“No, my daughter is too strong-willed in her independence and self-sufficiency for a position like that. She’s not one to put on the airs of a noblewoman, nor to seclude herself subserviently at court. My daughter is well-versed in many things, but I sometimes worry whether she’s aware of even being a woman.”
Von Oberstein didn’t smile but nevertheless laid down his arms.
“Our secretary of state is a man of good sense.”
Von Mariendorf breathed a sigh of relief.
Hilda recapped the situation when her father returned home.
“The secretary of defense is warning us not to deceive His Majesty or monopolize his political sovereignty. Whether his worries come from a place of genuine concern is of little consequence to me.”
“The whole thing is absurd.”
The count was discouraged. He had no intention of opposing the secretary of defense for the mere sake of gaining arbitrary political influence over the emperor. Furthermore, it was hard to imagine Reinhard as his daughter’s husband, given the emperor’s distant demeanor. In Franz von Mariendorf’s reckoning, Emperor Reinhard was a great child prodigy, but being a genius didn’t mean he had a higher capacity for emotion than everyday people. Of course, he possessed just such emotional energy, only it was unevenly distributed away from matters of love. As when tilting a water-filled cup, when one part reached the brim, the other receded from it. As in the famous anecdote of the ancient astronomer who accidentally fell down a well while looking up at the sky to study the movements of the stars, that receding end revealed itself on a daily level. And when it came to sexual love, Reinhard was at the very least an enigma.
As Viscount Albrecht von Bruckner, author of The Galactic Empire: A Prehistory, expressed it: “If you banished all the perverts and homosexuals from history and the arts, human culture would never have advanced to such a degree.” But Reinhard simply lacked experience with intimacy, which was almost as worrisome to a sensible man like the count, who wanted nothing less for his daughter than a man who was ordinary, virtuous, and forthcoming. Then again, if Hilda wanted to get married…
“Anyway, Hilda, considering how blessed we’ve been by the emperor’s good favor, we mustn’t forget to keep our professional and personal lives separate. As the saying goes, there are as many seeds of misunderstanding as there are people.”
Even to his intelligent and vivacious daughter, Count von Mariendorf was a typical father who knew she would do whatever she wanted regardless of what he said.
“Yes, I understand,” said Hilda, if only to ease this confrontation with her mild-mannered father. In her mind, the conversation had already been over before it had even begun.
Her feelings for Reinhard and Reinhard’s feelings for her were impossible to parse. For while certainly there was no hatred or disgust between them, there was a vast distance between “not hating” and “loving” someone, and there were limitless bands in the spectrum of good graces. Her weak point, and perhaps Reinhard’s as well, was in trying to interpret through reason that which was based on anything but.
Hilda knew why Reinhard had agreed to pay a visit to the Kümmel household. Such a visit required careful political consideration. In the past, any emperor worth his crown would have thought twice before calling upon the residence of a rival minister for the first time, as many had before him. Such precedents were laughable to Reinhard. But the fact that Baron Heinrich von Kümmel was not one of Reinhard’s meritorious, or even favored, retainers worked in the young emperor’s favor. The golden-haired tyrant held the customs and propriety of the Goldenbaum Dynasty in utmost contempt, and so the idea of honoring an infirm member of the old nobility with an imperial visit intrigued him, if anything, as a way of rubbing the old system’s nose in its own
accident.
III
On that day, July 6, Emperor Reinhard visited the estate of Baron von Kümmel with sixteen attendants in tow. These included Hildegard von Mariendorf, Reinhard’s private secretary and cousin to the Kümmel family patriarch; senior imperial aide Vice Admiral von Streit; secondary aide Lieutenant von Rücke; head of the imperial guard Commodore Kissling; and four chamberlains and bodyguards besides.
If you asked any of his subordinates, they would have told you that anyone ruling over the entire universe required a far stricter level of protection worthy of his status—an entourage of over one hundred, at least. When the old official responsible for court ceremonies, a man who’d served the Goldenbaum Dynasty for four decades, had suggested honoring that precedent, Reinhard’s response had been curt:
“I have no intention of following any precedent established by the Goldenbaum Dynasty.”
