“Frederica lived with her chosen man for one year, and my mother for just three days,” she said. She seemed uninterested in discussing her mother’s “chosen man,” and so the topic tended the other way. “I once asked Frederica an impolite question. ‘What do you see in Marshal Yang?’ I said. But you should have seen how proud she looked when I did! This is what she told me: ‘Why don’t you look at the man right in front of your eyes who’s trying his best to do his duty, and tell me what you see?’ ”
As she spoke, Karin studied Julian like an appraiser scrutinizing a potential forgery.
Julian’s shoulders sagged. “If I could avoid doing my duty, I would!” he said. “But I can’t ask anyone else to do it for me.”
Perhaps calling himself “immature” was giving himself far too much credit. Perhaps his abilities had already ripened, and these were their limits.
“I understand you think you’re not ready for your responsibilities yet,” said Karin. “Maybe you’re right. But there’s nothing shameful in that. I’ve made immaturity one of my strengths, and I’ve been doing quite well.”
Karin’s hair, the color of weakly brewed tea, swayed slightly. Her indigo eyes shone as if cut from a rainbow. She really is von Schönkopf’s daughter, thought Julian. He found the realization oddly moving, but did not give it voice. Could he trust the feelings of affinity she was revealing to last forever? But, no, “affinity” wasn’t even the right word. “Compromise,” perhaps, or simply “caprice.”
“Frederica’s inspiring,” said Karin. “But maybe that’s what makes men want to take advantage of her. I don’t mean Marshal Yang, of course—but irresponsible men who exploit women who show any generosity are disgusting!”
It was clear that this accusation was not directed at Julian, but he couldn’t help cringing on behalf of its actual target. Of course, that target himself would probably brush it aside with a scornful laugh: Get a dozen or so men under your thumb before you start to complain about them.
Behind Karin and Julian was a large and decorative potted plant, and beyond that was a table at which two men sat, their coffee cups long since empty, with nothing better to do than listen to the fragments of conversation brought their way by the breeze from the ventilation system.
“Well, it looks like before father and daughter could be reconciled, those two managed to mend their half-baked relationship,” said Olivier Poplin, with a smile that wasn’t even entirely cynical. “Imagine just sitting around and still having beautiful women come your way. Julian has Yang’s luck there.”
“Women? I only see one.”
“You mustn’t let your envy show, Admiral Attenborough. That’s one more than none. There’s no ‘one point whatever’ when it comes to women.”
“Who’s envious? Not everyone in the world shares your warped values.”
“Yes, I understand that some men save all their foppery and whim for the revolution.”
The two master troublemakers exchanged smiles like young carnivores and then, without any signal passing between them, turned their gazes back to where Julian and Karin had been—but were no longer.
“In any case, it’s good to see our younger contingent show some psychological development instead of just locking horns all the time,” proclaimed Attenborough gravely, though hardly a senior statesman himself.
“Indeed,” said Poplin, matching his friend’s pomposity. “One’s youth can hardly be spent on revolution alone.”
And so, riding the twin rails of solemnity and humor, the Iserlohn Express continued its daily advance.
“We must decide on our name,” said Frederica at one of the meetings of the leadership. “If we declare ourselves an independent republican state, we will be abandoning all hope of compromising and repairing our relations with the empire. It would also muddy the relationship between state, government, and military. Is there something more suitable for a small organization like ourselves?”
Even von Schönkopf, Attenborough, and Poplin, the standard-bearers for frivolity, began thinking deeply on Frederica’s question. This, perhaps, was the main reason she had been made their leader.
Finally Poplin’s green eyes twinkled. “ ‘Iserlohn Commune,’ ” he said. “Not bad, eh? It almost rhymes.”
“Vetoed!” said Attenborough at once.
“Vetoed? But why? Surely you can’t expect to judge my ideas with your awful taste.”
“In the entire history of revolutions, no organization calling itself a commune has succeeded. I don’t want to turn Iserlohn into democracy’s grave.”
In the face of Attenborough’s surprisingly serious objection, Poplin seemed to decide not to argue the point.
The silence returned, but before long it was broken by the gruff voice of Captain Kasper Rinz.
“There’s no point in a flashy, attention-grabbing name,” he said. “Marshal Yang didn’t care for such things either. We aren’t naming something that’ll last forever, so why not just use ‘Iserlohn Republic’?”
Not so much by popular acclamation as through lack of objections, this carefully unprovocative and artless name was accepted. How brightly and bewitchingly it would shine forth from the pages of history was yet to be decided.
However, from that moment on, to make it easier to distinguish them from the Revolutionary Government of El Facil, their organization became known as the “New Government in August,” or just “August Government.”
Frederica stayed on as leader, but a bureaucracy was needed to support her. Echoing the early organization of the Free Planets Alliance, three additional conferences in all were held to decide on its structure.
In the end, they decided on a secretariat plus six other bureaus: foreign relations and intelligence, defense, finance and economy, works, law, and internal affairs. Any more than this, everyone agreed, would only complicate things unnecessarily.
The Bureau of Works was in name and mission based on the imperial Ministry of Works, but there was no shame in borrowing what had been proved effective. All nonmilitary hardware and energy sources within the base were placed under its control.
