Stratagem

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  Count von Remscheid proceeded to list off the cabinet ministers of his so-called legitimate government. Secretary of state was to be von Remscheid’s own post, and among the other ministers were names of exiled nobles, but when Senior Admiral Merkatz was named as secretary of defense, all eyes couldn’t help but widen at the exiled guest admiral. None, however, was as surprised as the target of their attention.

  “Your Excellency Merkatz, this is…” muttered Merkatz’s aide, von Schneider, who looked around the room in shock, apologizing on behalf of his reticent boss.

  “Please, don’t misunderstand. This is absolutely the first either His Excellency or I have heard of this. I, for one, would very much like to know why Count von Remscheid has named His Excellency.”

  “I know why. No one believes that Admiral Merkatz has sold himself out.”

  Yang’s attempts at pacifying von Schneider kept in check any remarks from his subordinates, who were eyeing Merkatz with suspicion.

  Count von Remscheid was unlikely to have asked for Merkatz’s consent, convinced as he was that offering the position was enough to seal the deal, thereby precluding the need for negotiations.

  “I’m guessing Count von Remscheid would have offered the seat of defense secretary to Admiral Merkatz anyway. I can’t imagine a more suitable candidate.”

  “Agreed.”

  Yang felt relieved by the good timing of von Schönkopf’s interjection. He was nothing if not punctual. Count von Remscheid’s list of cabinet ministers had been completed with input from the alliance government, which meant that Merkatz would soon be leaving Iserlohn to organize the legitimate government’s army. Yang felt a great advisor being torn from his grasp.

  Lieutenant Commander Olivier Poplin was among the many stoked into rage by the chairman’s address.

  “Here we are, knights of justice, saving that vagrant child-emperor and fighting a usurper who is nothing short of evil incarnate. This is insane! Are we characters in some TV drama?”

  Poplin attempted a laugh but failed and threw his black beret to the floor in disgust. His comrade, Ivan Konev, picked up the beret in silence and handed it back. The young ace pilot refused it and continued with his tirade.

  “Isn’t it enough that we must shed our blood just to protect the Goldenbaum family in the first place?! Haven’t we been fighting for over a century, since the time of our great-grandfathers, to overthrow the Goldenbaum family and restore freedom and democracy to the galaxy?”

  “But if this should lead to peace, a policy shift is inevitable.”

  “If it leads peace. But even if peace comes between us and the Goldenbaums, what of Duke von Lohengramm? He’ll ever be satisfied. What’s to stop him from going mad and taking it out on us?”

  “All I’m saying is we cannot turn away the emperor. He’s only a seven-year-old child. Humanitarianism compels us to aid him.”

  “You speak of humanitarianism? Are you saying the members of the Goldenbaum family have any right to ask for humanitarian treatment? Maybe you should crack open your history textbooks again to remind yourself of the billions Rudolf and his descendants have killed.”

  “That blood is on his forefathers’ hands. It’s not his cross to bear.”

  “Aren’t you just the sound rationalist? You manage to find fault with everything I say, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Don’t get so defensive! I was being sarcastic!”

  Seeing no reason to go on, Poplin snatched the offered beret and stormed out. Ivan Konev shrugged and smiled askew as he watched him go.

  III

  “In other words, the Galactic Empire and Goldenbaum family no longer stand as one body.”

  Yang let out a sigh, his jaw moist with the steam wafting from his brandy tea. Every other staff officer had a coffee in front of him—not that they had any time to enjoy its aroma. Julian stood next to the wall behind Yang, obediently serving his tea.

  “No mere child of seven years defects of his own free will. Call it ‘rescue’ or ‘escape,’ but as his self-professed loyal subjects, we should see it as nothing less than abduction,” offered Caselnes.

  A few voiced their agreement.

  “Be that as it may, I’m more concerned about Duke von Lohengramm’s next move. What if he comes demanding the emperor’s release?”

