Stratagem

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  “Yes, it’s the beginning of the end, fräulein.”

  As she studied Reinhard, the image of her cousin Baron Heinrich von Kümmel immediately came to mind. The eighteen-year-old noble suffered from a disease known as congenital dysbolism and was, like Reinhard, incapable of getting his designs for the universe off the ground. On the contrary, he could barely support his own life by himself. Before her departure, Hilda had promised herself to pay Heinrich a visit. She followed Reinhard’s line of sight again, looking up at the night sky.

  Far beyond where their eyes could see, an ocean of soon-to-be-conquered stars spread out limitlessly before them.

  I

  The fleet of Senior Admiral Wolfgang Mittermeier left the capital of Odin, presumably for the Iserlohn Corridor. Most of the officers and men were convinced of this, but as their march progressed, some began to have doubts. It was becoming clear to the navigations control officer that they were moving away from Iserlohn with every warp. And while at first it seemed they were hurling themselves aimlessly through space, gradually the letters in their heads formed a single name: Phezzan. It was the only place outside of Iserlohn that was beyond imperial territory. They couldn’t believe it.

  On December 13, their suspicions were confirmed when the full story of Operation Ragnarök, known until then only by the admirals, was announced to the troops. From the bridge of the flagship Beowulf, Senior Admiral Mittermeier made his announcement to the entire fleet via comm screen.

  “We are not going to the Iserlohn Corridor, but to the Phezzan Corridor.”

  When the two million soldiers listening to the Gale Wolf’s voice grasped his meaning, they stirred with feverish commotion. Mittermeier went on, as if to suppress this.

  “Our ultimate objective, of course, goes beyond the occupation of Phezzan. We will use Phezzan as our rear base, pass through their corridor, and overcome those rebels who presume to call themselves the Free Planets Alliance, thus putting a stop to a divisive conflict that has rocked humanity for centuries. That is why we have launched. We’re not here simply to command and conquer, but to turn a page in our collective history.”

  He took a breath, then continued.

  “Of course, it’s not going to be easy. Alliance territory is vast. They have many troops stationed at the ready and an outstanding commander to lead them. But taking control of the Phezzan Corridor puts us in an overwhelmingly advantageous position. I have great faith in your courage.”

  And so, the Mittermeier fleet set a course for Phezzan, riding the wave of its own exhilaration.

  Phezzan’s dedicated mineral freighter, Easy Money, was, for the first time in six years, fully loaded with precious cargo and heading for home. The crew, fourteen strong, entrusted its operation to a navigational computer, and as they amused themselves playing cards and chess, from their mouths wafted the odors of alcohol and dreams. Among them was a man, paycheck in hand, who planned on marrying his lover after they returned. Their idleness and calm, however, were shattered by a startling sight on the operator’s main screen: clusters of man-made points of light that seemed to go on forever.

  The crewmen looked at each other, but on no face was written a satisfactory answer. Three minutes later, the operator made an announcement to his comrades.

  “An imperial fleet! Ten thousand, no, twenty thousand ships. But why would an imperial fleet be all the way out here? This is supposed to be a demilitarized space zone.”

  The crew erupted in a chorus of agitated voices. The normally reticent astrogator was the first to propose an explanation.

  “The enemy means to invade the Phezzan Corridor. We all thought they were going to Iserlohn, but it looks like we’ve been had.”

  He almost sounded like someone telling a bad joke, but beneath the thin crust of his anger bubbled a magma of uneasiness and fear.

  “So they intend to occupy Phezzan by military force?” someone asked, hoping for a no that would never come.

  “What else could it be?”

  “How can you be so calm?! This is an emergency. We must alert Phezzan right away.”

  But by then, more than ten destroyers and high-speed patrol ships were steering their bows toward Easy Money. They sent out orders to stop their ships as they approached. An unthinkable dilemma awaited them. Even the people of Phezzan, who were supposed to be gifted with more than enough audaciousness, were frightened by these unforeseen circumstances and could determine no immediate countermeasure.

