And that was hardly the only vessel where armed clashes had started between soldiers and high-ranking officers. Those of common birth—low-ranking officers, junior officers, and soldiers—refused at the last moment to accompany the boyar nobles on their road to self-destruction.
On one ship, a captain who had long abused his soldiers was thrown headlong into the fusion reactor while still alive. On another, two high-ranking officers who had never been particularly popular among the rank and file were forced to fight each other bare-handed until one was dead. The winner was then ejected from the air lock into hard vacuum. On still another vessel, a soldier who had acted as a spy, informing the captain of his colleagues’ words and deeds, had a rope tied around his neck and was dragged across multiple decks before being shot and killed.
With the madness of battle acting as a catalyst, the anger, the discontent, and the grudges that had been building up for five hundred years finally boiled over. The aristocrats’ vessels became scenes of mutiny, internal strife, and mass lynchings.
The many ships that were overrun by their soldiers stopped their engines, heaved to, and hailed Reinhard’s fleet, saying, “We lay down our arms and humbly beg your leniency …”
There was one ship, however, where the thirst for revenge was so strong that soldiers forgot to transmit a message of surrender—it exploded in a hail of cannon fire from Reinhard’s fleet. Another opened fire on its fleeing comrades, signaling through action its intent to switch sides.
In the moment that defeat became a certainty for the aristocrats’ forces, the bill came due for five centuries’ worth of uninterrupted decadence under an unjust social system. There was no one else to blame; it was simply the tragic result of their own actions.
“It’s just as Fräulein von Mariendorf predicted,” Reinhard said, watching the screen on the bridge of the flagship Brünhild. “The anger of the rank and file against officers of noble birth will be one factor in my victory. A splendid bull’s-eye, milady.”
“To be honest,” said von Oberstein, “I didn’t think this standoff would end any time this year, but now matters have been settled surprisingly early. At least insofar as these brigands and usurpers are concerned.”
“Brigands and usurpers,” Reinhard murmured coldly. Because of his victory—because of the boyars’ defeat—the empire’s official records would show that the term he had coined for them was just. To judge the defeated was a right naturally granted to the victor, and Reinhard intended to make robust use of it.
Had Reinhard been the one vanquished, they would have given him that notorious appellation, along with an ignominious death. From that perspective, there was no reason to hesitate in using his authority.
“The enemy before us has lost its power already. Presently, you’ll return to Odin to make preparations against the enemy behind us.”
Reinhard’s suggestion was brief, but von Oberstein understood it perfectly. “As you wish.”
The next battle would take place not in space but in the palace, where conspiracy would replace the beam cannon as the weapon of choice. It was going to be a battle no less gruesome than those fought between vast fleets of warships.
IV
A triumphant enemy fleet and utter despair were arrayed in front of Merkatz’s fleet, blocking his way back to Gaiesburg Fortress.
Merkatz stepped into his private room, pulled out his blaster, and stared at it. This would be the last implement that he used in his lifetime. Merkatz tightened his grip on it and was just pressing its barrel up against his temple when the door opened and his aide came running in.
“Stop that, Your Excellency. Do show some respect for your own life.”
“Lieutenant Commander von Schneider …”
“Forgive me, Excellency. I unloaded the energy capsules earlier for fear you might try something like this.” In von Schneider’s hand was the dull sheen of the capsules.
With a wry smile, Merkatz tossed the useless blaster onto his desk. Von Schneider picked it up.
The small screen in his private room was showing vivid scenes of the aristocrat fleet, already defeated and now on its way to destruction.
“This is how I imagined things would probably turn out. Now it’s all come true. All I was able to do was move this day back just a little.” Merkatz turned to look at his aide. “At any rate, when did you pull out those capsules? I never even noticed.”
Saying nothing, von Schneider opened up the barrel and showed it to Merkatz. Capsules were still lodged inside. Merkatz’s lips came apart slightly. “You tricked me. You’d go that far just to tell me to live, Lieutenant Commander?”
“Yes, sir. I would, and I did.”
“Live to do what? I’m the commander of a defeated force, and from the standpoint of the new authorities, an irredeemable brigand. There’s no longer any place in the empire where I can survive. If I were to surrender, Marquis von Lohengramm might forgive me, but even I know what shame is to a warrior.”
“If you’ll pardon my saying so, Your Excellency, Marquis von Lohengramm does not yet rule the entire universe, and narrow though our galaxy may be, there are still places in it where his reach does not extend. Please, leave the empire so you can stay alive, and make plans to strike back against him someday.”
“… You’re telling me to defect?”
“I am, Your Excellency.”
“Since you’re talking about making a comeback, I take it our destination isn’t Phezzan. That means it’s the other option.”
“Yes, Excellency.”
“The Free Planets Alliance …” Merkatz said to himself. That name had an unexpected ring of newness to it. When he had thought about the alliance in times past, he had always ignored the fact of what it was, using by default the traditional term “the rebel entity.”
“I’ve been fighting those people for more than forty years. I’ve seen a lot of my subordinates killed, and killed just as many of theirs. You think they’d accept someone like me?”