To Reinhard, even sixteen was going overboard. He preferred to be as casual as possible, on occasion even acting alone, inspiring one future historian to believe that Emperor Reinhard had a body double.
In truth, no one knew for sure, although one of his retainers did, in fact, once advise the use of a body double. As “Artist-Admiral” Mecklinger recorded it in a memo, Reinhard was none too happy with the suggestion:
“Is it not enough to look out for myself? Were I to come down with any serious illness, does that mean my double would be taken to the hospital instead of me? Don’t ever suggest such a foolish thing to me again.”
Miliary police commissioner Senior Admiral Kessler had left a like-minded memo, so it was assumed that either, if not both, of them had proposed the idea.
“To the emperor,” noted Mecklinger, “the idea of going to any great lengths to ensure his personal safety is absurd. Whether out of confidence, overestimation of his own abilities, or philosophical resignation is anyone’s guess.”
Mecklinger knew when and where to draw the line between faith and respect. He admired Reinhard all the same and devoted himself fully to his cause, even as he kept a sharp eye on this once-in-a-generation character. Some part of his brain knew that at the head of the empire was someone who could conquer the universe as far as human hands could reach.
Baron von Kümmel’s residence was unremarkable. His lineage boasted no outstanding rulers, idiosyncratic geniuses, or eccentric libertines and had hardly fluctuated in terms of status or assets since the reign of Rudolf the Great. And while the estate had been annexed and renovated numerous times over the past five centuries and was now nestled comfortably in a protective barrier of hedges and moats, no one had any interest in its avant-garde architecture now that old-fashioned conventions had made a comeback. That said, the property was grand enough to fit three hundred ordinary houses, and despite its lack of individuality, its modestly arranged greenery gave it a charm all its own.
Those who knew the head of the estate, however, could sense a certain vitality hidden behind it all. To all appearances, Master Heinrich, tenth-generation baron of the Kümmel family, was an even-keeled personality. This year he would turn nineteen. When he had been taken from his mother’s womb after a difficult delivery, they had both been suffering from a congenital metabolic disorder. And so, even as he grew older, he was dying a slow death more than living. Had he been born to a common family, he wouldn’t have made it past his first year. The procedure by which his inferior genes had been removed had rendered him a mere shell, but such drastic measure had been the only way to save his life.
Even had he been moderately healthy, it wasn’t as if all the elegant young noblewomen would be lining up at his door, either. For while he was graceful enough in his features, Heinrich was of meager build and his blood was too thin. He ate not because he enjoyed it, but only to supply himself with enough energy to get through each day. As a result, he always weighed dietary considerations over taste. He existed only to prolong his life, like the watered-down gruel he often ate.
Despite enormous efforts, that diluted gruel had been reduced to little more than hot water. His personal mantra—“It won’t be much longer”—seemed closer than ever to fulfilmen
t. Knowing this, both Count von Mariendorf and Hilda had entreated the emperor to grant Heinrich’s dying wish.
When the emperor’s party passed through the gates of the Kümmel estate, the baron himself came out to greet him in his electric wheelchair, much to everyone’s surprise. Heinrich’s complexion was pallid, but his hair and clothing had been arranged to appear presentable. He locked eyes with Hilda, giving her the briefest of smiles, then bowed his head to Reinhard.
“I am moved beyond measure that Your Majesty graces my humble abode with his presence. Please consider this as much your home as it is mine. From this day forth, the Kümmel family name shall shine with unmerited glory.”
Reinhard didn’t care for excessive rhetoric but nodded coolly, saying only that he was glad to see Heinrich so happy and that his happiness was worth more than the most lavish welcome. Reinhard, too, could play the decorum game when he felt like it, and he was more than willing to oblige for Hilda’s sake. In this case, a little mercy went a long way, and it was no skin off the back of his self-importance to give it. After his feeble greeting, Heinrich gave a short cough. Hilda bowed to the emperor and tended to her cousin.
“Don’t overdo it, Heinrich, okay?”
Reinhard nodded with his natural grace.
“Fräulein von Mariendorf is right. I wouldn’t want you to overextend yourself for my sake. Your health is paramount.”
