Chapter 1: Their Reality, Their False Image
Earth Imperial Army General Headquarters — The Tower of the Radiant Guardian.
This facility, saddled with a name so pompous it was whispered to give people goosebumps in the worst way possible, was the lynchpin of the Earth Imperial Army and the ultimate symbol of military might within the Empire’s territories.
The castle-like headquarters was a mobile base floating in the sea area known in the Old Century as the North Pacific. It was a gargantuan fortress, spanning 12,000 meters in length; it was said that if one tried to count every single gun turret, the year would end before they finished.
While its construction was purportedly seven hundred years ago, the common consensus among most was that nobody actually knew for sure.
Rumors circulated that it was actually an ultra-massive battleship, but to learn the truth behind this military hub, one would need to reach the rank of at least Rear Admiral.
Inside the “Tower of the Guardian” sat the 700-meter-class large battleship known as the Shingetsu, the Imperial Grand Flagship and personal vessel of the Commander-in-Chief, Taishou (General) Alfred Keilinach. It was often whispered that this ship was the true heart of the Imperial Army Headquarters.
The grand conference room of the Shingetsu (Divine Moon) was decorated in a quaint, old-fashioned Japanese style. It featured tatami mats and shoji screens, and even contained an artificially constructed small pond with trees and swimming koi fish.
The ceiling was designed to look like a perfectly clear sky—a complete fabrication, as were the light and the breeze. They even went as far as to vent the faint scent of artificial soil into the room, a display of uselessly meticulous dedication.
Looking at the gathering of old men in this ozashiki (sitting room)… no, Weltall thought to himself without saying it aloud, this is more like a “banquet hall” from Old Century Japan.
After the Tiberius Incident, Weltall had been assigned to the Operations Command of the Imperial Army Headquarters. It wasn’t fleet duty, but rather a sort of preparatory period.
In about half a year, this assignment would change; Weltall would become a Daisa (Colonel), receive a new model cruiser, and take command of a small-scale fleet.
It would surely be executed with great fanfare.
After all, he was the hero who successfully brought the Tiberius back to Earth—an elite youth with a promising future.
Since they were giving a new ship to such a boy, they were supposedly preparing something substantial.
However, for now, he had virtually no right to speak in this “banquet hall” meeting. He was only present as one of the secretaries to his boss, Orostann, the Director of the Operations Bureau.
(They’re all here… every single one of them is incompetent.)
That was Weltall’s honest impression upon seeing the top brass of the Imperial Army.
Rather than being stuck in a place like this, he felt it would be far more meaningful to be patrolling in a destroyer. Ares is probably having a good time, Weltall thought, telling himself he only had to endure this for another six months.
“Now then. Regarding the aliens that His Majesty the Emperor is concerned about…”
The chairman, General Alfred, was attending in his hobbyist outfit: a haori and hakama. While high-ranking Imperial soldiers usually wore white-based uniforms and general soldiers wore black, the old man before him was the exception.
Behind him hung a scroll with the words “Single-Minded Devotion” written on it, though Weltall had never heard that General Alfred was particularly well-versed in Japanese proverbs. He wondered how much of the meaning the man actually understood. Several Japanese swords were displayed nearby, though they were, of course, replicas.
Many others besides him remodeled their ship bridges or conference rooms to suit their personal tastes. With current technology, almost any configuration could function perfectly, so while Weltall felt they could do as they pleased, he also felt that the moment such selfishness was permitted, military discipline ceased to exist.
If they were going to be thorough and consistent from the start—whether Western or Eastern style—one might have thoughts about it, but one could go along with it. However, that’s not the case.
In a sense, it’s chaotic.
“His Majesty the Emperor has granted permission for surveillance beyond our controlled territories and further strengthening of our defenses. Starting this fiscal year, we will commence construction of new cruisers and battleships. The Technical Research Bureau has also received approval to develop new aircraft carriers and carrier-based aircraft as part of a further plan, but due to budgetary constraints, that will have to be postponed for a while.”
Alfred put on his reading glasses and skimmed through the prepared documents, monotonously reading only the essential parts while skipping sections he deemed unnecessary based on his own interpretation.
“Now then, regarding the expedition to the Horsehead Nebula region, which is believed to be the enemy’s main base—”
The moment that topic came up, Weltall felt several gazes upon him.