  “It’ll be a while before the destroyers open fire. There’s no time to lose. Let’s make our getaway while we can.”

  “Impossible. They’d catch up with us in a heartbeat,” said the astrogator, refusing to entertain optimism. “And even if we do manage to escape, we’ll end up having to reunite with the Imperial Navy on Phezzan anyway. In which case, we’d do better to make a compliant impression.”

  “But why has it come to this? I used to think that Phezzan and the empire would continue to coexist, but…”

  “I guess times have changed.”

  They were forced to admit they were nothing more than the estranged audience of a historical drama. After diligently and conscientiously working without faltering, amassing their wealth, and heading home in hopes of living their lives to the fullest, things had now taken a different turn. History had changed and the times with it. As their nation had risen, so would it fall.

  Although control of Easy Money had been revoked, its safety was guaranteed as the crew returned to a Phezzan surrounded by Imperial Navy ships. If they tried to escape, they would be decimated in an instant. No one outran the Gale Wolf. The prospect of being protected by the imperial fleet’s twenty thousand ships was nothing to be happy about. Half a day later, Phezzan’s merchant ship Caprice also became entangled in the Imperial Navy’s surveillance network and was hailed to stop:

  “If you don’t, we will fire.”

  But the crew of Caprice was much braver than their allies aboard Easy Money. Or far more foolish. Disregarding the signal, they commenced their escape in earnest.

  When the signal was ignored for the fourth time, even Mittermeier couldn’t decide what to do. Thirty seconds later, pure-white striations of light tore through the everlasting darkness, incinerating Caprice.

  The crewmen watching on the main screen of Easy Money hung their heads in disappointment. Knowing they’d made the right choice just as well as they knew Caprice had made the wrong one, they’d nevertheless prayed for the success of Caprice’s commendable escape attempt.

  On December 24, Mittermeier’s fleet reached Phezzan’s satellite orbit.

  On its way, it captured sixty merchant ships it encountered in the Phezzan Corridor and was forced to destroy about half as many. To the Gale Wolf, who’d hoped for a more heroic enemy, it was an entirely unsatisfying expedition, but he could look forward to ones of far greater magnitude. Despite the diversionary tactics, it was hard to make a snap judgment about who was luckier—he or his comrade Oskar von Reuentahl, who’d danced with Yang Wen-li. In any event, Wolfgang Mittermeier would go down in history as the first to invade this corridor since the establishment of Phezzan.

  On the bridge of his flagship, Beowulf, Mittermeier observed the landing procedure to the planet’s surface on his enormous screen. Warnings came from Phezzan’s control tower.

  “This is Control. Please comply! You are in restricted airspace. I repeat: This is Control. You must comply!”

  Those warnings were ignored. The fleet under Vice Admiral Bayerlein’s command had already breached satellite orbit and was plowing through the atmosphere toward the surface. Bathed in sunlight, the fleet sparkled in a tight spiral that looked for all like a pearl necklace coming apart around the planet. It was strangely beautiful.

  “Contact the landesherr’s office at once! The imperial fleet has breached the atmosphere. It’s an invasion!”

  Phezzan�
��s control tower was beset with panic, thus revealing the fragility of a society that, nonaggressive for more than a century, had been built by those who in their complacency had forgotten what a crisis looked like. Amid the hysteric screams and disorderly footsteps, one of the controllers threw his headphones on the table, tearing at his hair and cursing to himself.

  “Why the hell weren’t we made aware of this situation?”

  Many Phezzanese below likewise cursed the sky. Like throwing one’s arms around a hologram, it was instinctive yet pointless behavior.

  On Phezzan’s surface, even to the half of the globe plunged in the darkness of night, pandemonium set in. Children pointed to the sky with cries of incomplete understanding, while the adults followed suit, their eyes fixed upward.

