Lynch’s red eyes drank in the gleam of all the others’ horrified expressions. “So how about it, Admiral Greenhill? How does it feel to know that this glorious bill of goods called the Military Congress for the Rescue of the Republic was nothing but a tool for an ambitious schemer in the empire?”
His words trailed off, becoming a laugh. That grotesque, arrhythmic laughter ate away like acid at everyone’s spirits. This man, who’d dragged his own name through the mud when he fled El Facil, who’d spent nine years in inexcusable alcoholic dissolution—had he nursed this grudge, with nobody to direct it at, that entire time?
“Mister Chairman! The enemy’s attack has begun,” the comm officer called out in a stiff voice. This thawed the frozen gathering. Greenhill turned around and let out a voice like someone waking from a nightmare.
“Which of the twelve satellites are they attacking?”
The note of perplexity in the response was clear. “… They’re attacking all twelve at once, sir.”
The assembled group all exchanged glances. There was more bewilderment than surprise in their faces. The twelve satellites, moving freely in orbit, had the ability to defend and support one another. For this reason, it made sense to attack multiple satellites simultaneously, though that did run the risk of dissipating force projection. But all twelve at once? That defied all common sense. What was Yang Wen-li thinking?
The screen came on, displaying objects moving on straight paths through space toward the satellites. When the nature of those objects became clear, a buzz spread through the room.
“Ice …”
Admiral Greenhill groaned. They were enormous—huge blocks of ice far larger than any battleship.
IV
Three hundred years ago. The Galactic Empire.
On Altair’s frigid seventh planet, there was a young man, a believer in representative government, who’d been forced into a mining job under conditions equivalent to slavery. His name was Ahle Heinessen.
He longed to escape the planet and build a new state among faraway stars for like-minded believers. The only thing standing in his way was a lack of materials to construct a starship and carry the people there.
One day, Heinessen saw a child playing with a toy ship, carved from ice, that the kid had made. The young man was struck as though with a revelation.
He built a spacecraft from the inexhaustible supply of naturally occurring dry ice on Altair’s seventh planet and then embarked on a long, long voyage extending across fifty years of time and ten thousand light-years of space.
That was the shining legend of Ahle Heinessen, father of the Free Planets Alliance.
“I learned this tactic from the tale of our founding father, Heinessen.” Yang said this not out of pride but as a bit of wry humor.
The plan was as follows:
Srinagar, the Baalat system’s sixth planet, was a frigid world of ice. From its surface, a dozen cylindrical blocks of ice would be carved. Each block would have a volume of one cubic kilometer and a mass of a billion tons.
These carved cylinders of ice would then be transported into zero-gravity space, where the temperature approached 273.15 degrees Celsius—absolute zero.
At this point, the central cores would be bored through by laser, and Bussard ramjet engines would be installed.
These engines would project a gigantic, basket-shaped magnetic field in front of the cylinder to capture ionized, charged interstellar matter. As that matter drew near to the ice cylinder, it would be compressed and heated, and in an extremely short span of time, it would achieve the conditions for nuclear fusion to occur within the engine. When it was ejected from the rear of the cylinder, the exhaust would be at an energy level much greater than when it had entered through the front.
During this time, the uncrewed ice craft would continually, ceaselessly accelerate, and the closer they approached to the speed of light, the more efficiently they would draw in interplanetary matter. In this manner, the ice ships would attain near-luminal velocities.
Now, at this point, let us recall a basic fact of the theory of relativity: as matter approaches the speed of light, its effective mass increases.
For instance, the mass of a ship flying at 99.9 percent of the speed of light increases to approximately 22 times its original mass. At 99.99 percent of light speed, it reaches 70 times its original value, and at 99.999 percent, it becomes 223 times greater.
A one billion–ton chunk of ice, its mass increased by 223 times, achieves a mass of 223 billion tons. What would happen if an ice chunk with the same mass as three million sixty-story buildings combined collided with something at near light speed? The military satellites that comprised Artemis’s Necklace would be pulverized, with nary a fragment remaining.
However, to keep these chunks of ice from colliding with Planet Heinessen proper, their vectors of motion had to be set with extreme care. As all twelve satellites and all twelve ice blocks were uncrewed, though, not a single drop of blood would be shed.
“Any questions?”
Von Schönkopf applauded gently in response.
“You don’t mind us destroying all twelve?” he asked—sardonically suggesting that it might be best to leave a handful for future use.
“I don’t mind a bit. Let’s crush ’em all.” Yang brushed the issue away without hesitation. Artemis’s Necklace, Yang believed, constituted one of the reasons people had fooled themselves into thinking this coup would succeed.
This Necklace symbolized a shameful way of thinking: that Heinessen could survive alone, even if all the other star systems and all the other planets were subjected to enemy control. But if an enemy assault ever got this far, it would mean the alliance was just one step away from total defeat. Best to never let an enemy invasion advance so far—and the first consideration for that ought to be political and diplomatic efforts to avoid war from the outset.
