Alone in the Fortress (2)

Naturally, Jessica had fully expected me to become the admiral of a grand fleet five hundred warships strong.

So whether she meant ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to show it or not, disappointment flooded across her face.

Unlike Jessica, though, I hadn't been expecting much from the start. More importantly, I'd already gotten an accidental crash course in exactly how to put a base defense fleet to use.

"What's the big deal? This is a pretty simple problem if you think about it."

"Is it?"

"Think back to Leonard. We used him pretty well back in the day."

"…Ah."

What problem was there, really?

Just as I'd said — all we had to do was apply the same method we'd used with Leonard of the Pirate Coalition, back when he'd been stationed to guard our base. I might not be able to pilot the fleet myself, but that alone was more than enough. I felt not the slightest regret about the base defense fleet… or rather, the main combat fleets.

Jessica, of course, still seemed to be nursing her disappointment. She smacked her lips as she stared at the panoramic view of the fortress's internal docking facilities on the command center monitors.

But after that — both Jessica and I found ourselves smacking our lips for an entirely different reason.

"…Come again?"

"It's a truly regrettable matter, but it seems we'll be returning to our original territory around next week."

"Oh."

The news was this: the very force that had saved us in the one-to-five battle — the Pirate Coalition's defense fleet — was going home.

Alone in the Fortress (2)

The moment I heard those words, a new event message appeared before my eyes.

Aw, damn. What a waste.

The second I saw it, pure regret hit me. Thanks to the temporary command authority Marianne had handed over, I'd been free to throw around a mixed fleet of nearly five thousand ships however I pleased. And now that was off the table.

Technically it wouldn't be off the table until a week from now — but still.

"So you're leaving for good in a week, then."

"That would seem to be the case, wouldn't it? Frankly, the Commander's self-defense isn't nearly as pathetic as it used to be."

The bearded pirate admiral's words had a subtle dig in them, but he wasn't wrong, so I nodded in agreement.

Sure, it would have been far better for me if they'd just stayed. But the reason they'd come in the first place was that their leader Marianne had visited our base, found our defenses so pathetic she needed someone to cover for them, and — while she was at it — needed an escort to keep her living dildo from getting completely worn out. Now that Avalon Fortress had shored up our defenses, there was no reason left for them to stick around, no matter how hard you looked.

Of course, if they'd decided this on their own, our Marianne would have immediately driven a fist into the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bearded pirate's solar plexus…

"Can't be helped. That guy's one of your main fleet assets, after all."

"Thank you for understanding, Oppa."

Unfortunately, Marianne had come along with the bearded admiral, so I agreed without complaint to send them off quietly.

"There are plenty of idiots who start thinking a deployed fleet is theirs to keep. You're different, Commander."

"Oh…"

Not that this had anything to do with the bearded uncle flashing me a knowing grin from behind Marianne's back, casually threatening me.

Anyway, we wrapped up the conversation roughly there. Since they weren't actually leaving for another week, we decided to throw a simple farewell party as a send-off.

They weren't stuffy ceremonial types like the space-elf snobs of the Xenobia Empire — they were free-spirited Caribbean-pirate types. Fill the place with enough booze and meat and they'd be happy.

But at that very farewell party, something happened that neither I, nor Marianne and her pirates, nor even any of our superhumans could have predicted…

While Icarus was bantering with the bearded admiral and Marianne, debating the farewell party menu—

"Ohohohoho… Hahahahaha, ahahahahah!"

"What's the professor on about this time?"

"Looks like she's cooked up something weird again."

Inside the Nest of Life, Griyanaar burst out of a specially built bio-mechanical hybrid apparatus — her body and hair dripping with slimy mucus, not that she cared in the slightest. She held aloft an ampoule filled with a pink liquid that glowed with a luminous rose-colored radiance, cackling without pause.

"I've finally done it! A special aphrodisiac-slash-love-potion that multiplies sensitivity by three thousand times!"

"…"

"Oh…"

"Wait, isn't that the kind of thing that only exists in manga?"

"Turning fiction into reality — that is the measure of my greatness!!"

Despite Griyanaar's mad laughter and the genuinely spectacular research breakthrough on display, the Nest of Life researchers — thoroughly worn down by daily torment, and having endured so many bizarre bio-experiments alongside her that their own personalities had grown remarkably… firm — offered only the most lukewarm of reactions.

As a result, Griyanaar, who had been proudly holding up her "three-thousand-times-sensitivity whatever," slumped into a dejected expression and quietly lowered her hand…

But only for a moment.

"No, this is no time to mope! If I can just get this drug into the Commander, we'll all live happily ever after!"

"…Ah."

The true purpose behind the three-thousand-times-sensitivity concoction. Namely: drive her Commander Icarus into a frenzy of lust, milk him dry, diligently collect his genetic material, and manufacture one Commander clone for every person. The moment she realized that grand ambition was now within arm's reach, the dejected Griyanaar snapped back to full energy and immediately set about putting her sinister, far-reaching plan into motion.

But even for a scheme so wicked and secretive, there remained one problem that even the brilliant Griyanaar had yet to solve…

"So, Griyanaar — how exactly do you plan to get him to drink it?"

"Well, I've never had much talent for that sort of thing."

It was a truly lamentable state of affairs. The odds of Commander Icarus simply gulping down any medicine Griyanaar offered him were, regrettably, a perfect zero.

Of course, that was entirely the result of Griyanaar's own accumulated karma — like the time she'd tried to pass off a stamina enhancer as cold medicine, or the time she'd tried to hand him a living, wriggling milking-slime creature under the guise of a heat pack.

And she couldn't use Oxianor as a go-between, either. After the last time she'd pulled a stunt through Oxianor and they'd both gotten chewed out, the Commander now treated Oxianor with wariness whenever Griyanaar was involved. Putting her three-thousand-times-sensitivity drug to use was looking harder by the minute.

But giving up here was something her pride as a professor (???) — and her pride as the greatest intellect in Icarus's base — simply would not allow. Griyanaar steeled her indomitable will and resolved to get that three-thousand-times-sensitivity concoction into Icarus by any means necessary.

And right around then…

"Professor? The Commander just sent a communiqué to all personnel from the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠old base."

"What is it? Did more garbage volunteer themselves as test subjects again?"

"No, nothing like that… The Pirate Coalition's defense fleet is returning to headquarters in a week, so they're planning a simple farewell party."

"A farewell party?"

Having merged with the base itself, Rain could pop up anywhere within the old base's territory at a moment's notice. When she delivered the news of the farewell party, Griyanaar nodded in understanding.

"A farewell party, huh. That means there'll be drinking, right?"

"Most likely, wouldn't you say? Though Commander Icarus himself won't be drinking."

"But he'll have a beverage. So we just spike the beverage, no?"

"…And how exactly do you plan to spike it? The second we get close enough to put anything in, the Commander will force-feed it to you instead."

"…Hmm."

Even trying to exploit the farewell party, no decent approach presented itself. They put their heads together and racked their brains, but not even Griyanaar's soft, springy, full-spectrum genius brain could produce a solution. Things got so desperate that someone actually suggested just charging in and force-feeding it to him.

But then, only a moment later—