutions, offer better salaries, and lure them in.”

“They might not even realize it until it’s too late—next thing they know, they’re in Gephra.”

“The agents in the back… they’re too loud.”

It was sarcasm. Security Council agents typically kept a low profile. After all, aliens don’t monitor every corner 24/7—they need holidays too.

Lynch simply didn’t want the Security Council involved. Though technically an advisor to the Council, his relationship with them wasn’t nearly as close as it was with the military.

Aside from Mr. Truman, who served as a key link between both sides, many of Lynch’s company shareholders were relatives of military officers. He also had good personal ties with top brass.

More importantly, when Security Council agents get involved, things tend to get messy. Yes, they wield power—but if something goes wrong, it’s a big problem.

The military was different. Technically, neither the federal government nor Congress could control them.

Austin fell silent after hearing all this. Then she asked in frustration, “You knew all along?”

Lynch feigned surprise. “I thought you knew that I knew.”

“Damn it!” Austin’s face flushed red—she felt like a fool. “I’ll report it.”

She had always believed she’d hidden her true identity well—a military plant placed beside Lynch.

Her job was to protect Lynch, and if necessary, restrain him.

Blackstone Security was expanding too fast. Even though the military believed they still had strong control over its internal staff, they couldn’t afford to take chances.

So, placing someone by Lynch’s side was the best way to ensure both his safety—though they hadn’t done that well—and their own oversight.

If Blackstone Security went off track, they could intervene immediately.

Lynch had known all this from the beginning. Even the sergeant had been sent by the military. Later, they sent some field officers too—but Lynch had them all deployed to fight rebels in Amellia.

Now that the sergeant had been shifted to a desk role, Austin had become the military’s new plant.

In fact, Lynch had suspected the military feared the sergeant had grown too close to him—maybe even hiding intel or ignoring orders. So Lynch himself had suggested transferring the sergeant to a clerical post.

Lynch was a reliable partner. He always made his partners feel at ease. That was part of why the military kept deepening its cooperation with him—he was open and transparent with them.

Later that night, the two resigned researchers sat in a private room of a strip club, chatting.

About six meters away, a dancer was performing energetically.

But the two men weren’t paying attention. They were speaking quietly.

“They promised that if we can replicate the project, we’ll get at least three million as a bonus.”

Independent Scientist A raised his glass and took a satisfied sip. “Three million—money you might never see in your lifetime. But now, we’ve got a shot at it.”

“Plus, they promised we’ll get a share of future model sales. A much bigger cut than we’re getting now!”

The two of them weren’t recruited by the same person. It was Scientist A who was approached and tempted. Worried he might not be valued alone, he pulled his friend—Scientist B—with him.

The offer was three million. A planned to give a million to his friend. With the added sales commission from future models, they’d earn far more than working under Lynch.

They both held a certain resentment toward the chief engineer and other researchers.

Especially the chief engineer—he barely did anything yet took the biggest share of the profits. Meanwhile, they, the lead researchers, worked themselves to exhaustion and got far less.

Resentment grows with comparison—the more you compare, the more bitter you feel.

The academic researchers were a bit more accepting. They were used to being exploited by top students during their school years. Many had worked on projects without earning a cent.

Now, being able to continue doing research they liked—without having to bribe professors—and getting paid? That was already a huge improvement.

But the independent scientists were different. With more exposure to society, they had more complex thoughts, stronger desires.

Thinking of the money they were about to receive, both felt a surge of private joy.

This was still the Federation, and they were only human—ordinary men with a strong hunger for wealth.

Scientist A casually grabbed a handful of cash and threw it at the dancer performing nearby. The girl instantly became even more enthusiastic.

Just then, a group of people stormed into the strip club.

In the Federation, all venues have a legal occupancy limit—a safety measure to prevent accidents.

If the bar is full, no one else is allowed in until someone leaves.

That’s why lines always form outside entertainment venues. They’re not waiting to buy tickets—it’s simply that the place is at capacity.

Of course, there are always exceptions. VIPs use special entrances and can get in at any time.

Once these people entered, the bar staff began clearing out customers who had stayed too long without spending money.

The club’s security noticed the unfamiliar faces and immediately closed in—

“Sorry, I don’t—”