The Governor turned and walked to the Star District sand table on the other side of the office, bending down to examine the troop deployment marked on the sand table, his eyes filled with worry.
His slender fingers gently traced the edge of the sand table, finally stopping at several key marked mining planets.
"I know you are short-handed." Alex's tone suddenly softened, he straightened up, rubbing his temples tiredly, his voice carrying a hint of helplessness: "The expedition took too many young and strong, leaving behind only the old, weak, women, and children."
This sentence was like a sigh, or perhaps self-reproach, echoing in the office, carrying an unspeakable heaviness.
He turned and walked towards the head of enforcement, his military boots tapping a steady rhythm on the marble floor.
When Alex stopped in front of the head of enforcement, he suddenly reached out and patted the head of enforcement's shoulder, this sudden intimate gesture made the head of enforcement stiffen, even his breathing hitched.
"Listen," Alex's voice was low and firm, his gaze directly into the head of enforcement's eyes: "I know your difficulties better than anyone, but Rostov cannot wait."
His palm was warm and strong, with calluses formed from long-term sword-holding, and that touch reminded the head of enforcement of the rough hands of veterans on the battlefield.
"Hold on for three more months!" Alex continued, his voice low and firm, like a promise cast in steel, allowing no one to question it. "Sage Olegana's Life Womb Factory will increase production next month, with capacity increasing by at least twenty percent."
A glimmer of hope flashed in his eyes, like a star suddenly lighting up in the dark universe, but it vanished in an instant, covered by deeper worry.
He knew that even with increased production, the deficit would still be huge, but for now, he had to give everyone a reason to persevere.
After saying this, Alex turned and walked back to the window, his tall figure appearing particularly lonely under the leaden sky.
Outside the window, Rostov's industrial domes gleamed coldly under the overcast sky, countless laborers moving like ants within them, and their fate, at this moment, rested on his shoulders.
He raised his hand and waved, a decisive motion, signaling the end of the report.
"Go tell your lads, for every criminal they catch, a child can sleep soundly at night." His voice was neither light nor heavy, but carried undeniable weight: "That's more real than any slogan."
"loyalty to the Governor!" the head of enforcement immediately straightened his back and shouted loudly, his voice trembling slightly with excitement, his eyes gleaming with almost fanatical loyalty.
Upon hearing this, Alex merely curved his lips slightly, revealing a tired but gentle smile.
"It should be—loyalty to the Emperor," he gently corrected, his tone devoid of blame, only a faint hint of helplessness.
"Yes! For Rostov! For the Emperor! For the Imperium!" The head of enforcement reacted extremely quickly, immediately correcting himself, his voice echoing loudly in the office, as if to make up for his slip of the tongue.
Alex did not quibble with his putting "Rostov" before "Emperor" and "Imperium," but simply patted his shoulder again.
This gesture was both an encouragement and a silent farewell, and then, he gently raised his chin, signaling that he could leave.
The pressure of his palm transmitted through the uniform gave the head of enforcement a strange sense of reassurance.
The head of enforcement backed out of the office, maintaining a respectful posture, turning only at the door, where he gently closed the heavy oak door carved with the Imperial emblem.
As the office door slowly closed with a faint hum under the hydraulic device, Alex finally allowed himself to slump into the large leather armchair.
He leaned back, his neck against the cool chair back, and closed his eyes tiredly.
The holographic projection in the office was still silently operating, displaying real-time data from various parts of the Rostov Sub-Sector: the operational efficiency of factory production lines, the flight paths of transport fleets, the population change curves of various colonial planets…
These flickering light points and lines cast shifting afterimages on his closed eyelids, like countless urgent problems dancing before his eyes.
He sighed deeply, his voice low and hoarse: "State affairs are difficult, and people's lives are hard!"
This sentence was like a heavy stone, falling into the silent office, stirring invisible ripples.
Outside the window, the twilight of Rostov II was gradually fading, the last ray of sunlight passing through the stained glass, casting dappled shadows on his tired face.
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