The Red Light of Lebensraum (3)

I'm anxious. I don't know exactly what about, but anyway, I'm anxious.

'Ah, something's gonna happen.'

There was no particular basis for it. Maybe it's because of my sister, who's gone off to suck honey in some far-flung corner of the universe instead of me, yelling, "Who gets a perfect 11 out of 10 for smashing that Geilchinppa ship? It's us!" while endlessly chanting senbaksalhae.

'Nah, no. The anxiety of a national leader always means something!'

As I sat there quietly, my head felt stuffed full of maggots. It's all those damn elf bastards' fault. My subconscious is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠piecing together info my conscious brain couldn't process, piling up signals until stray thoughts multiply, and my paperwork speed is slowing to a crawl. I couldn't help but be shocked at myself.

'Come to think of it, did I sleep yesterday?'

It's been about two days since Sis left. She warped to the outskirts of the Tertius Arm with 52 warships under the banner of the "Justice Realization Squadron." She's probably living it up fine.

"She definitely ran away after too much whipping."

A person isn't livestock; they're like a tiny universe unto themselves. Theoretically infinite blood you can squeeze out, just like the cosmos.

My sister escaped—no, counterattacked—from paperwork hell under the pretext of smashing the border planet's governor to bits. I'm jealous. Truly jealous.

Right now, she's probably lounging on the bridge, gazing at streams of blue warp tunnel light in a world free of documents and stamps, basking in pure joy.

So what am I doing? Sitting at my desk, reading the "Quartus Arm 3rd Sector Pirate Suppression Quarterly Report." A 27-page tome on pirate suppression progress. Pirate hunting's great and all, but does it really need 27 pages? Can't they just say, "Caught pirates. Lots of 'em. More to come"?

Maybe note the suspicious uptick in pirates with regular-army-level fleets, or those made up suspiciously of xenos?

'Hah. What the hell is going on.'

I sighed and picked up the next document when the quantum entanglement communicator buzzed.

[Request for authorization to conduct stabilization operations. Request to relieve and detain planetary governor. Request for approval of 5th Fleet local garrison until stabilization complete.]

In translation: "I'm staying here long-term. Make it legal with an edict."

"This fucking...!"

I didn't want to approve it anymore. She runs from paperwork, then sets up a structure where she doesn't have to come back legally, and slaps me with this advance payment demand.

Sis is whispering in my ear, "Huh? Not approving? That's no fun," but on a scale this massive, it's deadly serious. Using a planetary civil war as pretext ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to legally pin down an entire fleet. Her strategic thinking is pure 5th Fleet Admiral material. Genius not just against enemies, but in counterattacks too.

"Haa..."

I wanted to unleash every curse in my database for a comprehensive review of one Selene Astraea, but cursing alone in the office isn't mentally healthy. I'm a good boy, after all.

"Hah, why don't I have a little brother?"

If I did, even just one, it'd be great. We could split the paperwork.

'Might as well hunt for that lost Machine God from way back...'

Both sisters bolted, no little brother exists, so everything's on me. Damn Astraea gene pool. Why'd Dad make only one son?

Thud!

I finally stamped the edict request. Had to. Can't refuse stabilization ops for a border planet civil war. Legit request, legit reason. Only I know the real one hiding behind: "Ran away 'cause paperwork scares me."

The stamp completed Sis's "legal runaway" status.

"Ah, so sad and tiring and annoying..."

That mutter was about six hours ago.

Now, six hours later, my emotional state has blown past "sad and tiring and annoying."

Half-fainted amid paperwork stacks, I was jolted awake by the chamberlain's urgent voice.

"Your Majesty! Emergency report!"

"Wha—what? Huh? Wh-what time is it?"

"3 a.m., sire. But this is urgent—"

"Just put the emergency report on the pile. I'll see it in the morning."

"Navy emergency channel, Your Majesty. Red alert."

Red alert. Sleep vanished at those words.

Imperial Navy emergency system: green-yellow-red. Green for info share, yellow for caution, red for war.

I bolted up, startled, snatching the data pad from the chamberlain.

Communications cut off. Those two words stabbed my eyes.

"Huuuh..."

Sis's squadron engaged the Eldra fleet, then reports stopped. My hand holding the data pad trembled faintly.

'...No way Sis...?'

As that thought formed, I hacked it off forcibly.

"No."

I said it aloud.

"No way. That psycho who cherishes her own happiness most wouldn't die!!"

The chamberlain flinched back, but I ignored him.

"If she loses to mere numerical inferiority, she'd tarnish the name of Yi Sun-sin, her idol she screamed about!"

Selene Sis was the lunatic from officer academy days who hung Yi Sun-sin's portrait in her room and saluted it every morning. That's the madness running the 5th Fleet.

I still remember her voice in hologram games: "I'll work a miracle with 12 ships against 133!! Senbaksalhae! Senbaksalhae! Senbaksalhae!"

Tactics transcend eras, they say. 52 vs. 150. About 1:3 odds.

Yi Sun-sin won 1:11 with half-broken rabble. Sis, his mega-fan, would thrash to win.

"Even if she dies, it'll be ramming with senbaksalhae!!!"

She won't die. I'm sure.

