Blackstone Code

Some people are simple—like the Vice Admiral’s grandson. The old man could tell what the boy was about to do just from a glance.

But others were harder to read—like Lynch.

If Lynch’s thoughts were easy to guess, neither he nor Blackstone Capital would exist as they do today.

The Vice Admiral had no idea what Lynch was thinking.

He shook his head and gave up trying. His years as a soldier had shaped his way of thinking, making him different from typical politicians or businessmen.

He would hide his thoughts, but more often, he preferred to express them directly. “You didn’t come here just to cheer up an old man.”

Lynch’s expression turned serious. He knew that when dealing with older women, one should show their youthful innocence.

It naturally awakens a motherly instinct. Even if some things go a bit too far, they’ll usually overlook it.

After all, it’s just part of growing up. A boy shouldn’t be judged entirely by the mistakes he makes on the way to adulthood.

With younger women, he’d show maturity. That elusive sense of security is both attractive and comforting when they face an uncertain world.

With peers or those slightly younger, he’d make them understand the meaning of power. Once they know the price of a mistake is too high, they’ll behave. At least until they can afford the cost of failure, they won’t take reckless chances.

With older people, he would demonstrate competence.

Especially those who had seen much of life—middle-aged or elderly. They were less tied to social prejudices. They wouldn’t reject someone based on appearances alone.

They could at least glimpse the essence of a person, so they sought something real, not false.

People were often amazed by stories of billionaires or politicians chatting casually with the homeless. But it wasn’t surprising.

To people at the top, anyone below them—whether a beggar, a minor official, or a small-time businessman—was more or less the same.

So, to earn their respect, you had to show your worth.

“I have an aircraft research institute…” Lynch began.

The Vice Admiral already knew about it, even about what had happened recently. Still, he let Lynch speak without interruption.

Different people could describe the same event in very different ways. He wanted to hear how Lynch would tell it—see if it aligned with what he knew.

After Lynch finished recounting what had happened that morning, the Vice Admiral fell silent for a moment. “What are you trying to say?”

Lynch’s smile slowly spread, nearly splitting his face. “I’m planning to do business with the Navy, the Army, and the Ministry of Defense.”

A major deal, he thought, though he didn’t say it out loud.

Saying it would ruin the fun.

The Vice Admiral shook his head. “You should talk to the people in charge of that. I’m just an old man under house arrest—I can’t help you.”

“I don’t need direct help. I only ask that, when the time comes, you speak on my behalf.”

The Vice Admiral was about to refuse. Taking sides so openly could have unpredictable consequences. But Lynch didn’t give him the chance.

“Just hear what I’m proposing before you decide. Fair enough?”

The Vice Admiral agreed and fell silent.

“To be blunt,” Lynch said, “I’m confident that in five years, my planes will have a round-trip range of over a thousand, maybe even two thousand kilometers.”

“But the world is huge. We can’t blanket it with aircraft. So I have an idea.”

“During peacetime, we should expand our overseas military bases as much as possible—whether for the Navy, the Army, or future air units.”

“When war inevitably comes—and it will come—our combat power will be able to reach across the entire globe in an instant.”

Lynch spoke passionately, as if the next world war were about to erupt tomorrow and his planes were already poised to strike anywhere on Earth.

The Vice Admiral was slightly moved. He frowned. “It’s an inspiring vision, Lynch. But I’m not sure it’s necessary.”

“I’ve heard—and you’ve said it yourself—that your planes can only carry two or three people, fly a few hundred kilometers, and then return.”

“Their offensive capabilities are limited. They have strict takeoff and landing requirements. Can they really change the face of war?”

He thought for a moment, then continued, “Take your so-called decapitation strategy—is it truly effective?”

“It’s not that I doubt you… it’s just…” He shook his head. “We’ve dealt with airborne technologies before.”

“Observation balloons, rapid-deployment airships—none have had real impact on actual warfare. They’re no submarines.”

That kind of forward-looking vision was rare. Even now, most nations hadn’t seriously begun aircraft development.

They were still investing in balloons and airships—the former being cheap and practical, the latter capable of carrying more but slow and prone to issues.

Compared to those, airplanes really didn’t seem all that promising.

But Lynch wasn’t discouraged.

“Admiral,” he said, “if one day a single plane could carry dozens of tons of cargo over thousands of kilometers—would you still say it has no strategic value?”

“A hundred years ago, people’s dreams of flight ended with broken legs. Aside from leaping off cliffs and flapping their arms, they were grounded.”

“Twenty years ago, the first gliders appeared. For the first time, humans could briefly take to the skies.”

“Ten years ago, we added engines to those gliders. And for the first time, we took off from level ground—challenging the sky itself!”

“Now, not only can we fly long distances, but more importantly, we’ve given aircraft offensive capabilities.”

“General, the pace of the times will only accelerate. Three years from now, five years, ten—we have no idea what will happen.”

“But one thing I’m certain of: aircraft will fly farther, hit harder, and carry more. They will become a decisive force on the battlefield, even more important than battleships.”

“Spending money on the present only guarantees falling behind. Only by investing in the future can we achieve greatness.”

“General, this isn’t about helping me make money—this is about the rise of the Federation!”

Lynch’s tone carried both solemnity and passion. He looked at the general. “You will never regret this investment.”

The general was almost convinced.

Or perhaps he already was. Past, present, future—it all flashed before him like the fading Something new, every day posters at the station. Yesterday felt like just moments ago.

In his youth, he never imagined living in such a sci-fi world—where people could watch moving images through a tiny box.

But now, everything was possible.

He hesitated, his voice filled with confusion and uncertainty—a reflection of his doubts about the future. “I’m not sure… it sounds meaningful.”

Lynch took a sip of wine, partly to soothe his dry throat, and partly to defuse the aggressive posture he had taken while trying to persuade the general.

After two or three seconds, he set the glass back on the table. “Admiral, we’ll soon be delivering some aircraft to the military in batches. When the time comes, I hope you’ll keep an eye on them.”

“I believe the facts will prove: aircraft are the inevitable future of warfare.”

Lynch didn’t linger. He wasn’t close to the Vice Admiral, and staying after saying his piece would only be annoying. Better to leave early.

This also gave the him time to discuss Lynch’s ideas with others—to talk about the future of warfare.

After leaving his residence, Lynch called Congressman Landon, who had just returned from a business trip.

The Environmental Committee’s work was tedious—optional, technically, but without it, there’d be no salary.

Spring was approaching, and spring planting was a key task for the Federation. Local governments often used this time to report factories for environmental violations.

The rest of the year, no one cared. But during spring planting, ignoring such issues could easily escalate into a political incident.

Landon had to travel every few days to investigate complaints—such was the job of a congressman.

Senators, on the other hand, were different. Or rather, they were busy in other ways.

They spent their time figuring out who to dine with, whether their investment funds had issued dividends, and if their family’s businesses were raking in profits.

As for everything else?

Minor issues—easily handled through political means.

When Lynch and Landon met at their agreed restaurant, they exchanged some small talk over appetizers.

As the main dishes arrived, Lynch said, “I’ve got a project coming up that needs approval. I’ll need to pull some strings—you’ve got to help me.”