The Higher You Climb, The Harder You Fall

*** So there I was, the morning after finally getting a decent night's sleep, only to be greeted by that strange half-dissolved feeling where my body's fatigue had barely loosened its grip. True, I'd dozed off halfway through and dumped the rest of the workload entirely on Ilena, which meant my guilty conscience was stabbing at my heart like a sharpened pencil... but still. "There's no need to worry, Consul. Everything truly important was resolved before you went to sleep." "Ohh." This coming from the very same Ilena who had breezily waved off my concerns with a "no problem at all." Figuring there was no point in poking at a scab when the person directly involved said it was fine, I decided to let it go on the principle that what I don't know can't hurt me. And it seemed all her days of racking her brain hadn't been in vain... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Whoa. It's on the smaller side, sure, but they literally sent an entire fleet's worth of ships this time? And still no lab, huh?" "We are, after all, at the point where we're operating across the entire Milano System. So the Empire's logistical support department has apparently decided that securing mobility through a fleet matters more for you now than specialized equipment, Doctor." "So it won't be easy." "And if I may be so bold, Doctor, there is currently nowhere in this Milano System with superior bioengineering capability or technology to yours." "Ah, so I've already hit the ceiling, and they figure there's no point giving me more?" "To put it precisely: they'll send the special biological materials needed to expand your gene pool, but they have no intention of expanding your facilities." "I see." There was a moment of sulking on my part, seeing as the 'top-grade laboratory' I'd actually wanted — something to surpass the existing 'Grade 1 Special Bioengineering Research Facility' — was not forthcoming. But as Ilena said, unless we left the Milano System behind and entered the real meta of interstellar conquest, we weren't at the stage where any of that mattered yet. So I flashed my approval at Ilena's sound reasoning and headed off to welcome the reinforcements arriving at the Milano-V spaceport. Naturally, seeing the reinforcement fleet with them — a full cruiser and three destroyers — and then the B-508 troop transport, a monstrous 350-meter beast that dwarfed even the 200-meter Minotaur-class... "Well, dang. It really is huge." "It's one of the largest vessels capable of operating within planetary gravity and atmosphere." "Seriously?" "Yes. Any ship larger than that which can ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still operate within a planet's gravity well exists only as a custom-built vessel designed from the ground up for that specific planet's gravity." "Hmm, so that's how it works." To be fair, since it was openly labeled a 'transport,' it lacked the eye-catching giant cannons and the missile pods that just went pop! and opened on their own that the other ships nearby sported, so it cut a far less intimidating figure than its neighbors. Yet paradoxically, that was exactly what made it so sleek — a transport with a smooth, streamlined hull like a space shuttle, surprisingly elegant for its size. The moment I laid eyes on it, I immediately decided to take a commemorative shot and post it to the gallery. After the commemorative photo came, naturally, the rounds of greetings with the officers of the newly arrived units — the ship captains and the commanders of the additional marine battalions. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ I played the role of this neck of the woods' supreme commander to the hilt, and enjoyed an unbearably stuffy stretch of handshaking and small talk. But amid all that, I noticed something curious: unlike the Anchio gang, who had since been fused into the combined TS_powered girl Darvena, the commanders of the marine battalions arriving this time were, how should I put it... "For the glory of His Imperial Majesty! I am Major Wolfgang Strasse, newly assigned commander of the 591st Marine Battalion of the Milano Branch!" "For the glory of His Imperial Majesty! Likewise newly assigned, I am Major Artinak Homeros, commander of the 592nd Marine Battalion!" "Huh? Majors? Wasn't the guy who came before — Anchio or whatever — a captain?" Darven Anchio had been a captain, and now both of the new arrivals were wearing full major insignia. Of course, perhaps assuming that a non-soldier like me couldn't possibly know the details of their circumstances, the two men merely offered the practiced smiles of consummate professionals and responded as if there were a perfectly good explanation for everything. "We've only heard it secondhand ourselves, but apparently the Anchio gang were designated for purge from the very start, and never went through promotion procedures at all." "Is that so?" "A battalion-level unit is supposed to be commanded by at least a major!" "I see." Here too, that bizarre 'designated for purge' designation was functioning like an all-purpose cheat item. It was at this point that I truly grasped the sheer scale of how disgraced Captain Darven Anchio and his gang had been — by now, they were presumably flowing down some drain and rolling along the production line of the city's fertilizer plant system, or perhaps existing as part of a septic tank's sediment. And so, as the casual conversations rolled on, I heard about all manner of things: the containers of special biological materials carried aboard the transport being shuttled over to our branch; and, incidentally, since our branch headquarters happened to be based here, the Heisenberg spaceport quietly overtaking Ambrosia — the former capital of Milano-V — in sheer scale at some point without anyone noticing. Hearing about the endless parade of happenings, despite delegating the vast majority of my duties to President Heisenberg and Ilena— "Doctor, you must attend the reconstruction ceremony for the Heisenberg spaceport." "The one with the ribbon-cutting? Uuugh... do I really have to go?" "If you don't, our authority over the populace weakens, and the Demonia homeworld will start casting suspicious glances our way." "Oh." So I got dragged out yet again to yet another event that required a poster girl, forced to start Ribbon-Cutting ×100 with a hehehe grin on my face. Even though I now had certification-level proof that I had effectively become the de facto overlord(?) of the Milano System, the work just kept piling up and up, until— Until I found myself watching every single one of my hobbies — developing new gadgets and equipment — grind to a complete halt, and quietly shed a small tear inside. *** But the real problem started right about now. Once all of this was done, I figured, I'd have no more public-facing duties, the Demonia Milano Branch would be fully stabilized, and a miraculous era would dawn where I could literally just sit back and leech off the system. All I had to do was push through a little longer. So I worked, and worked, and worked, successfully finishing a grueling week-long ordeal. And then — finally — the very moment I was about to dive into my beloved Ggomuli bio-bed and lazily kill time browsing the gallery... "Hm... I'm sorry, what? No, hold on. Say that again?" "What is it, my assistant?" "Doctor, a summons has arrived from the planetary government of Milano-III." "Uh-what?" "You are to appear as a designated criminal. Should you fail to comply with the summons, they state that a special forces unit under the direct control of the central government — along with a fleet under the direct control of the system government, scheduled to enter planetary orbit imminently — will commence an attack, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠down to and including battleships." "EHHH?!" Out of nowhere — you're a criminal, actually. And not the planetary government but the planetary system government, coming to drag me off on the very day I'd finally earned some rest. The instant I heard it, I couldn't help but wail: why is my life nothing but a steady drip of undeserved misfortune?