The effect was profound. Yang’s renown—he himself would call it empty fame—served, of course, to amplify that effect. Those who had until then been undecided as to whether to support the High Council or the coup had one by one made their allegiances clear, flocking to Yang’s side from various planetary guard corps, local garrison patrols and retirees, officers and enlisted, and even civilians hoping to participate in the volunteer forces under Yang.
Naturally, the organizing of volunteer forces didn’t go smoothly. Yang disliked involving civilians in warfare. He felt that the psychological makeup of civilians who wanted anything to do with war was questionable, but he couldn’t deny them their freely chosen intentions. They went so far as to trot out the “Right of Resistance” provision of the Charter of the Alliance—the right of citizens to use force to resist unjust uses of power—to overrule the hesitation of the young commander.
At that point, Yang decided to add age restrictions to the requirements for joining the volunteer corps. He attempted to exclude persons under eighteen or over fifty-five years of age, but older people who looked not a day under eighty insisted they were fifty-five and, on the other extreme, seventeen-year-old hopefuls who’d seen Julian and could by no means believe he was older than themselves all turned on the officials in charge, forcing a wry laugh out of Lieutenant Frederica Greenhill as she said, “Well, this is not easy.”
It did give Yang pleasure when retired marshal Sidney Sitolet, former director of Joint Operational Headquarters, proclaimed his support. He had been headmaster of the Officers’ Academy when Yang was a student. On one level, Yang admired him, but he also retained an impression of Sitolet as a tough nut to crack. Yang was thus all the more glad he’d avoided making an enemy of him. Having that happen with Admiral Greenhill was already more than enough trouble.
There were even a lot of people who had previously shown sympathy in word or deed for the Military Congress for the Rescue of the Republic who came to join. This was in part a result of the Stadium Massacre becoming known; these voices grew conspicuously loud in criticizing the coup d’état faction. The earnest Chief of Staff Murai caustically criticized their defection and opportunistic behavior, but Yang said, “Everybody tries to secure their own physical safety. If I were in a position of less responsibility, even I might have thought about siding with the faction that held the upper hand.”
Looking at history, people who lived in ages of upheaval had always done the same. If they didn’t, they didn’t survive, and whether you called it “the ability to read a situation” or “flexibility,” the practice was nothing to condemn. On the contrary, the bill of goods called “unswerving convictions” had more frequently caused harm to others and to societies.
After discarding the republican governmental system in favor of the monarchical Galactic Empire, Rudolf von Goldenbaum, killer of four billion citizens who’d opposed autocratic rule, was second to none in the strength of his convictions. Those in the coup d’état faction that now actually controlled Heinessen were also presumably acting out of conviction.
In human history, there had been no battles of Armageddon between absolute good and absolute evil. What had occurred was strife between one subjective good and another subjective good—conflicts between one side and another, both equally convinced of their rightness. Even in cases of unilateral wars of aggression, the aggressor always believed it was in the right. Thus, humanity was in a constant state of warfare. So long as human beings kept believing in God and justice, there was no chance of strife disappearing.
As for conviction, it made Yang’s hair stand on end to hear the words “belief in victory at all costs.”
“If one could win by virtue of belief, then nothing could be easier, since everyone wants to win,” were Yang’s thoughts. As he would put it, conviction was no more than a powerful form of wishing; there was no objective basis to the idea that it influenced outcomes. The stronger it grew, the narrower one’s perspective became, until it became impossible to accurately discern what was going on. By and large, conviction was an embarrassing word, and even if its existence in dictionaries must be accepted, it was not a word that ought to be seriously uttered. When Yang would say so, Julian would respond with amusement, “So, that’s Your Excellency’s conviction?”
Naturally, no matter how Yang tried to phrase his answer, the boy would have already anticipated the points he was trying to convey.
Even so, the first individual in history to launch a military assault on Planet Heinessen, which had been named for the alliance’s founding father, was not of the empire.