“I suggest we rely on the illustrious Admiral Yang Wen-li. I hear he’s a broad-minded person, if a little eccentric. Besides, even if he refuses, we’ll only be back to square one. And if it comes to that, you won’t be dying alone.”
“Idiot. You stay alive. You’re not even thirty yet, are you? With your talent, Marquis von Lohengramm would take you on and treat you well.”
“I have no hatred for Marquis von Lohengramm, but I’ve made up my mind that only one admiral will be my commanding officer. Please, Excellency, make up your mind.”
Von Schneider waited, and at last his patience was rewarded. Merkatz nodded and said, “All right. I’m in your hands. Let’s try Yang Wen-li and see what happens.
V
Gaiesburg Fortress was on the verge of death. Its outer shell was scored by cannon fire. Within, a steady roar of confusion and disorder did not merely reign—it exercised dictatorial powers at its whim.
Duke von Braunschweig, leader of the nobles’ confederated military, was calling out weakly, “Commodore Ansbach … Where is Ansbach?”
Several officers as well as rank-and-file soldiers were moving about nearby, but they all ran away without sparing a glance for the despondent aristocrat. They had been driven to the final option and had no concern left to spare for anyone else.
“Commodore Ansbach!”
“I’m here, Your Excellency.”
That duke turned around and saw his loyal confidant standing there. Several subordinates were with him as well.
“Oh, so that’s where you were. I didn’t see you in the prison, so I’d thought you’d escaped already.”
“My men came and let me out.” The commodore bowed deeply, making no mention of any grudge he might have had about being thrown into prison. “I can imagine the regret you must be feeling, Your Excellency.”
“Yes, I never dreamed things would turn out th
is way, but now that they have, there’s no longer any choice. We have to sue for peace.”
“For peace?” The commodore blinked.
“I’ll offer him most advantageous terms.”
“What terms?”
“I’ll recognize his authority. Beginning with myself, the aristocracy will support him fully. Those terms aren’t bad at all.”
“Excellency …”
“Oh yes, that’s right. I’ll give him my daughter, Elisabeth, too. That will make him the previous emperor’s grandson by marriage. Then he’ll have a just claim as successor to the imperial bloodline. That’s much better for him than being saddled with the notoriety of a usurper.”
Ansbach answered with a heavy sigh. “Your Excellency, that will do no good. There is no way Marquis von Lohengramm will accept such conditions. Maybe he would have six months ago, but now he has no need of your support. He’s acquired his position through his own abilities, and now there’s no one who can stand in his way.”
There was a shade of pity in the commodore’s eyes for his lord’s vain struggling. The duke shuddered, and beads of sweat broke out and covered his forehead.
“I am Duke Otto von Braunschweig, the head of a great house unequaled among the nobles of the empire. Are you saying that the golden brat means to kill me, despite all that?”
Ansbach groaned. “Do you still not understand, Excellency? That’s exactly why Marquis von Lohengramm will never leave you alive!”
The duke looked as if his veins had been pumped full of some heavy, viscous fluid. His skin color was changing by the moment, as though the flow of blood throughout his body were stopping and starting up again at irregular intervals.
“And also, because you’re an enemy of human decency,” the commodore appended, a bit mercilessly.
“What?!”
“I’m talking about Westerland. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
Marshaling all his strength, von Braunschweig roared back, “You mean to tell me that killing that lowborn rabble was some sin against common decency? As an aristocrat, and as their ruler, I simply made use of rights that are naturally mine. Didn’t I?”
“The commoners don’t think so. Even Marquis von Lohengramm will side with them. Up until now, the Galactic Empire has operated according to the logic of the aristocracy, with Your Excellency foremost among them. But at the current juncture, half of the universe is going to be governed by a new logic. That’s likely another reason why Marquis von Lohengramm will not let Your Excellency live—to make that point clear to everyone. He has to kill you. If he doesn’t, then the cause that he stands for will not be achieved.”
A long, long sigh trailed out from the duke’s mouth.
“Very well, then. I will die. But I will not stand for that golden brat usurping the throne. He must go to hell with me.”
Ansbach didn’t know how to answer.
“Ansbach, somehow, I want you to stop him from usurping the throne. If you’ll swear to me that you will, I won’t begrudge my own life. Kill him for me, please.”
Ansbach gazed steadily at his leader as flames of obsession blazed up in his eyes, and at last he nodded with calm determination. “As you wish, milord. I swear I will do my best to take von Lohengramm’s life. No matter who may become the next emperor, it won’t be him.”
“You swear it … ? Well, good.”
The man who had been greatest among the nobles of the Galactic Empire licked his dry lips. Although his mind was made up, there was a shadow of fear that he hadn’t quite shaken.
“I want as easy … as easy a death as possible.”
“I understand very well. You should use poison. In fact, some has already been prepared.”
They all moved from there to the duke’s luxurious apartments. Although deserting soldiers had ransacked it fairly thoroughly, bottles of wine and cognac yet remained in the wine rack.
