Strawberries... strawberries... strawberries.
We stared down a mountain of cereal topped with a heap of Dried Strawberries, our breath catching in our throats.
Leaving even a single bite behind was forbidden.
The ironclad rules of the Space Marines had forged a literal hell.
The freezers were already bursting with strawberries. Even with the freeze-drying facilities operating at full tilt, it was like trying to put out a forest fire with a water pistol.
Fresh strawberries spoiled quickly, which meant we were forced to eat them as if our lives depended on it.
Strawberry Jam production was also in overdrive, though even that would only keep for about three months.
What made it truly infuriating was that they weren't even bad. They were incredibly delicious. If they had tasted like garbage, I could have just been angry, but their quality was superb.
And so, the "waste not, want not" instinct—the inherent curse of the Japanese-style Empire—kicked in.
Strawberry cakes, ice cream with Strawberry Jam, Strawberry Smoothies, Strawberry Gratin... wait, what?
What the hell is Strawberry Gratin?!
I panicked for a second, but it turned out to be baked pudding. If they had served something actually shoved into a savory gratin, a mutiny would have broken out on the spot.
Strawberry Pickles... surprisingly, these were actually edible.
"The Strawberry and Red Bean Paste Hot Sandwich is ready!" Kevin announced, apparently having whipped up another dessert.
"Thanks," I said, taking it and taking a bite.
It was good.
Muffins, douhua, jelly, cookies, rusks...
I felt like we had already exhausted every recipe on the internet.
They were delicious. They were so delicious I wanted to scream, "Urgh, just kill me already!"
But god, I just wanted something salty! I craved salt and grease!
Piggett and the other old-timers in the Imperial Guard were eating their strawberries with dead eyes. At least those geezers had all-you-can-drink alcohol to wash it down.
They were churning out booze from the strawberries, and there was the stuff made by soaking them in rock sugar and white liquor... I wish it had stopped there.
They were already at the point of producing fuel-grade ethanol.
The leftover pulp from the crushing process was dried, mixed with microbial waste from the alcohol production, and turned into feed for the fish we farmed on the ship... and yet, there were still leftovers.
This part was outside my expertise, but apparently, with enough grit and organic chemistry, you can synthesize almost anything. They were pumping out every possible byproduct of alcohol production.
They were synthesizing resins from plant scraps and food waste, and even weaving fibers from them. Some of that was being looped back into the alcohol production too.
They were diverting every spare strawberry they could, but even then, the supply refused to dwindle. It was hopeless.
In the Dining Hall, Wifey was conducting an online meeting.
"I am telling you, it is a crisis! That specific strawberry variety must be banned from use on warships!"
"With all due respect, Your Highness, it is already in active use..."
"Then dispose of it immediately! And abolish the regulation against leaving food uneaten!"
"But we are currently juggling several high-priority matters. In terms of the legislative queue, a decision likely won't be reached for several months..."
"But whyyyyy?!"
It seemed Wifey had also reached the end of her rope with the daily strawberry-themed full-course meals. The Bureaucrat on the screen was dripping with cold sweat. No one expected a situation where ship-wide morale would collapse because of strawberries. Nobody ever thinks a trivial matter like this will explode into a major incident because of a single ancient regulation.
On that front, the Fairy was much more pragmatic.
"If a rule is irrational, just break it. Honestly, you're all far too serious!"
Sadly, that's just how civil servants are. As long as it's written in the Military Manual, we have to maintain discipline. We are, after all, professional Military Drudges.
In the midst of this despair, a hero emerged.
"What's wrong with everyone, ssu?"
A girl sat there, crunching on Dried Strawberries that didn't even have added sugar. She possessed a golden spirit—the ability to eat the same thing every meal without a single complaint. She was a girl from a land where food culture had utterly collapsed.
Our very own Tatiana.
"Well... we're just getting a bit tired of strawberries."
"They're sweet and tasty, ssu."
Since no one would get in trouble for eating too many strawberries, even Claire intended to turn a blind eye until a doctor's stop was issued. In this environment, the taste-immune Tatiana was an absolute goddess.
Edge and Alyssa joined her soon after. They had spent years living on a diet where they ate the same thing all winter long. To them, a continuous stream of strawberries was no hardship at all.
Those of us who grew up as pampered young masters could never hope to emulate them. However, no matter how hard they—or those who grew up in the slum-colonies—tried, it was still just a drop in the bucket. The strawberries continued to overflow.
But then, a savior appeared that afternoon.
As I sat there sipping Strawberry Tea, a frantic Wifey came skidding into the Dining Hall.
"Lord Groom! I found one!"
"Huh? Found what?"
"A Frontier Planet! I found a Frontier Planet that the Zork haven't touched!"
Since the planet fell outside the Duke Association's sphere of influence, it had likely been used as a Penal Colony in place of a standard prison and then simply forgotten. It had been left alone for centuries, its civilization regressing until they were no longer capable of spaceflight on their own.
We all put on our best scumbag faces and prepared to descend to the surface.
Regardless of our true intentions, we were strictly following the Military Manual for the rediscovery of a Frontier Planet. No one could fault us.
The inhabitants were understandably stunned to see us descending from the heavens. Since their language had mutated over time, the Fairy and the Graduate Student whipped up some Translation Software. The Graduate Student, too, was desperate to escape the strawberry hell.
"We are representatives of the Galactic Empire. I am Major Leo Kamishiro of the Space Marines. I wish to speak with your leader," I said, wearing my most benevolent smile.
After waiting a few days, a man who seemed to be their King appeared. Since Wifey couldn't meet him directly, I handled the negotiations, flanked by the Graduate Student. Diplomacy was, after all, a noble's duty.
We agreed to provide free medical care, education, and other support. I asked for the locations of other nations on the planet and promised aid to each of them in turn.
In exchange, we would "replenish our supplies."
And then came the mountains of strawberries.
Strawberry Wine, the Dried Strawberries we had stockpiled to the limit, Strawberry Curry, strawberries... strawberries... strawberries...
We essentially forced a massive quantity of strawberries on them—ahem—I mean, we "provided them free of charge."
We also took the excess seedlings we were going to throw away and... "provided them free of charge."
Phew. The fleet was almost destroyed by a strawberry overpopulation crisis. We all swore a solemn oath never to let them increase like that again. We would strictly regulate the number of seedlings from now on.
"Our deepest gratitude for the grace of the God Race who descended from the heavens!"
Apparently, the Frontier Planet was suffering from food shortages, so the Kings and their people were profoundly grateful. (Scumbag face).
It feels so good to do the right thing! (Scumbag face).
Even though I corrected them multiple times, insisting we weren't gods, they refused to believe me. I shouldn't be the one held responsible for that.
Still, since I was worried about potential environmental impacts, I left behind the Fairy's Copy Terminal and some drones. If we incinerated the seedlings ourselves, it would be a violation of military code, but if the "civilians" chose to burn them, there was no issue. Once the Copy Terminal and drones were in civilian hands, they weren't our problem anymore.
In short, that's how we handled it. Nobody lost out, so it's fine, right?
"Lord Groom, this incident has truly taught us the terrifying potential of selective breeding... (feigned ignorance)."
"You said it, Wifey... After all, we have to stay natural, sustainable, and LOHAS... or whatever (scumbag face)."
With that settled, I sent the report on the mission's conclusion to the military and the Empire.