“It is, amazingly, Yang Wen-li—myself.”
Yang directed a silent laugh at Julian. In his present mood, all he could do was laugh. In his conviction for democratic government, he didn’t hesitate to swallow his grief and attack his own homeland—the aesthetic of tragedy surrounding the affair didn’t register with him. Making no clumsy attempt to comfort him, Julian replied, “Just don’t launch any assault on the Galactic Empire’s capital until I’ve grown enough to stand on my own. It won’t be long.”
“On Odin? I’ll leave that to you. Attacking Heinessen’s too much for me already. I want to retire posthaste and start that pensioner’s life I’ve dreamed of.”
“Oh, so in that case, I’m allowed to join the military, right?”
Yang, flustered, took back what he’d said. Julian dreamed of being an officer commanding great fleets in space, but Yang hadn’t been able to come to a decision yet regarding this. Setting aside the fact that this was about Julian, wasn’t the convention itself—the struggle for hegemony via decisive battles between great fleets—a relic of the past? Lately, Yang had begun to believe so.
The crucial thing was securing the necessary space at the necessary time. If a particular area of space could be utilized at a particular time, that was sufficient. It was only because some aimed to secure areas of space in perpetuity that routes became restricted, battle spaces were delineated, and fighting became unavoidable. But shouldn’t it be enough to simply use areas without any enemies—during only the intervals when the enemy wasn’t present?
Yang had, for the moment, named this tactical concept “space control” and wanted to systematize it as a tactical framework. In flexibility and rationality, it was one step above the current “command of space” thinking that hinged on fleet-versus-fleet battles. He couldn’t blame von Schönkopf if he mocked him for it. Yang, for all that he hated war, could not set aside his enthusiasm for tactics and strategy as an intellectual game.
Around this time, deep beneath the surface of planet Heinessen, one man was reassuring his comrades.
“It’s not over yet,” Admiral Greenhill said forcefully. “We’ve still got Artemis’s Necklace. As long as it’s there, even the great Yang Wen-li can’t penetrate Heinessen’s gravitational field.” Seeing a hint of brightening in the faces of all gathered, he repeated his sentiment: “We aren’t defeated yet.”
III
We haven’t won yet, Yang thought, casting his gaze upon the beautiful jade planet floating up onto the screen.
He gave no heed to Artemis’s Necklace. Whether armament or fortress, he’d never once feared hardware, no matter how formidable. There were any number of means to render Artemis’s Necklace powerless. Taking an inhabited planet by military force was intrinsically no easy feat. In and of itself, it was a gigantic supply and production base, and a force attacking it needed huge quantities of munitions. In the initial lead-up to the pitched battle at Amritsar, the alliance forces had been able to take control of numerous inhabited planets, but that had only been a result of the strategic retreat of the imperial forces. The planets had been mere morsels scattered along the path to a trap, and they’d indiscriminately gobbled them up.
The Heinessen situation wouldn’t go so smoothly. But Heinessen’s weakness was its faith in hardware, namely Artemis’s Necklace. If the object of tha
t faith could be shattered, the will to resist could likely be broken in the same instant.
Twelve military satellites, affording a 360-degree omnidirectional offensive capability. Twelve spheres, fully outfitted in mirror-plated armor, equipped with the full gamut of weaponry—including laser cannons, charged-particle-beam cannons, neutron-beam cannons, infrared cannons, laser-triggered thermonuclear missiles, rail cannons, and more—and supplied, by sunlight, with an infinite amount of energy. A mass killing system, as beautiful as it was expensive, spheres glittering with a hint of iridescence over a foundation of silver.
But those satellites would likely be destroyed by the hand of Yang Wen-li, without ever boasting a single moment of distinguished service. What Yang feared for were the billion human beings, military and civilian, on Planet Heinessen. All of them could become valuable hostages for the coup d’état faction. If that faction were to threaten to annihilate Planet Heinessen and all of its inhabitants with it … Or if they pointed a blaster at Admiral Bucock’s head and demanded negotiations …
Yang Wen-li would have to throw up his hands.
