Minister of Military Affairs Paul von Oberstein had been head of the funeral committee. No complaint could be leveled at his management of the event, but antipathy toward the man himself was evident, such as in Wittenfeld’s cynical comment, “I wish he would stick to funerals—they suit him well, and cause no trouble for others.”
The most urgent task of the leadership now assembled on Phezzan, from the kaiser down, was reorganizing the entire Imperial Navy. Major changes in the leadership structure would be required following the death in battle of the two commanders Fahrenheit and Steinmetz. Their fleets could not be left without leaders, and fleet sizes needed rebalancing across the board.
As minister of military affairs, von Oberstein had responsibility for such matters, but whether the commanders would fully welcome his interventions was a delicate question. The estrangement between the Ministry of Defense and the military itself may have been the distinguishing characteristic of the Imperial Navy in those early days of the Lohengramm Dynasty. Each recognized the other as fully capable, but they were separated by considerable psychological distance, and the visceral repulsion against von Oberstein in particular could not be dismissed—even if it had yet to reach a critical stage.
Senior Admiral Ernest Mecklinger, though not present for the meeting, would later write an extremely accurate account of the atmosphere among the participants.
Looking back on the first half of SE 800—year 2 of the New Imperial Calendar—the sheer scale of what was lost both in terms of human life and historical possibilities is overwhelming. On a personal level, the death of both Adalbert Fahrenheit and Karl Robert Steinmetz came as a great shock to me. Their bravery and ability as commanders were beyond reproach, and the solemn distinction they drew between loyalty and sycophancy also deserves to be remembered. Fahrenheit was taken prisoner after his valiant efforts could not prevent defeat in the Lippstadt War, but remained truly undaunted in spirit. When Steinmetz was made first captain of the warship Brünhild, he admonished Reinhard von Lohengramm, his superior, for attempting to usurp his authority as captain. Having lost these two men, the other officers could only voicelessly observe the desolation in their ranks…Incidentally, in addition to these two, other first-class admirals like Karl Gustav Kempf and Helmut Lennenkamp had also been slain by the same enemy: Yang Wen-li. When knowledge of his death reached the admirals of the Imperial Navy, their sorrow deepened still further. Though they themselves might have been slain by this enemy commander had he lived longer, they still raised their glasses in respect at his passing.
Neidhart Müller was surely the most representative example of this tendency, having served as Reinhard’s envoy to Yang’s funeral, but he had little to say after returning from Iserlohn. “His widow is a beautiful woman,” was all he would say to anyone except the kaiser, and he drank in silence as if at a loss for what to do with the feeling of absence spreading within him.
Von Eisenach had always had a reputation as a taciturn man who used his mouth for nothing but eating and drinking, although Lutz allowed that he probably kissed his wife too. He was not given to merrymaking by nature, but on this day he seemed in good enough cheer.
Just a day earlier, Lutz had turned to his aide Holzbauer with a hint of purple in his blue eyes and said, “Oh, by the way—I’m getting married next year.”
After 5.5 speechless seconds, Holzbauer finally managed to offer congratulations in the standard form.
“This year would be impossible,” Lutz said, eyes still twinkling. “Too much mourning to do. Incidentally, do you know who my bride-to-be is?”
How could I possibly know that? thought Holzbauer. “Could it be the nurse with black hair who attended to Your Excellency during your hospitalization?” he asked.
Lutz was astonished. “That’s right!” he said. “How did you know?”
Holzbauer was even more surprised. He had not expected to hit the mark. Lutz had saved his life, as well as his older brother’s, and the love and respect he felt for his superior officer made him wish that Lutz had pursued a romance of a slightly more poetic nature. Did it not suggest a certain lack of effort for a senior admiral in the Imperial Navy to marry his nurse? Learning that Lutz was more than just a steadfast military man did bring him a certain joy, but still…
In the salon at the Baldanders hotel, the conversation eventually turned to the matter of terrorism.
“The Black Fox of Phezzan! What do we have to fear from him? He has abandoned his power and authority and become a miserable fugitive. The Black Mole, more like!”