The reliance on military hardware to maintain peace was nothing more than a product of the nightmares of hardened militarists. That kind of thinking was on the level of some solivision action program for small children. One day, hideous and warlike aliens, without reason or cause, suddenly invaded from the far reaches of the universe, so the peace-loving, justice-loving humans had no choice but to fight back. And for that purpose, mighty weapons and huge installations were required—so went the argument.
Every time he’d see that swarm of satellites encompassing this beautiful planet, Yang would fall into a foul mood, associating it with a snake constricting around a goddess’s throat.
In short, Yang had disliked the cheap costume jewelry that was Artemis’s Necklace for a long time, and he meant to take this opportunity to smash it to bits, with the added bonus of delivering shock therapy to the cult of hardware. He had thought up a number of ways to render Artemis’s Necklace impotent. But for these reasons, Yang had chosen the most spectacular method of them all.
The plan was set into motion.
The twelve gigantic blocks of ice sped toward the twelve military satellites.
It was a sight that beggared the imagination. As their speed increased, the frozen cylinders gained in mass, becoming ever more powerful weapons. The radar and sensor reconnaissance systems with which the satellites were furnished latched on to the rapidly closing ice blocks. They were neither energy waves nor metallic objects, but rather compounds of hydrogen and oxygen—in and of themselves, harmless. Even so, their mass and speed were regarded as threat factors, and the satellites’ computers took action.
A laser cannon locked its sights on an ice block and shot out a column of superheated energy. A perfectly circular hole three meters in diameter opened in the wall of ice. Not even a high-output laser cannon could pierce all the way through the ice, however. The laser’s characteristically strict unidirectionality impeded the spread of destructive effect, leading, conversely, to negative results. But that wasn’t all
: a portion of the ice also vaporized, generating a large quantity of steam, which robbed the laser of heat energy. What’s more, in an absolute-zero vacuum, the steam refroze immediately as soon as it formed, transforming into a cloud of ice crystals that, in accordance with the law of inertia, continued to speed ahead at nigh-luminal velocities. Though missiles were fired and the flashes of their detonations lit up the surface of the icy mass, they, too, had no visible effect, having been shredded by passage through the crystals before striking the central mass.
On the bridge of Yang’s flagship Hyperion, the crew voicelessly watched this spectacle, and the communications officer’s head swam with the rapidly changing numbers displayed by the mass reader. The nearer the ice missiles approached the speed of light, the greater their mass swelled.
They collided.
The ice shattered. So did the satellites. Shards of ice danced in the void, reflecting sunlight and planetary light, casting a dazzling brilliance throughout the surrounding space. Each and every ice shard had hundreds of tons of mass. But as they glittered beautifully on the screen, one could believe they were lighter than snowflakes. The broken fragments of satellite were already indistinguishable.
V
“Annihilated … Artemis’s Necklace … has not a single satellite remaining … It’s been annihilated …”
In a state of distraction, the communications officer kept repeating the word “annihilated.” The members of the Military Congress for the Rescue of the Republic stood stock-still, as though transformed into pillars of salt.
They were starting to believe that word alone would echo in their ears forever when there came another sound—like a heavy object hitting the ground. Greenhill had collapsed into his chair. Amid the concentrated gazes of his comrades, he forced out in a hoarse voice:
“It’s all over. Our military revolution has failed. We’ve lost. Let’s admit it.”
After a few seconds’ interval, a cry of opposition arose. Captain Evens raised his voice and tried to encourage his co-conspirators.
“No, it is not over,” the captain insisted. “We have hostages. All of Heinessen’s one billion citizens are still in our hands.” He slammed his open palm onto the table. “On top of that, we’ve captured the director of Joint Operational Headquarters and the commander in chief of the space armada. Depending on the conditions, there’s a chance we can still negotiate. It’s still too soon to give up.”
“We have to quit. Any resistance beyond this will not only be futile, it will harm the reconciliation process between the government and the citizens. It’s already over. Let’s at least face the closing curtain gracefully.”
The captain’s shoulders fell, and a feeble voice leaked out from between his color-drained lips. “Then what are we going to do now? Surrender and be put on trial?”
“Those who wish to do so are welcome to. I’ll choose a different route, but there’s something I have to do beforehand. We cannot leave evidence or witnesses attesting that our noble uprising was orchestrated by an ambitious puppet master from the empire.”
Greenhill’s eyes stared loathingly at Lynch. “Rear Admiral Lynch, I had high expectations for you from the beginning of your career—ever since you were two classes behind me at Officers’ Academy. It was regrettable when that incident at El Facil happened nine years ago. That’s why I took you under my wing in this, thinking we could restore your reputation, but …”
“You’re just no judge of character,” the drunken ex–rear admiral pointed out coldly.
Admiral Greenhill’s face changed color. Rage, despair, defeat, abhorrence—all these emotions fused together, harmonizing; one might think something had exploded within him.