He didn’t want to believe Admiral Greenhill would take things that far. But then again, Greenhill’s position as one of the coup’s masterminds had itself been beyond Yang’s imagining.
Against this eventuality, Yang had to take some sort of action. What could be done to deal a blow to their tenacity and to prevent their putting up a futile resistance?
This coup—the intent of its instigators notwithstanding—had been planned by Marquis Reinhard von Lohengramm of the Galactic Empire. Yang had to bring that fact out into the daylight.
There was no material evidence. But a large-scale civil war was in fact happening within the empire. Using that as circumstantial evidence ought to be possible. Or maybe material evidence could be discovered after quelling the coup. At any rate, what Yang needed was someone whom he could bring out as a witness.
“There’s something I’d like you to do.”
“I’m at your service, sir.” As he replied, Bagdash glanced around the room and was relieved to see that Julian wasn’t there. It was absurd to feel so powerless before that handsome young man, but once someone’s gotten the drop on you, the memory has a lasting impact. “And what is it you’d like me to do? I’ll go so far as to infiltrate Heinessen if you so order, sir …”
“And run straight to Admiral Greenhill’s side?”
“That’s unfair, sir.”
“I’m kidding. Truth is, I want to call you as a witness.”
“A witness? To what?”
“A witness to the fact that the Military Congress for the Rescue of the Republic’s little coup was orchestrated by none other than Reinhard von Lohengramm of the Galactic Empire.”
Bagdash blinked several times. When he finally processed what Yang was saying, his jaw dropped. He regarded the commander as though he were suddenly looking at a different man.
“You’ve come up with one extraordinary idea, sir.”
A propaganda maneuver to utterly demolish the legitimacy of the coup—this was how Bagdash interpreted it. It could be nothing else.
“It’s a fact. We don’t have any material evidence at the moment. But still, a fact it is.” So Yang said, but the look of surprise and doubt didn’t leave Bagdash’s face. Yang was about to say more but then gave up on trying to convince the man.
“Well, whatever. It’s understandable if you can’t believe it.” He was feeling rather apathetic. It was doubtful whether anyone besides Bagdash would believe what Yang was saying, either. The only ones who’d believe him were probably Bucock, who’d heard this claim from Yang before the coup had actually happened, and Julian. He wondered whether even von Schönkopf and Frederica would. Von Schönkopf might show his unsavory smile and say, “That’s a well-made talking point, but it’s too straightforward. Taking into account your slight overoptimism, I’d score it maybe an 80 percent.”
And Frederica might object: “Please don’t show such disdain for my father, sir. There’s no way he would become a pawn of the empire.”
Yang shook his head once to drive away these faces that were floating up in the back of his mind. “Anyway, I’m going to have you attest to this. If you need a detailed script or material evidence, I’ll create it for you. With my acknowledgment that we’re not playing fair. How about it—can you do it?”
“All right. I’m a turncoat. I’ll do what I can to be of use, sir.” It wasn’t that Yang’s expression or his voice had grown particularly stern. But there was something about the man that made it difficult for Bagdash to resist. For the time being, at least, Bagdash had no choice but to entrust his fate to Yang.
Feeling a hint of self-loathing at having forced Bagdash’s obeisance, Yang called in Lieutenant Frederica Greenhill.
“I want to discuss the technological issues around methods of attacking Artemis’s Necklace. Gather everyone in the conference room.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tension showed in every movement of Frederica’s body, brought on by the nerve-racking challenge of destroying those dozen military satellites, renowned for the unparalleled power they boasted. Just what the cost might be was beyond imagining. But, as though he’d intuited her thoughts, Yang spoke.
“Not to worry, Lieutenant Greenhill. I promise we won’t sacrifice a single battleship or a single human life in order to take out Artemis’s Necklace.”