  As Rear Admiral Murai knit his eyebrows, Commodore Patrichev tactlessly shrugged his broad shoulders.

  “You heard the chairman’s fluent speech. After talking such a big game, there’s no way he’d give him up that easily.”

  Walter von Schönkopf, in his refined manner, returned his coffee cup to its saucer and interlaced his fingers.

  “Well, if we were going to play nice, we’d have done better to join forces a century ago. Our opponents have lost their effective authority and run away, and now they want us to be friends. This whole thing reeks of absurdity, if you ask me.”

  “Joining forces with the lesser of two evils bodes well and good for the Machiavellians among us. But even assuming the timing was right, they’d need real power. In this case, we have neither.”

  Yang gave his back a good stretch and settled his full weight into his chair. If the alliance was truly of a Machiavellian spirit, the time to take advantage of the dispute between the pro- and anti-Lohengramm factions would have been during last year’s Lippstadt War. Had the alliance intervened then, they might have reaped sufficient benefits while the imperials fought among themselves.

  Having anticipated that very possibility with his enviable astuteness, Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm had brought about a coup d’état. In so splintering the alliance, he prevented their armies from taking part in the empire’s civil war. Now that Duke von Lohengramm’s authority was secure, there was practically no chance of his opponents recovering lost territories. Von Schönkopf had hit the mark.

  Had Yang expected Machiavellianism within the alliance government, he would have handed the emperor over to Duke von Lohengramm in acknowledgment of his hegemony over the empire and made him promise a peaceful coexistence from thereon out. And while this act would appear inhumane, from where Yang sat, Duke von Lohengramm didn’t have it in him to kill the child emperor with his own hands. The elegant young dictator wasn’t foolish enough to indulge in thoughtless cruelty. In his shoes, Yang would have thought up a more effective use for the child emperor the moment he was born. Perhaps the alliance government had played its joker expressly for Duke von Lohengramm’s sake.

  Duke von Lohengramm lost nothing by the emperor’s defection. On the contrary, focusing his attention on the emperor’s “recapture” or “rescue” gave him ample justification to take military action against the alliance. Amplifying the people’s animosity toward the emperor was also an effective barometer to measure national unity. If anything, Duke von Lohengramm had much to gain from the emperor’s defection to the alliance.

  Yang was terrified by where his thoughts on this were going. Since he thought highly of Reinhard’s genius, he didn’t believe the young dictator could be so easily taken by remnants of the old regime. When Yang voiced his thoughts on the matter, those present fell into silence, until von Schönkopf broke it.

  “You mean to say Duke von Lohengramm intentionally let the emperor get away?”

  “It’s certainly a possibility,” said Yang gravely.

  He poured brandy into his empty teacup, ignoring Julian’s critical eye. Caselnes took the bottle once it was returned to the table and poured some of its contents into his own cup, and from there it went to Murai by way of von Schönkopf, and so on. As he watched the bottle make its way around, Yang felt somewhat anxious, but Julian’s look reined in his thoughts back to Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm.

  Assuming Duke von Lohengramm’s strategy was as elaborate as he’d made it out to be, a magnificent puzzle was about to be completed. But was this th
e work of Duke von Lohengramm alone? The alliance and the empire’s old regime were both being made to dance. And were they not in agreement with the one making them?

  Most terrifying of all was the prospect of Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm joining forces with Phezzan. Would they be joining their military and economic powers, talents, and ambitions out of common interest? Phezzan would never have extended a hand to Reinhard without something to gain. That much was certain. Still, what benefit would rush them into such an agreement? Was it the monopoly of economic interests promised by a unified empire? It was an answer he could agree to, as could Duke von Lohengramm. But was it the real one? Could it not be a trap to force Duke von Lohengramm to agree, and consequently to neglect? Or maybe Phezzan wanted something even bigger, its worship of money nothing more than camouflage to conceal ulterior motives.

  All this thinking was beginning to make Yang’s head hurt. He tuned in to Caselnes and von Schönkopf’s conversation.

