We arrived at the colony during the morning hours, Imperial Time.
Since we had Baron Ohno with us, we were waved right through security.
"Listen up, you lot! We’ve got survivors on board! Escort them to the guest quarters! And... make sure you're polite about it!"
"Yes, sir!"
A group of incredibly brawny veterans guided the survivors out. Meanwhile, Ohno dropped into a delinquent-style squat and started puffing on an e-cigarette. This old guy... he definitely grew up as a punk.
After taking a drag, he looked over at Prince Cyrus, who was standing beside me.
"Hey, Cyrus. From here on out, you're Baron Shiramber. My luck’s finally run dry, too. I’ve boarded a train I can’t get off of... and as they say, you might as well eat the plate if you're eating the poison. Cyrus, give me your hand."
Cyrus reached out, and the old man gripped his hand tight. In that instant, their hands glowed with a faint blue light. A contact-type device? What kind of data did he just install into Cyrus's augmented reality?
"Easy now, don't get worked up. That’s the Baron Shiramber’s Certificate. My territory, Shiramber, and Caron... we’re all sitting on land that could be wiped out any day now. That’s why our three houses hold each other’s certificates; we promised to rebuild each other’s lands if one of us falls. If there’s an heir, we pass the certificate to them. If not, the survivor uses it to act as the regent. Cyrus, you’re going to be Baron Shiramber for me."
"You have my thanks," Cyrus replied.
"Forget the thanks. But if I kick the bucket, I’m counting on you. I’ve got a son in the army; make sure that certificate gets to him."
"I understand. I will see to it personally."
We moved the evacuees into the colony and sent word to the Imperial Capital. They replied that a rescue team would be dispatched immediately to transport the survivors back to the heart of the Empire.
I couldn't help but think that if they had that kind of mobility, they should have just sent the army to help us in the first place—but apparently, they didn't have the "available personnel" for that.
While we waited, we sat in the colony’s lobby and watched the Imperial Public Relations Broadcast. My security shift hadn't started yet, but since I was technically on the clock, I couldn't exactly slack off. I spent the time either watching government PR or filling out reports.
I’ve realized something since I started seeing actual combat: the military spends very little time actually fighting. Most of it is just waiting around and managing daily life.
I stared blankly at the screen. Most of the news was related to the war against the Zork. They spoke of victories and defeats, but I didn't hear a single word about actually recapturing any planets. I suppose we were the lucky ones.
The segment changed, moving on to a report about Thomas. It was a full-blown special feature. Apparently, he was leading a massive fleet toward Planet Sanctuary. The broadcast showed a live feed of a departure parade. Thomas looked like he was overflowing with confidence, certain of victory.
I wondered where that confidence came from. At the very least, Thomas wasn't the type to be a fool. Maybe he was being pushed into it by the high-ranking nobility?
On screen, the announcer kept repeating phrases like "A guaranteed victory," "The Invincible Prince Thomas," and "The Son of God."
He’s just the Emperor's kid, isn't he?
Thomas waved to the crowds with a smile that looked entirely manufactured. The camera panned to the spaceport, where battleships were packed together as far as the eye could see. If they were going to go this far, I really wished they’d prepared a large number of Jesters.
The high command had to know the truth. My wife had surely submitted the reports. But the fact that it wasn't mentioned in the news meant the reality was likely "inconvenient."
"I don't know about this..." I muttered.
"Well, that’s because we know the inside story," Kevin replied, eyes glued to the TV.
"It’s a suicide mission, but no one has the power to stop it."
"Leo, you can say that because you're on the hero's side of things. But from the perspective of us normal people, this is just business as usual."
As he spoke, Kevin puffed out her ample chest. A world where a former Zork spy who used to be a guy insists on calling herself "normal"... it was a strange place.
Eventually, the colony’s PA system chimed.
"Captain Leo Kamishiro. Please report to Cafe Ohno."
Judging by the name, it was Baron Ohno’s establishment. According to the map, it was just one floor up from the lobby via the escalator. Following the signs, I went to find it.
The cafe was easy to spot. It was a retro place that looked like it had been built to satisfy every one of an old man's nostalgic ideals. Elegant jazz played at a volume that didn't interfere with conversation, and the air smelled like genuine coffee beans.
Inside, I found my wife.
"You called?"
"Yes, sit," she said, gesturing to the seat directly across from her.
"The advance party was wiped out."
Prince Thomas wasn't the one leading the charge from the front. A fleet meant to secure the route had departed ahead of him. It seemed they had been annihilated.
"They’ll cancel the plan now, right?"
"They cannot. Someone would have to take the blame for the failure."
"But they haven't prepared any Jesters! Even though they know the Zork are their natural enemy!?"
"That is a taboo, Leo. Not all nobles are willing to admit that the biological weapons they created in the past are now mixed with their own bloodlines."
"Like the Beast Race?"
"Precisely."
What a pain. I wished they wouldn't complain about something like cat ears. It couldn't possibly matter less. Even Baron Ohno had undergone the Chlorella Treatment.
"You think it’s foolish, don't you? That is why Brother Thomas intends to deal with all those fools in one fell swoop."
"By leading them into a suicide charge?"
I didn't like the sound of that. No matter how many idiotic nobles were involved, Thomas didn't need to throw his life away.
"I suspect he has prepared a scenario for his survival as well," she added.
Thomas was a good guy; I didn't want him to die.
"Brother Thomas likely wants to strike at least one blow against the nobility before the end."
If that meant suicide, it didn't sit well with me.
"I wish I could do something to help."
"We are in the exact opposite sector of the galaxy. We can do nothing but pray."
She was right. We were on the complete other side of the map. In fact, I suspected I had been assigned to this sector specifically because the higher-ups feared I would interfere with Thomas's expedition. It was fine for them to be masters of court politics, but I couldn't stand it when they let it bleed into military operations. And there were far too many people like that—both among the nobles and the civil officials.
"Ugh... I'm starting to get jealous of military dictatorships."
"A military with too much power only rots from within," she countered.
"True enough!"
I sighed. Where are you, my bluebird of happiness?
"Lord Groom. An organization is like a garden. You prune the diseased branches. After a set period, you trim the roots and move the plant to a larger pot. Management is everything."
"So, you're saying I should just purge them every once in a while?"
"Exactly. Though, one does need a just cause."
"I'll leave that part to you, wifey..."
"I am the one better suited for it, after all. You just focus on the fighting, Lord Groom."
"Yes, ma'am."
It seemed that even if I became someone important, the day I’d finally be able to leave the front lines was never going to come.