All the newly created bureaus would obviously need leaders. Caselnes’s experience in military administration and supply made him the obvious choice for head of the Bureau of Defense, but the other bureaus were left leaderless for now. Still, Julian was far from pessimistic.
When Ahle Heinessen, founding father of the alliance, had embarked on his Long March, he had not been accompanied by a single noble, wealthy man, or person of social distinction. His companions had been the nameless masses, whose resistance to authoritarianism had brought them nothing but abuse and oppression. Together, they suffered through a journey lasting half a century, and together they accomplished the momentous task of founding a nation. Frederica and Julian were not unique in their position. No one began their journey as a person of renown and dazzling achievement.
“We shall put statues of Ahle Heinessen and Yang Wen-li side by side at the General Meeting Hall, the Central Committee, the Chairperson’s Office, and the Revolutionary Reserve Force Headquarters—those four places only, and forbidden at all other public locations. We don’t want to slip into hero worship…”
Frederica’s explanation reminded Julian of Yang’s stiff expression at their wedding, bringing a smile to Julian’s lips. “Marshal Yang would have been embarrassed to stand beside the father of the alliance. He’d say he didn’t deserve it.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’d rather just lie around napping in Valhalla or wherever he’s gone, but I’m afraid we’re going to need him with us at least until the fate of his creations is decided,” said Frederica.
Before long it was August 8, 800 SE, year 2 of the New Imperial Calendar. It was the sixty-ninth day since Yang’s death. This was the day they had chosen for the formal founding of the Iserlohn Republic.
After paying her respects to Yan
g’s remains in their ceramic case, Frederica Greenhill Yang was accompanied by Julian to the ceremonial venue.
You will watch, won’t you? Frederica silently asked the man who had left her alone, who had changed her life not once but twice, as she approached the podium. The venue was a vast, open floor of the base filled with thousands upon thousands of spectators, their eyes and fervor all focused intently on Frederica. Amplified by the microphone, her voice declared to all of humanity that, in one corner of the galaxy, democracy was still putting forth green shoots, however tiny.
“I, Frederica Greenhill Yang, in accordance with the will of all those who support democratic republican governance, hereby declare the founding of the Iserlohn Republic. Our struggle to realize the freedom, equality, and democratic ideals that began with Ahle Heinessen will continue…”
Her voice was neither strong nor loud. In reality, Frederica’s audience was just one person. She knew that she was only here because another could not be.
“I offer my gratitude to everyone determined to nurture the shoots of democracy even in these unfavorable and unfortunate circumstances. Thank you. When this is all over, I hope to be able to thank you again…”
As her voice trailed off, for a moment the hall was filled with tens of thousands of individual silences. But soon, led by Julian, Attenborough, and Poplin, these dissolved into cries of acclamation.
“Long live the Iserlohn Republic!”
“Damn Kaiser Reinhard!”
The air filled with cheers and thrown berets, and countless fists were thrust high.
And so the Iserlohn Republic was born. Its population was just 940,000 to the empire’s forty billion, making it a mere 1/42,500 of humanity, but it kept the standard of democracy high.
The Galactic Empire and the Lohengramm Dynasty had yet to complete their program of galactic unification. Whether the unexpected death of Yang Wen-li would serve to hasten or retard their efforts, no being alive could say.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Yoshiki Tanaka was born in 1952 in Kumamoto Prefecture and completed a doctorate in literature at Gakushuin University. Tanaka won the Gen’eijo (a mystery magazine) New Writer Award with his debut story “Midori no Sogen ni…” (On the green field…) in 1978, then started his career as a science fiction and fantasy writer. Legend of the Galactic Heroes, which translates the European wars of the nineteenth century to an interstellar setting, won the Seiun Award for best science fiction novel in 1987. Tanaka’s other works include the fantasy series The Heroic Legend of Arslan and many other science fiction, fantasy, historical, and mystery novels and stories.
HAIKASORU
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USURPER OF THE SUN—HOUSUKE NOJIRI
Aki Shiraishi is a high school student working in the astronomy club and one of the few witnesses to an amazing event—someone is building a tower on the planet Mercury. Soon, the Builders have constructed a ring around the sun, threatening the ecology of Earth with an immense shadow. Aki is inspired to pursue a career in science, and the truth. She must determine the purpose of the ring and the plans of its creators, as the survival of both species—humanity and the alien Builders—hangs in the balance.
THE OUROBOROS WAVE—JYOUJI HAYASHI
Ninety years from now, a satellite detects a nearby black hole scientists dub Kali for the Hindu goddess of destruction. Humanity embarks on a generations-long project to tap the energy of the black hole and establish colonies on planets across the solar system. Earth and Mars and the moons Europa (Jupiter) and Titania (Uranus) develop radically different societies, with only Kali, that swirling vortex of destruction and creation, and the hated but crucial Artificial Accretion Disk Development association (AADD) in common.
TEN BILLION DAYS AND ONE HUNDRED BILLION NIGHTS—RYU MITSUSE
Ten billion days—that is how long it will take the philosopher Plato to determine the true systems of the world. One hundred billion nights—that is how far into the future Jesus of Nazareth, Siddhartha, and the demigod Asura will travel to witness the end of all worlds. Named the greatest Japanese science fiction novel of all time, Ten Billion Days and One Hundred Billion Nights is an epic eons in the making. Originally published in 1967, the novel was revised by the author in later years and republished in 1973.
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