  “You could say a ‘white knight syndrome’ of sorts is spreading in the capital: ‘Let’s fight for justice to protect the young emperor from the hands of the tyrannical and vicious usurper.’ ”

  “They restore the Goldenbaum family’s tyrannical power and call it justice? As Admiral Bucock said, we need a new dictionary. Would anyone here disagree?”

  “Not that there aren’t more conservative theories, but just speaking up about this might be enough to brand you as inhumane. Practically everyone is beside themselves, and over a seven-year-old child, no less.”

  Caselnes stared disagreeably into his coffee cup, empty yet again. He bent forward to reach longingly for the brandy bottle.

  “If it were a pretty girl of, say, seventeen or eighteen years, you can be sure everyone would be all over this. People can’t get enough of princes and princesses.”

  “That’s because, in fairy tales, princes and princesses have always been righteous, while nobles have a reputation for wickedness. We cannot judge matters of politics on the level of fairy tales.”

  As their conversation wandered the labyrinth of his ear canal, Yang cultivated the field of his intelligence for the first time in a long while, hard as it was to yank out the weeds.

  Let’s sow some politics and diplomacy for now. In military matters alone, the alliance is courting no small risk. No doubt Duke von Lohengramm means to charge us with the crime of abducting the emperor. He might even inspire those common-born soldiers to action by making them believe the Goldenbaum family and the emperor are their enemies. They call themselves republicans, even as they overthrow the Free Planets Alliance, which schemes to shelter the emperor and restore social inequality under an autocratic government. But reality paints a different picture, as accomplices of the Goldenbaum Dynasty overthrow the alliance to protect your rights and privileges. The prospect of such sedition abounds in persuasiveness.

  Belief that remnants of the old regime had “rescued” the emperor would result in delusions of chivalrous romanticism and political ambition, but in truth these were empty signifiers.

  Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm stood to gain the most from this turn of events. He’d once needed the emperor’s power behind him, but now that he’d destroyed the alliance of the high nobles and purged his rival, Duke Lichtenlade, at court, dictatorial power over the empire was firmly in his grasp. A mere seven-year-old child sovereign was the one eroded obstacle that stood between him and the throne. With full authority and military force at his disposal, he would hardly have needed to lift a pinkie to remove that obstacle from his path. But Duke von Lohengramm had standards. If he was going to dethrone the child emperor and receive his imperial crown, he needed just cause to withstand the scrutiny of history. If, for example, Erwin Josef II were a subversive tyrant who killed his own people, Reinhard would be more than justified in dethroning him. However, a seven-year-old child emperor, unlike several emperors before him, was unlikely to snatch away the wives of his retainers for his own pleasure, have his own demilitarized people killed in the name of maintaining order, or murder the successors of rival families as infants.

  IV

  Among the Goldenbaum Dynasty’s succession of emperors, the most treasonous had been August II. Otherwise known as “August the Bloodletter,” he had taken the throne in SE 556, IC 247.

  By the time he was crowned at the age of twenty-seven, it was said he’d already known many of life’s pleasures. Excessive drinking, fornication, and indulgence in fine foods had stricken him with gout, leading to a daily opium habit. His body deteriorated until it was 99 percent fat and fluids. His feeble bones and muscles could no longer support his massive weight, confining him to the down cushion of his electric wheelchair, on which he would transport his bulk of melting lard. Although his father, Emperor Richard III, was ashamed by the mere sight of him, August was still his eldest child and showed intellectual promise, and so the emperor couldn’t bring himself to strip him of the crown. In addition, August’s three younger brothers were no better in their disposition or behavior. His inauguration was met with indifference, and the greatest tyrant in the history of the Galactic Empire’s court and government was only casually welcomed to the throne.

  August reveled in the limitless authority now handed to him like a plaything. His first decree as emperor forced his late father’s favorite mistresses to transfer to his own harem. It was customary for a late emperor’s concubines to be given money and to be released from their bondage, while the new emperor selected new women for himself. August’s brazenness shocked his ministers and angered his mother, the Empress Dowager Irene. The young emperor cocked a half smile in response to her condemnation of his insolence.