From his pocket, the commodore pulled out a tiny capsule no larger than the nail of his little finger. It was a compound of two types of drugs. One blocked brain cells from absorbing oxygen, inviting swift brain death. The other had the effect of paralyzing the nerves through which pain was transmitted.
“You’re going to get sleepy very quickly, and then you’ll die with no pain at all. Please stir it into some wine and drink.”
Ansbach selected a bottle from the wine rack, checked the label, and saw that it was a fine 410 vintage. He poured some into a glass, then broke open the capsule, exposing the granules inside.
Watching this from where he was seated in a high-backed chair, Duke von Braunschweig abruptly began to tremble all over. The light of sanity had vanished from his eyes.
“Ansbach, no. I don’t want to do this.” He spoke in a strangled voice. “I don’t want to die. I’ll surrender. I’ll give up my lands, my titles … everything but my life …”
The commodore took a deep breath and gave a sign to his men on the right and left. Two large, powerfully built men stepped forward and laid hands on Duke von Braunschweig to hold him down in the chair, even though one would have been enough.
“What are you doing! Unhand me, you impertinent—”
“As the final head of Braunschweig Duchy’s ruling family, please do this yourself with grace and dignity.”
Ansbach picked up the wineglass and brought it to the lips of the immobilized duke. Von Braunschweig clenched his teeth tightly, determined not to drink the poison. Ansbach pinched the duke’s nose. Unable to breathe, his face turned red, and in the instant he could hold his breath no longer, he opened his mouth, and the poisoned wine made a crimson waterfall as it poured deep into the boyar’s throat.
Great swells of terror rolled in the duke’s eyes, but they lasted for only a few seconds. As a stone-faced Ansbach stood watching, the duke’s eyelids drooped and his muscles began to go slack. When his head started nodding, the commodore gave orders that the duke be carried to the infirmary. His subordinates hesitated.
“But, sir, he’s already dead …”
“Which is why I want you to do so. Now do as you’re told.”
It was a strange answer the commodore had given. His eyes followed his subordinates as they followed his order, heads cocked sideways, uncomprehending. In a low voice, he muttered to himself, “The Golden Bough is now all but fallen. What comes next will be known as … what? The Green Forest?”
Gräfin von Grünewald—“Countess of Green Forests”—that was the title that Reinhard’s sister Annerose had received from the previous emperor, Friedrich IV …
The old soldier was carrying a tiny palm computer as he walked alone through the corridors, seemingly not knowing what to do with himself. A junior officer driving a hydrogen car pulled over and shouted at him:
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing at a time like this? How about you run for it or make a white flag? Von Lohengramm’s army’s gonna charge in here any minute now!”
The old soldier turned around with his whole body but didn’t move an inch. “What’s your rank?” he said.
“You’d know if you’d look at my insignia. It’s chief petty officer. What about it?”
“Chief petty officer? That would mean 2,840 imperial marks.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, old-timer?”
“Look here—this is a Reichsbank transfer certificate. Walk into any branch on any planet, and if you’ve got one of these, you can trade it for cash.”
The chief petty officer groaned. “Listen, Grandpa, do you have any idea what’s happening right now? The world’s about to change today.”
“Today’s payday,” the old man said in an easygoing voice. “I’m in charge of payroll. You said the world’s changing, but all that means is they’re swapping out the folks at the top. Underlings like us still gotta eat, and you don’t get to eat unless you get paid. At least in that sense, nothing changes
no matter who’s in charge.”
“All right, I get it already. Get in the car. I’ll drive you to where the ones who want to surrender are gathering.”
After the car carrying the junior officer and the old soldier has sped off down the corridor, a young nobleman with the rank of captain appeared in the passage, searching for heavy arms. He hadn’t given up on resistance quite yet.
“I think I remember this warehouse being empty,” he mumbled to himself, nevertheless pulling open the door in hopes that there might be something left there anyway. What he saw, however, made his eyes snap open wide in surprise.
Inside the warehouse was a mountain of military supplies. There were rations, medical products, clothing, blankets, and everything from small arms to ammunition. Five or six soldiers and junior officers stood frozen in midstep, staring in surprise at this unexpected intruder.
The captain started shouting. “What is the meaning of this? Where did this materiel come from?!”
The look on the captain’s face frightened the junior officers. Even so, they didn’t drop the portable ration boxes they were carrying in both arms, and this only incensed the captain further.
“Cat got your tongue? Then let me answer for you. You were hiding these supplies to keep for yourself, instead of sending them to the front lines. Weren’t you?”
The answer to the captain’s question was written eloquently all over the junior officers’ faces. The captain’s anger toward those “shrewd common folk” burst through the bounds of reason and boiled over.
“Shameless dogs, don’t you move from that spot. I’m going to teach you lot some discipline!”
Screams and shouts rang out back and forth, but finally a blanket was thrown over the captain’s head, and not ten seconds had elapsed before he was shot dead. As an aristocrat, the young captain had believed that, even under the shadow of total defeat, soldiers would not resist being punished by the officers.
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