Dodging crises like paperwork? Top 0.001% of humanity.

Comms cut? Probably damaged in battle, no time to report, or tactical silence.

*****

Separate from certainty, anxiety lingered.

"Haa... Shouldn't have ignored the Humanity Brotherhood wanting to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠send envoys to the coronation. Problem is, our only check on those elves is puny warlords like that shit."

Humanity Brotherhood. Explaining them requires history.

About 10 years before I was born, humanity fought a massive war with galactic races: the Great Galactic War. We beat the Eldra, Krogan, and minor allies.

Eldra took the biggest L. Millennia of civilization pride shattered. They thought themselves older, wiser, superior—then crushed, losing empire chunks. Tragic, kinda.

Shock rocked Eldra civ, sparking civil war. Vengeance faction: "Lost to humans, gotta get stronger." Reflection faction: "We took wrong path."

From chaos: third force, Humanity Brotherhood. Simple ideology—in the insane sense.

"Humans won 'cause superior. We must become human."

Elf-worshipping humans. Elves wanting to be humans. Study human culture, language, history; extremists even surgically shorten ears. Psycho zealot elf cult.

World Trees? Just flammable pagan relics blocking Jesus, Allah, Buddha—chopped 'em all into charcoal on their planets.

But crazy don't mean weak—opposite. Grew into a warlord faction in Eldra civil war.

Eldra's half-warlords now. "Eldra Concordance" nominal gov, but really fiefdoms. Brotherhood's one: not biggest, but fanatical loyalty = high combat power. And they don't pre-emptively blast stray Imperial ships—diplomatic psychos.

They messaged for coronation envoys. Protocol: Emperor's call. I was buried in 472 audiences, marked "later."

Should've met 'em. Now these elf nuts send regular fleets to boil us and swallow planets, fuck.

Friendly with Brotherhood? Pro-human faction in Eldra—diplo win, Eldra check.

Plus, with Sis fighting Eldra regulars, prior ties could've pressured via them.

Too late. Regret later, handle now.

"But why show at a border planet? They're nuts."

Why Platinum Armada at TR-7742?

"Hm... Factory planet?" Nah, those litter borders; harder to find non-factories.

Eldra post-war: isolationist surface-level. Rare off-territory fleets.

Governor Grayburn colluded? Leaked mil industry secrets for protection? Reports mentioned "deal with devils."

40-year secret pact = treason, high. Result: Eldra regulars invade Imperial soil. Territory breach, casus belli.

But—

"No. Doesn't matter."

I shook my head. Analyze later. Intel Bureau's for that. Cause after war ends.

"Key: they need support now."

52 vs 150. Unless Sis is Yi Sun-sin's reincarnation, genius admiral or not, 3:1 vs tech-peer Eldra = bad long war.

Plus, can't let elves turn ground humans to ganpeu-stew.

Reinforcements needed.

I stood, activating holo-comm. Emperor's quantum net: pings all fleet HQs galaxy-wide.

Available fleets list popped.

'...What available? Time-critical.'

"Connect all fleets."

Comms opened channels; office filled with fleet HQs. Duty officers on screens.

"I am Kaius VIII."

Emperor's "I"—for edicts, orders only.

"Eldra Concordance fleet invaded TR-7742 system, engaging 5th Fleet squadron. I command thus."

Cooler than expected, despite Sis in peril.

"3rd Fleet: warp to TR-7742 immediately. 5th Fleet remnants: sortie repaired ships to system rendezvous. 2nd Fleet: standby for further orders. Remainder: move to elf borders challenging Empire."

Duty officers saluted. "We obey!"

And finally:

"And."

Paused. Say it?

"I go personally."

Channels hushed.

"Eh...?"

Chamberlain gasped behind. "Y-Your Majesty! Personally—that's—!"

"Leviathan-class Aegis as flagship from Guard Fleet. Guards hold Sol defense; detach 5 dreadnoughts and escorts for my personal squadron."

Orders issued. Chamberlain gaped, but edict trumps.

'Haa... Didn't wanna use this.'

Absolutism perk: "Pay taxes, go army, shut up"—the "shut up" shines.

My reforms haven't shifted command yet. Ironically, power I cut now saves; paperwork backlog delayed it.

Comms cut; silence fell.

Chamberlain cautiously: "Sire, truly going yourself?"

"Have to."

"But Emperor to battlefield—dangerous—"

"Sis in danger, brother sits? Emperor? Gotta help."

He went quiet.

Real reason's complex.

'Not thrilled to escape paperwork, going insane with joy. No?'

Not happy Sis's in danger. But battlefield over desk? Steps lighter. Battlefields kill; desks don't (overwork aside). Living with death risk beats wilting under papers.

Odd thought. Sleep dep philosophy?

"Chamberlain."

"Yes, sire."

"While I'm gone, Secretariat sorts papers only. Approve on return."

"Understood."

"Oh, and tell Senate to proceed Prime Minister selection without me. Half papers go to PM. By return, better."

That's key. PM ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠done while I'm out: papers halved. War + reform simultaneous. Efficiency max.

Crisis = opportunity, huh?

Anyway, Sis—wait. Brother coming to save ya.