  “Mother, I’m only trying to dispel the regret you felt over Father being stolen from you by those whores.”

  Grabbing his mother’s hand, he dragged her into the inner palace, his eyes gleaming sadistically. Sometime later, her ladies-in-waiting heard a woman’s piercing scream. Before its echo had died, the empress dowager came staggering out of the inner room, collapsed to the floor, and began heaving the contents of her stomach. The metallic smell of blood assaulted the nostrils of her ladies-in-waiting as they rushed to her aid.

  The empress dowager had seen the corpses of hundreds of concubines in the inner palace. What’s more, it was said they’d all been skinned. The deterioration of August’s mind had been winning the race against his body, and the one remaining vestige of his reason had narrowed to a single thin line of sanity. But even that had vanished the moment he’d gained unlimited power, as the new emperor’s mental kingdom welcomed darkness onto its throne.

  From that day forth, with every wave of his fat fingers, this blob of lard clad in extravagant silk reduced the population of the capital city of Odin. His three younger brothers were all killed as conspirators to usurp the throne. Their bodies were cut into pieces with laser knives and thrown into a pit of hornheads. As the one responsible for birthing them into this world, the empress dowager was forced to commit suicide. Just one week after the new emperor’s enthronement, not a single cabinet minister was left alive. Commodore Schaumburg of the imperial guard sought out so-called rebels and their extended families, including infants, based on nothing more than the emperor’s “intuition.” Sentencing and repossession of assets were carried out in the name of “fairness,” regardless of status.

  True to form, when executing criminals, he made sure to use extravagant, inimitable methods, and countless men and women provided him with no shortage of training materials for his innovations.

  Reports among the extant official imperial records pertaining to August II weren’t always accurate. On the one hand, there was ample reason to cover up any stain on the Goldenbaum tunic, while on the other it was necessary to record this tyrant’s evil deeds by way of extolling those emperors who succeeded him. Because of this, the number of people to die under August II’s reign was estimated to be at most twenty million, and at least six mi
llion. But even the smaller figure was rarely mentioned. Like Rudolf the Great and Sigismund I before him, he wielded power as a toy, killing without reason despite his self-righteousness. Rumors of the emperor eating human flesh and drinking wine mixed with blood were clearly exaggerated. It was, however, a fact that he used a technique known to this day as “August’s needle” to kill many an unfortunate victim. Said method involved inserting thin needles made of diamond into prisoners’ eyes, piercing the skull and damaging the brain, causing death by insanity.

  For six agonizing years, the Galactic Empire groaned under the weight of his tyranny. Ironically enough, it was a time when nobles and commoners trembled in fear alike, their mutual antipathy as good as forgotten. Over time, this fear turned them into cornered rats.

  It took Marquis Erich von Rinderhof, August’s cousin and son of former Emperor Richard III’s younger brother, Archduke Andreas, to break the cycle. Seeing that the emperor’s sense and reason had jumped off a cliff into a sea of madness, and sensing imminent danger, he absconded with his life from the capital city of Odin and fled to neutral territory. In the end, August killed nearly every member of his family in the capital and, not forgetting his cousin’s clever escape, demanded his surrender. Erich refused the guillotine, and with the support of a neighboring imperial military garrison, he flew the banner of revolt. Erich was prepared to die for his freedom and had hidden a poison capsule in his body. In the event he was captured by the emperor, he could take his own life before his cousin could torture him to death.

  Despite being prepared for defeat, three young admirals pledged him their allegiance. They had already deserted the tyrant, and one had lost a wife and child to the emperor’s despotism. They clashed with a punitive force sent by the emperor in the Trouerbach Stellar Region but easily overwhelmed their passionless enemies. For every dead soldier, twenty chose to surrender and live, and the surviving army was resigned to follow suit.