The vibrant green of the Oakhaven Glass-House was a stark contrast to the monochrome death of the surrounding mountains. Inside, the air hummed with the hiss of geothermal steam, maintaining a tropical humidity that defied the frost creeping across the outer panes. But the warmth was deceptive. As the first large-scale harvest of tubers and greens reached the workers' tables, a new shadow fell over the valley—not of clouds, but of bureaucracy.
A heavy Imperial courier sledge arrived at the Oakhaven gates, escorted by a platoon of Sun-Guard whose bronze armor was dulled by layers of protective grease and road-salt. They carried a "Mandatory Requisition Order" signed by the Imperial Minister of War. The Empire's southern campaigns had stalled in the mud, and the traditional granaries were empty. Word of Oakhaven's "Winter Summer" had reached Solstice, and the Emperor wanted his share.
"Ten thousand units of preserved starch and five thousand units of desiccated greens," Julian read, his voice flat as he looked over the scroll in the warmth of the command center. "Every week, until the spring thaw. David, that's nearly eighty percent of our total output. If we fulfill this, our own laborers will be back to eating sawdust and hard-tack within a fortnight."
Deacon leaned over a crate of freshly harvested radishes, his mind already running the logistical trade-offs. The "Logistical Insight" presented a grim binary: Feed the Empire and maintain the Royal Charter, or feed the workers and face a charge of treason during a time of national emergency.
"The Empire doesn't want the food for their citizens," Deacon said, pulling a map of the southern front across the table. "They want it for the push into the Iron-Delta. They're trading the health of my miners for a tactical advantage in a swamp three hundred miles away."
"We can't just say no," Miller interjected, wiping grease from his forehead. "The Sun-Guard isn't here for a polite request. They have the authority to seize the Glass-House under the Emergency Defense Acts. If we resist, they'll turn this place into a garrison."
Deacon spent the night in the depths of the Glass-House, walking between the rows of hydroponic beds. He watched the steam-pipes vibrate with the pulse of the mountain. He realized that the problem wasn't just the quantity of food; it was the Nutrient Density and Preservation. If he sent raw vegetables, they would rot or freeze on the long trek south. He needed a way to concentrate the calories and the vitamins into a form that was light enough to transport but filling enough to satisfy an army.
"We aren't going to send them our fresh harvest," Deacon told Julian the next morning. "We're going to send them Standardized Survival Rations. We'll use the geothermal heat to drive a series of vacuum-desiccators."
The "Vacuum-Desiccator" was a series of airtight iron cylinders connected to a steam-powered vacuum pump. By lowering the atmospheric pressure inside the cylinders, Deacon could boil the water out of the vegetables at much lower temperatures, preserving the vitamins that traditional boiling would destroy.
"We'll mix the dried greens with high-fat lard from the local livestock and a base of potato flour," Deacon explained, showing a small, hard, grey-green block to the Sun-Guard Commander. "It's called Erbswurst—or our version of it. One block, crumbled into a pint of boiling water, provides a full day's nutrients. It's light, it's stackable, and it won't rot for a year."
The Commander picked up the block, sniffing it with a skeptical frown. "It looks like a brick of clay, Lord Cassian. My men are used to salt-beef and hard-bread."
"Your men are used to losing their teeth to scurvy and their strength to the flux," Deacon countered. "This 'brick' will keep them on their feet in the mud. And more importantly for the Empire, it weighs one-tenth of a standard ration. One sledge can carry enough to feed a regiment for a month."
The compromise was a technical masterstroke but a social disaster. To produce the volume required by the Sun-Guard, the "Oakhaven Labor Council" had to implement eighteen-hour shifts in the processing plant. The Glass-House, once a symbol of hope and fresh life, became a high-pressure factory line. The air inside turned from the smell of earth to the sterile, cloying scent of vegetable dust and boiling fat.
"We're becoming the very thing we fled, David," Hallow, the leader of the Labor Council, said during a heated meeting in the foundry. "The men are exhausted. They see the crates of 'Iron-Soup' leaving the valley every day while their own children are still getting the same half-ration of greens. You've turned our garden into a munition."
Deacon looked at Hallow, seeing the genuine hurt and betrayal in the man's eyes. The "gritty realism" of leadership was that there were no perfect wins. "If I don't send those crates, the Sun-Guard takes the Glass-House. If they take the Glass-House, we get nothing. We are buying our autonomy with this soup, Hallow. It's a bitter taste, but it's better than the taste of a cage."
The "Ration War" simmered in the background of every meal in Oakhaven. Deacon had to implement a Tiered Incentive System, giving the workers in the processing plant extra "Heat-Credits" and a larger share of the fresh runoff that couldn't be dried. It was a messy, imperfect fix that created new tensions between the different factions of the valley.
By the end of February, the first ten thousand units had been shipped. Oakhaven had fulfilled the Imperial mandate, and the Sun-Guard withdrew, their sledges laden with the grey-green blocks of Oakhaven Standard Rations. Deacon stood on the ramparts, watching them go. He had saved the valley's independence, but he had also proved that Oakhaven was now an essential cog in the Empire's war machine.
"The Emperor will want more," Julian said, standing beside him. "Once the Generals see how much further their men can march on your 'Iron-Soup,' they'll never let us stop."
"I know," Deacon said, his eyes on the steam rising from the Glass-House. "But the spring is coming. And with the spring comes the Grand Rail-Survey. If they want our rations, they're going to have to give us the steel to lay the tracks. We've fed the army; now we're going to build the road that makes them obsolete."