  Julian saw it all as countless points of light overwhelmed the deep indigo sky on a diagonal plane. He’d just stepped out onto the streets in plainclothes when it happened. He sensed he was being followed—whether by a Phezzanese, someone from the commissioner’s office, or a comrade, he couldn’t tell—but that didn’t matter anymore.

  It had begun at last. Julian knew this. The Imperial Navy was going to occupy Phezzan and use it as a rear base to invade alliance territory. Admiral Yang’s prediction had come true after all. He’d tried to stop it, but to no avail.

  As people’s screams of commotion were filtered by his eardrums, Julian turned on a heel and, trying not to bump into anyone, ran to the commissioner’s office.

  II

  “The Imperial Navy has invaded Phezzan. The central spaceport has already been occupied.”

  When that news reached the city, Landesherr Adrian Rubinsky was at neither his office nor his official residence, but his private residence. The ceiling was high in the spacious second-floor salon, a few oil paintings hung on the walls, and the fixtures were all done up in an antique rococo style. Set into one wall was an enormous mirror that measured two meters per side. Extravagant, yes, but one couldn’t deny it reflected a personal flair.

  Even after facing certain defeat by Reinhard’s swift and decisive invasion of Phezzan, Rubinsky looked like anyone but a loser, relaxing as he was on a sofa, calmly drinking from his wine glass. The man sitting on the opposite sofa opened his mouth.

  “Have you heard, Landesherr, Your Excellency?” said Rupert Kesselring.

  “I heard.”

  “Phezzan’s final hour is close at hand.”

  No one ever dreamed this would happen, thought Rupert Kesselring. In fact, even he had never imagined that in this year, SE 798, he would see imperial officers setting foot on Phezzanese soil.

  “We can expect Boltec to come riding in on his horse at any moment, backed by the Imperial Navy, to snatch away your position and take on a power of authority he isn’t built to handle.”

  Rupert Kesselring smiled coldly at the familiar face reflected in his wine.

  “Your time is up. You held your post for seven years, which makes you the shortest-lived landesherr of all time.”

  “Is that a guarantee?”

  “On that point alone, I’m of the same mind as Boltec. Actors who’ve played their roles yet continue to hog the stage get in the way of those who follow. It’s time you made your exit.”

  Had anyone else spoken to him like that, Rubinsky would have considered plunging a dagger into him right then and there. Adrian Rubinsky was unfazed. The Black Fox of Phezzan put his wineglass back on an end table and stroked his lean chin with one palm.

  “You’re also of the same mind as Duke von Lohengramm, who thinks I’m harder to deal with than Boltec. I should be honored.”

  “I didn’t think you’d try to glorify yourself so much.”

  Rupert Kesselring’s voice and words had gone from resentful to vulgar. From his expression, too, he’d peeled off the guise of courtesy, and the unbridled hatred boiling over from his internal crucible flushed his graceful face venomously. Had Kesselring been a timid man, he couldn’t have looked Rubinsky in the eye. The worst of human emotion had been catalyzed in both parties and seemed to be undergoing a chemical change into something even darker. Smiling, he thrust his hand into his jacket pocket and removed something from it, slowly and deliberately. Gripped in Rupert Kesselring’s hand was a blaster, its muzzle pointed at Rubinsky. The landesherr regarded it with a look of contempt.

  “I really had no idea. Having such an interest in a corpse is rather morbid, don’t you think?”

  “I see—so as soon as the chance arrives, you bare your fangs?”

  Rubinsky seemed rather impressed.

  “Well, I can’t say you weren’t clever for seizing an opportunity, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

  “You thought that, even if you gave me a chance to change things, there’d be no need to hesitate over amending the original plan, didn’t you, Landesherr, Your Excellency? You probably would’ve said that success depends entirely on correction.”

  “Maybe so, but there’s no need to dirty your own hands, Rupert.”

  At being called by his first name, the young aide’s face went red. His anger and discomfort stimulated every vein on the surface of his face. He took a breath to steady himself. It seemed the words he wanted to say in retaliation to his abusive father would not come out so easily.