(It’s 300 light-years away. There’s no way they can just march forward with their current technology.)
Some of the hawkish faction were proposing a long-distance expedition to the Horsehead Nebula as a campaign to subjugate the Impious Ones.
“His Majesty the Emperor has rejected it.”
“But why?! To annihilate those impious wretches and expand the borders of our Empire further! That is truly a great achievement! Should we not execute it?!”
someone shouted.
It was * Rear Admiral Onishi*, commander of the 6th Fleet and a member of the pro-war faction. He had dark skin and a stubbly beard, acting out the role of a “battle-hardened warrior” in a rather forced way. He had a scar on his right cheek, though it was ridiculed by some as having been made through plastic surgery.
“Now, now, calm yourself, * Rear Admiral Onishi*.”
The one soothing him was *Pignard* (Chief of Staff).
Yes—Lillian’s father.
“His Majesty is indeed concerned about the existence of the aliens, and we too wish to bring the hammer down upon these foolish beings. Young Weltall there surely feels the same way, and I personally cannot forgive those who put my precious daughter in such danger.”
Don’t drag me into the conversation.
If Weltall were permitted to speak, he would have shouted that.
Unaware of the irritation directed at him, Pignard continued loquaciously.
“However, unfortunately, the long-distance warp of our ships is 10 light-years for safety. Even pushing it, 30 to 40 light-years is the limit. And aren’t they supposed to be 300 light-years away? Most officers and soldiers would not support an act like trying to find a single grain of sand in the ocean.”
Pignard’s statement was a sound argument.
No one in the room disagreed.
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“And what if the enemy base isn’t within 300 light-years? We might have to search 400, 500… even all the way to the Horsehead Nebula itself, 1,500 light-years away.”
Finding no opposition, Pignard looked triumphant and continued.
“First, we sit and wait. Besides, they are merely a group that can be repelled by mere students. Even if they reach our territory by some method, our heroic Imperial Fleet would annihilate them in an instant. Is that not so?”
However, he also knew when to back off. Once he had said his piece, he skillfully shifted the subject. Taking the bait, * Rear Admiral Onishi* snorted softly and replied.
“Hmph, of course. But if the alien scum were to attack a colonial planet, it would be an act that stains the glory of His Majesty. To be safe, and to ensure perfection, I would like permission for a major military operation to sweep away the barbaric space pirates who could cause similar damage.”
The topic changed abruptly again.
They were talking about aliens a moment ago, and now it was space pirates.
There was no cohesion to the agenda.
Weltall prayed for the meeting to end quickly.
Of course, an expedition would be necessary at some point. He agreed with strengthening defenses and believed the subjugation of space pirates was essential.
However, in this lax meeting, no proper tactics or strategies would be formulated.
The chairman was leisurely drinking tea, and his sycophant, Pignard, was rambling eloquently.
The military men—who were essentially children in adult bodies who just wanted to fight—kept shouting “Subjugation! Subjugation!” just so they could fire their battleships’ main guns.
The other relatively sane participants didn’t even seem to be listening. Yet, the Operations Command would still have to devise plans for whatever military action was eventually approved.
In a way, this was the only department that actually functioned.
(These are people who rose to the top through nothing but seniority and family lineage. It can’t be helped that they’re incompetent, but I refuse to die because I was dragged along by their incompetence. To prevent that, I must show results, get promoted, and seize power myself.)
That was why he wanted to get back into space quickly.
He had to lead a fleet and produce results. In that sense, * Rear Admiral Onishi’s* talk of pirate subjugation was an opportunity, but if they acted recklessly now, the nimble pirates would just scatter and flee.
(I want to prepare an independent fleet with high mobility… but with my current status, I can’t even propose it. My power is lacking. There’s a limit to how much I can use the Gundermann family’s influence.)
Weltall desperately took notes during the sleep-inducing meeting, fighting off drowsiness by arguing with himself in his mind.
(At this rate, I’d be much more active if I were hated by these people and exiled to the frontier…)
The meeting shifted to a discussion about which fleet would fire the celebratory salute for the Emperor’s birthday.
“Umu. It is necessary to demonstrate His Majesty’s glory and show the subjects that peace in the universe is maintained. My flagship, the Shingetsu, shall also participate in the naval review.”
Weltall’s head began to ache.
(Ah… Ares, and Lillian too… Captains of destroyers. I’m so jealous.)
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