Two flashes of light shot through the room. One was swallowed up into the space between Greenhill’s eyebrows; the other grazed Lynch’s left ear, slicing off a portion of skin and meat. Hard upon his cry, multiple light bursts from in front, from behind, from the left and the right drilled narrow, burning tunnels into Lynch’s body. A few seconds behind Greenhill, he too collapsed to the floor.
“You fools …”
Rear Admiral Lynch spat out his last laugh with bubbles of blood and looked around at the officers who had shot him.
“I just saved Greenhill’s honor, don’t you think? Rather than living … being brought to trial, it was probably better … for the bastard to die … Heh. Honor … so stupid.”
A bubble of blood burst, and a film began to form over both his open eyes. Walking over and spitting onto Lynch’s face, Captain Evens shouted: “Burn this disgusting file to cinders. Dispose of Lynch’s corpse. Get rid of everything that could potentially compromise the justice of our cause.”
“Admiral Yang’s fleet has deployed into orbit,” the comm officer said in a shrill voice. “They’re about to begin landing operations. What shall we do?”
Evens knitted his brow but presently nodded as though he’d reached a decision.
“Open a channel. I’ll speak with Admiral Yang.”
Soon, the form of the young admiral appeared on-screen, wearing his black military beret at a bit of a slant. His staff was standing by behind him, and among them was the face of Admiral Greenhill’s daughter. Evens winced slightly.
“I am Alliance Navy captain Evens. As acting chair of the Military Congress for the Rescue of the Republic, I request permission to speak. There’s no need for an assault. We know we’re defeated and have reached a decision to forgo any futile resistance. Everything’s finished.”
“That’s well and good, but …” Naturally, Yang held some misgivings. “What happened to the chairman of your Military Congress, Admiral Greenhill? I don’t see him there.”
After the span of a breath, Evens responded. “His Excellency took his own life. It was a splendid end.”
Hearing this, Frederica Greenhill let out a low wail and covered her mouth with one hand. Her shoulders quivered.
“Admiral Yang, our aims have been to clean up the government of our democratic republic and to expunge from the universe the despotism of the Galactic Empire. It is regrettable that we were unable to realize these ideals. Admiral Yang, the end result of all this is that you’ve lent your strength to the continued existence of despotism.”
“What is despotism? Isn’t it when governing officials not chosen by the citizenry rob the people of their freedom and try to control them through force and violence? That is, in sum, exactly the thing that you all have done here on Heinessen.”
Silence.
“It’s you, noble soldiers, who are despots. Am I mistaken?” Yang’s voice was gentle, but there was no forgiveness in the words he spoke.
“You’re wrong!”
“Where am I wrong?”
“What we wanted wasn’t power for ourselves. This was a temporary expedient. It was a provisional form of government that was to be in place only until our homeland was rescued from its corrupted mob rule and the empire overthrown.”
“A temporary expedient …” Yang murmured with a slight bitterness. For the sake of self-justification, any excuse could be used. Nevertheless, even if this were a temporary expedient, just how many sacrifices would they have demanded?
“If I may ask, we’ve been fighting the empire a long time—150 years—and haven’t managed to overthrow it. We may burn through another 150 years after this and still not be able to overthrow it. After that’s happened, and your group has clung to your positions of power all that time—and all that time has continued to deprive the citizens of their freedoms—will you insist even then that this is a temporary expedient?”
Captain Evens faltered in his reply. But then he changed direction and attempted a rebuttal. “Everyone knows how corrupt the government is now. In order to correct that, what other methods were available?”
“Corrupted government doesn’t come down to politicians taking bribes. That’s no more than
individual corruption. What I’d call corrupted government is a state of affairs where even if a politician does take a bribe, he is above criticism for doing so. Your group proclaimed the regulation of free speech. Don’t you think by that alone you’ve lost the grounds to censure the empire’s despots and the alliance’s current government?”
“We were putting our lives and our reputations at stake …” Captain Evens’s voice veered toward rigidity. “On this point, I won’t allow anyone to slander us. Our cause was not lacking in righteousness. We were merely a little short on luck and the ability to implement our plan. That was all.”
“Captain Evens …”
“Long live the military revolution!”
The communications screen went gray.
Chief of Staff Murai let out a sigh. “He never admitted his error, up to the last.”
“To each his own sense of righteousness,” Yang replied glumly and told von Schönkopf to ready them for landing. Thus did the Yang Fleet carry out its bloodless landing on the surface of Heinessen.
In light of his station and circumstances, Yang’s lack of ceremony bordered on the preposterous. He moved around briskly by himself, causing his subordinates to worry about his security—all the more since it was difficult to judge where the remaining partisans of the coup faction might now be lurking.
Disregarding Chief of Staff Murai’s vociferous urgings for caution, Yang proceeded on his own two feet to Joint Operational Headquarters and wrangled the location of Admiral Bucock’s confinement out of the surrendered petty officers. In short order, Yang had him freed and sent to a hospital.
The elderly admiral had weakened physically during his four months of imprisonment, and yet the strong light in his eyes and the clarity of his speech set Yang’s mind at ease.
Ambition Page 22