“What do we have to fear from him, you say? Conspiracy. Terrorism. We never gave any thought to terrorists and their ilk, but von Silberberg and even Yang Wen-li both proved vulnerable to their attacks.”
Senior Admiral August Samuel Wahlen grimaced bitterly at this. On the kaiser’s orders, he had led the attack on the Church of Terra’s headquarters the previous year. He had believed the organization to be obliterated then, and yet their squirming remnants had managed to murder Yang Wen-li. That the kaiser had not offered a single word of reproach only deepened the shame Wahlen felt. Silently, he resolved to take responsibility for eliminating the church for all eternity.
Heidrich Lang, chief of the Domestic Safety Security Bureau, had a formidable talent for exerting a negative influence on people and society. The loathing felt for him by Kaiser Reinhard’s senior staff officers might not have been inevitable, but it was certainly understandable. Mittermeier referred to Lang as “a smear of filth on the sole of von Oberstein’s shoe,” and even warmhearted Müller had once described him as “an unlikable nobody with visible treachery behind his baby face.” Oskar von Reuentahl eschewed words entirely: his only comment on the man was a cold sneer.
Lang’s presence was tolerated as an unfortunate necessity. Any political system needed departments and people to do the kind of shadowy, unpleasant work he did. Even the Free Planets Alliance, for a time, had had a Bureau for the Protection of the Charter to put down anti-republican sentiment.
For his part, Lang was careful to do no injury to the common people, directing his surveillance and suppression at just three targets: nobles and bureaucrats of the former dynasty, republican extremists, and alliance spies. His survival in the Lohengramm Dynasty required considerable effort and staunch endurance of the cold treatment he received.
And yet, shortly after the kaiser arrived on Phezzan, the bureau achieved something that made even its critics sit up and take notice.
They captured the criminals behind the bombing that had killed von Silberberg and injured von Oberstein, Lutz, and Phezzan’s acting secretary-general Nicolas Boltec. And Lang’s role in the operation, as bureau chief, had been far from peripheral.
Osmayer, then secretary of the interior, despised Lang, even though the bureau chief should have been a capable subordinate. Not only did Lang position himself as an ally of von Oberstein, dismissing his actual superior—his designs on Osmayer’s position were obvious if always deniable. As a result, Osmayer’s first instinct was to ignore Lang’s success, but rewarding good conduct and punishing wrongdoing were the foundation on which the Lohengramm Dynasty stood. If Osmayer did not recognize Lang for what he had done, he would run the risk of displeasing the kaiser.
With great reluctance, Osmayer reported the matter to the minister of domestic affairs, Count von Mariendorf. The news reached the kaiser’s ears, and it was decided that Lang would be suitably rewarded.
Thus was Lang appointed to the post of junior minister of the interior, while retaining his position as chief of the Domestic Safety Security Bureau as well. He was also given a reward of one hundred thousand reichsmark, but he donated the entire sum to the Phezzanese Bureau of Welfare. This good deed was regarded with almost universal disgust as the rankest hypocrisy, but it was revealed after Lang’s death that he had anonymously donated part of his salary to scholarship funds and welfare facilities since his ti
me as a low-ranking bureaucrat. Hypocritical or not, his philanthropy had saved many. Utterly friendless, making no constructive contribution to the progress of history, Lang nevertheless led a life that provoked many in later ages to consider the way such different qualities could coexist within the same petty character.
The first message from the woman who claimed to be Dominique Saint-Pierre arrived at the Domestic Safety Security Bureau while Imperial Military Command Headquarters was still reeling from the sudden death of Yang Wen-li.
Lang kept a list at the back of his mind of the criminals he had already arrested and tried as well as those yet to face that treatment, and Saint-Pierre’s name was on that list next to Adrian Rubinsky’s, if in slightly smaller lettering. Saint-Pierre had been the lover of the so-called Black Fox, last landesherr of Phezzan and now a fugitive, and had acted as his accomplice in countless conspiracies. He should have had her found and brought into custody immediately, but after he read the letter, Lang instead incinerated it, flushed the ashes, and left the bureau by himself.