  “I’ll bring down Boltec’s idiocy somehow. But you’re in the way of me becoming master of Phezzan, nonetheless. You’re a man who lives to deceive others. If I settle things with you right here, not only will I be at ease, I’ll also be contributing to the welfare of the public at large.”

  He’d considered capturing Rubinsky and handing him over to the Imperial Navy, but Duke von Lohengramm, who already had Boltec in the palm of his hand, would have no use for Kesselring. He was more likely to be treated as a traitor, along with Rubinsky, and dealt with accordingly. He wanted to rally the people of Phezzan in the name of rebirth. In which case, the existence of Rubinsky, who was more popular than him, would get in the way. By the time he reached this conclusion, his self-interest was solid, and he could no longer doubt the negative feelings he held toward his father.

  “But Rupert…”

  “Shut up! Don’t get all familiar with me.”

  Rubinsky calmly recrossed his legs, staring with expressionless eyes at his own flesh and blood.

  “I’m your father. You’d do well to let me call you by your first name.”

  “Father, is it…?”

  Rupert Kesselring almost choked on the word. He coughed and cleared his throat.

  “Father? If you’re going to say father, then you might as well…”

  The raging stream of emotions inside him had robbed him of his words. The young aide squeezed the trigger on his blaster.

  The mirror on the wall let out a sharp cry as its surface shattered, sending glittering shards flying in all directions. With a look of surprise, Rupert Kesselring turned back to face it. Three rays of light shot out from that brilliant glitter and were absorbed by Kesselring’s body.

  The young aide, blaster still in hand, performed a short yet violent dance. A moment later, Rupert Kesselring fell to the floor and went still as if some giant invisible hand had swatted him.

  “It seems you underestimated me a little, Rupert.”

  Rubinsky stood up from the sofa and looked down at his son, unimpressed yet slightly pensive.

  “I knew you had every intention of killing me. That was your objective in coming here tonight, wasn’t it? That’s why I was prepared.”

  “Why…?”

  “I always said you were naïve. Did you really believe Dominique was on your side?”

  “That whore!”

  It required a colossal effort on Rupert’s part just to spit out that curse. In his field of vision, which was losing light and color, several indistinct figures stepped out from where the mirror had been, as if they were denizen
s of some fairy-tale land behind it. They’d been concealed by a one-way mirror, waiting for the right moment to protect their landesherr. Rupert had made the mistake of fighting on his father’s turf.

  “You always did resemble me in the worst ways. If only you’d curbed your ambition and greed a little more, I might’ve handed over my position and authority on my deathbed. You knew it all, but you just didn’t know to wait for your chance.”

  The energy of his malice shone faintly in the young man’s eyes.

  “I never thought I’d get you to hand over a single thing.”

  The red froth bubbling from a corner of Rupert’s mouth made his voice almost unintelligible. The places where he’d been wounded were strangely hot, while a chill crept like some nocturnal animal from the tips of his limbs to the center of his body. When it reached his heart, his future would be lost to him.

  “I would have taken it from you. I would have taken everything. That was my decision. I won’t leave you anything. Not even myself…”

  His hate-filled muttering stopped, and Rupert Kesselring went still. Leaving many strategies and plans unfinished, Rubinsky’s son had exited the stage before his father.

  “Landesherr, Your Excellency, what shall we do now?” asked one of Rubinsky’s guards with some hesitation.

  They didn’t know the true colors of the one they’d killed. From behind the mirror, they hadn’t known the nature of their conversation. But they couldn’t help but be vaguely aware of an uncommon relationship between the two. It was enough to make them ill at ease.

  Rubinsky turned to the one who’d asked. Feeling an almost physical coercion in being looked at so, he moved his hefty build one step back. A glint in Rubinsky’s eye gripped an icy hand around the guard’s heart, but a moment later it faded, and Rubinsky returned to his brazen yet trustworthy self, his voice filled with conviction.

  “Free Planets Alliance chairman Trünicht hid himself safely until the coup d’état was over. Let’s follow his example.”