Not that Yang believed that a bloodless victory would earn him an indulgence for what he was about to do …
Commander Bagdash’s appearance on the communicator screen was, for the beleaguered members of the Military Congress for the Rescue of the Republic, an extremely unpleasant surprise. Having failed in his vital task of assassinating Yang Wen-li, he had left his erstwhile allies in a perilous position, and now, with his absurd claim that the coup had been brought about through Reinhard von Lohengramm’s machinations, he had wholly undercut the righteousness of their cause.
“That shameless backstabber! It’s incredible that Bagdash can even show his face in public.” The enraged voice was tinged with gloom. The members of the Military Congress knew they had no way to exact revenge on the traitor. They also had to acknowledge that even Artemis’s Necklace could do nothing more than push back the date of their final, eventual defeat.
The Military Congress for the Rescue of the Republic now controlled only the surface of Planet Heinessen and a portion of its subsurface areas. Three-dimensional space was now entirely in the hands of their adversary.
That adversary—that mere child of a commander named Yang Wen-li—had rendered the coup a failure. He had vanquished the Eleventh Fleet, robbing the Military Congress of the only interstellar military capability it had, confined the coup’s impact to the singular planet of Heinessen, and drawn people who’d been on the fence into his own camp. His adept actions had been a wonder to behold. But there was one complaint Greenhill had to make regarding Yang’s character.
“I may have misjudged Yang Wen-li. That he’d employ such blatant propaganda, calling us pawns of the empire—there was no need to show us that degree of contempt.”
The entire group nodded vigorously. Seeing this, Greenhill continued. “We started this ourselves. It was facilitated by Rear Admiral Lynch’s returning from the empire and giving us such a marvelous strategic plan. Marquis von Lohengramm had nothing to do with it. That’s so, isn’t it, Lynch?”
Lynch’s eyes, glazed over with drunkenness, burned red. From the face he made, it looked as though he had been seized by some sort of powerful urge. “I’m honored by your praise, but it wasn’t me who came up with that strategy.”
“What?!” An ominous look of doubt spread obliquely across Admiral Greenhill’s face. After a few seconds’ hesitation, he asked, “Then who? Who came up with such an accomplished plan?”
A considerable moment of silence passed be
tween this question and its response.
“Marquis Reinhard von Lohengramm, imperial marshal of the Galactic Empire.”
“W-what did you say?!”
“Yang Wen-li is right. This coup was the brainchild of the Marquis von Lohengramm, the golden brat himself. He wanted to cause infighting within the alliance while he was settling things with the aristocracy in the empire’s civil war. You’ve all been manipulated.”
“You’re saying you’ve had us dancing in the palm of von Lohengramm’s hand all along?” The voice of the asker was hoarse and cracking.
“That’s right,” Lynch jeered, his voice full of venom. “And you all put on a great performance for us. Idiots like Captain Christian did too, of course, but so did you, Admiral Greenhill.”
Borne aloft on breath that reeked of alcohol, an invisible imp leapt about the room, pricking hearts with his spear as he went. Somebody let out a groan.
“Have a look at this. This is the strategic plan Marquis von Lohengramm gave me.” A small, slim file folder flew from Lynch’s hand and made a dry slap as it landed on the desk. Greenhill snatched it up and flipped through the pages.
“But, Arthur, why did you get on board with von Lohengramm’s schemes? What did he offer you that was so tempting? Did he promise to make you a full admiral in the Imperial Navy?”
“There was that, too …” Lynch’s tone quavered as he spoke; it kept rising and falling abruptly. The man himself made no visible effort to rein it in. “But that’s not all. I’m not gonna name names, but let’s just say I wanted to heap humiliation on certain people who are sure that they’re always in the right and never doubt it. The kind of humiliation that can never be explained away. As for what would become of my career track, or even my life, I just didn’t care anymore.”
Ambition Page 21