Thus began an unlovely arrangement between Rubinsky and Lang. Information about the terrorists behind the bombing was one of its fruits.
On July 9, the two of them spoke in Rubinsky’s safe house.
“Welcome, Your Excellency,” said Rubinsky.
The honorific tickled a part of Lang’s pride pleasantly, but it did not satisfy his entire consciousness. This was not because Lang was above such things as titles and honors; rather, he believed that any expression of goodwill or welcome must conceal some kind of calculation or malice.
“Let us put aside those queasy formalities,” he said pompously. “On what business have you called this loyal retainer to the Lohengramm Dynasty to speak with you today?”
If you were truly loyal, you would hardly establish clandestine arrangements with fugitives, thought Rubinsky, but he did not put the observation into words. He was not done with this villain yet. Rubinsky could be as obsequious in word and deed as necessary, as long as it was feigned. With the smile of a man-eating tiger, he urged a glass of the finest whiskey on his guest and explained that, although he was not requesting immediate action, it was his hope that Lang’s influence as undersecretary might be able to repair his relations with the court.
Lang laughed right in his face. “Do not forget where you stand,” he said. “If I were to say one word to the kaiser, he would soon relieve your shoulders of the heavy burden of your head. Do you think yourself in any position to make demands of me as an equal?”
Rubinsky did not bat an eyelash at the threat. “You wound me with your words, sir—my apologies, Your Excellency the Junior Minister. I was robbed of my authority on Phezzan for no crime at all. Why, you might even call me a victim!” His expression was not quite as chagrined as his tone of voice.
“And so you bear a grudge against the kaiser? You are a mouse defying a lion. Your presumption is simply outrageous.”
“A grudge? Absolutely not! Kaiser Reinhard is a hero unequaled in history. He had only to ask, and I would have gladly surrendered my authority on Phezzan to him at any time. Instead, he followed where his conquering spirit led, ignoring such pebbles as myself that lay on the road. I find this a regrettable outcome—this is all I mean to say.”
“Of course he ignored you. The kaiser has no need for goodwill from the likes of you. He holds the entire galaxy in the palm of his hand.”
Rubinsky noticed that Lang often seemed to confuse the kaiser’s authority with his own power. This tendency was absent in von Oberstein. Though both men were shunned by the Imperial Navy’s admiralty, there was an enormous difference in psychological tenor between them.
“I am mortified by Your Excellency’s observation,” Rubinsky said. “However, I am sure that my sincerity has revealed itself to you at least to some degree. Were not the men I delivered to you truly the perpetrators of the bombing that took Secretary von Silberberg’s life?”
“They came to my attention long ago. I simply lacked evidence. Unlike the dark ages of the former dynasty, in the reign of Kaiser Reinhard, no one can be convicted without proof.”
Impressive, thought Rubinsky. This man known as a master fabricator of evidence had attempted brazen self-justification and naked sycophancy toward authority at the same time. Rubinsky offered a slanted smile thinner than paper, then casually let a small soligraph fall onto the rosewood table. Through the alcoholic haze, Lang’s gaze fell to the object, then fixed itself on it. When he put down his glass, it was with a loud noise and a slosh of whiskey.
“Ah—does Your Excellency know this woman?” asked Rubinsky innocently.
Lang stared poisoned needles at him, but Rubinsky’s deference was, it seemed, merely superficial. The face in the soligraph belonged to Elfriede von Kohlrausch—the former noble who had given birth to von Reuentahl’s child just days prior.
“As far as I can tell, this woman is suffering from a tragic psychological imbalance,” said Rubinsky. “A pity, especially in one so beautiful.”
Lang was silent for a moment. “How do you know that?” he asked finally.
“First, she is convinced that she has a familial relationship with Duke Lichtenlade—a key retainer of the Goldenbaum Dynasty, and the author of an attempt on His Majesty Kaiser Reinhard’s life! Surely none of his kin would dare to visit Phezzan.”
“That is all?”
Lang appeared to believe that an arrogant demeanor would help him retain the upper hand. Rubinsky ignored his feeble attempt at bluffing.
“One more thing. The woman has a newborn babe—and she claims that he is the son of Marshal Oskar von Reuentahl, chief retainer to the current dynasty, and its most beloved admiral to boot.”
Displeasure and hatred exploded soundlessly within Lang, sending odorless poison flying to every corner of the room. Rubinsky was liberally spattered, and considerable interest stirred beneath his blank expression as he regarded the rumbling of the active volcano now wearing Lang’s skin. Naturally, Rubinsky knew more than he had let on. He knew that Lang had plotted to use charges against Elfriede to bring down von Reuentahl for high treason—and that he had failed. Lang had learned the hard way how deep the kaiser’s faith was in von Reuentahl, a famed admiral undefeated in battle and a faithful retainer since the founding of the new dynasty. This had not failed to feed Lang’s resentment.
“All right. There is no more profit in these coy insinuations,” said Lang, a dark counterpoint of calculation and compromise in his voice. “You mean that you can see to it that von Reuentahl commits the crime of high treason. Are you quite sure you can destroy the man?”
Rubinsky nodded primly. “As you so ably discern, should Your Excellency so desire, I will exert every effort and see that those desires are met.”
By now Lang had lost all capacity to feign arrogance.
“If you can do that,” he said, “I can promise my assistance reconciling you to the kaiser. But—and listen carefully—only after you succeed. I am not fool enough to trust in the empty promises of a Phezzanese without proof.”
“Quite correct, Your Excellency. No wonder they call you von Oberstein’s right-hand man. For my part, I have no intention of seeking your trust with trickery. Allow me to make one additional proposal…”
Wiping off the whiskey that had spilled on his hand, Lang leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were those of a feverish invalid.
II
Before long, something happened that plunged the entire planet of Phezzan into astonishment: Nicolas Boltec, acting secretary-general, was taken into custody.
According to the announcement from Lang of the Ministry of the Interior, Boltec had been complicit in the bombing that had taken the life of former minister Bruno von Silberberg. His own injuries from that incident had been intentional—a way of averting suspicion. Boltec had harbored a smoldering resentment of von Silberberg because the latter had e
ssentially usurped his position as chief administrator of the planet. This was the claim in the announcement from the ministry, and in due course Boltec ended the episode by committing suicide by poison in prison.
Naturally, Senior Admiral Kornelias Lutz was among those stunned by the development. “If getting injured in that bombing was cause for suspicion, I suppose Marshal von Oberstein and I are also suspects,” he joked, but then, for a moment, his face froze. He was not among the conspirators, of course, but he had no way of proving that. What was to stop Lang arranging for his arrest as well?
The whole thing was suspicious. Lutz wondered if Lang had not simply fabricated evidence in order to arrest and then murder an innocent man. But there was no way to prove it, and Lutz did not see how it benefited Lang to bring down Boltec in any case. Of course, he had no way of knowing about the nefarious arrangement between Lang and Rubinsky.
Even so, unease and even fear made him unable to ignore the incident. If even a leading military figure and valued servant of the empire like Lutz was defenseless before Lang, what hope did anyone else have?
“If this goes on, our entire empire could be undermined by a single wicked official. Call it an overreaction, but I say poisonous weeds should be removed as soon as they send up shoots.”
But Lutz had earned his fame on the battlefield, and was not comfortable with intrigues or information warfare. He decided to inform one of his most trusted and capable fellow senior admirals about the danger of Lang instead.
And so, in the early weeks of July, Senior Admiral Ulrich Kessler, commander of capital defenses and commissioner of military police, received an urgent warning from his fellow senior admiral. Through the lens of political history, this could be viewed as the military fighting back against an attempt by the domestic security bureaucracy to expand its authority. But this did not, of course, occur to Lutz himself.
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