And yet, even as the young emperor offered these uncommon words of sympathy, a strange sensation ran through his veins. Was it just his guilty conscience as an able-bodied person? Or was it something more? It was the same feeling he got whenever he saw man-made points of light begin to fill the darkness of outer space on his battle screen. That feeling of going on the defensive. The calm before the storm.
Reinhard shook his head in imperceptible denial. There was no point in honoring intuition over reason here. His opponent was a half-dead invalid whose ambition and desire for power registered nowhere on destiny’s radar.
“Please, do come inside. I’ve had a modest lunch prepared for us.”
Riding his electric wheelchair, Heinrich showed his guests around the premises. A garden path of flagstones wound through a cypress forest. Although it was July, the imperial capital was spared the heat and humidity of the tropical zones, and so even Heinrich’s modest landscaping gave the impression of being in another world. After walking some distance, a slight evaporation of sweat left their skin feeling pleasantly cooled.
They emerged from the forest at the rear of the estate, where the flagstones broadened into an open courtyard measuring twenty meters per side and nestled in the shade of two old elms. A meal was waiting for them on a marble table. The servants withdrew upon the party’s arrival. Once everyone took their seats, the scene took on an unexpectedly different air as their humble young host stretched his back and flashed an ominous smile.
“A splendid courtyard, don’t you think, Hilda?”
“That it is, Heinrich.”
“Truth be told, Hilda has been here before. What she doesn’t know is that there’s an underground chamber right below us. It’s filled with Seffl particles, ready at my command to welcome His Majesty into the underworld where he belongs.”
And in that moment, everything went blank. Hearing the name of that extremely dangerous explosive chemical substance, Commodore Kissling’s topaz eyes filled with dread as he reached for his holstered blaster. The other bodyguards followed suit.
“There, there, gentlemen. To Your Majesty, universal sovereign, unifier of all humanity. Born into a poor family, noble only in name, you who rose precipitously to the throne as the paragon of our age. And to you, his loyal subjects. I say this: unless you want this detonator switch to be pressed, I suggest you stay right where you are.”
The young baron’s tone was zealous yet lacking in strength, and so it took some a few moments to realize the gravity of what he’d just said. But the dangerousness of the situation was clear. They were all sitting over a bomb just waiting to go off. Hilda’s voice shook off the silence, thick like molasses.
“Heinrich, you…”
“My dear Hilda. I never meant for you to get involved in this. Had it been possible, I wouldn’t have wanted you to accompany the emperor. But now, even if I were to let you, and only you, get out of here alive, I don’t think you’d comply, would you? My uncle will be much aggrieved, but it’s too late to do anything about it now.”
Heinrich’s speech was interrupted several times by painful coughing fits. Commodore Kissling’s team of bodyguards knew better than to try anything a second time, for the young baron’s fist gripped the detonator switch as if it were an extension of his body, and they weren’t about to lay down the emperor’s life like a chip on a roulette table when the odds were stacked against them. Listening to the gasps of an invalid who they could probably kill with one pinkie, they stood stock-still in an invisible cage of helplessness, waiting to see what he would do next.
“I think the baron has something to say,” whispered von Streit. “Let him speak all he wants. It’ll buy us some time.”
To this, Kissling and von Rücke nodded slightly, their expressions hard as rocks. Provoking this young man, who had every intention of assassinating the emperor, would only lead to the incineration of the Lohengramm Dynasty’s figurehead, along with his attendants, in an instant. Heinrich held their lives in his hand, and it was all they could do to loosen his grip.
“What’s on your mind, Your Majesty?”
Reinhard, who until then had been sitting without a word, lifted his shapely eyebrows in response to Heinrich’s derisive smile.
“If I should die by your hand here, then that is a fate I shall have to accept. I regret nothing.”
The young emperor, showing signs of heartfelt cynicism, curled his graceful lips into a glyph of self-derision.
“It’s been only two weeks since my coronation. I doubt there has ever been a dynasty as short as mine. Not exactly what I’d hoped for, but your brazen act will immortalize my name in history. A disgraceful name, perhaps, but who am I to care about its future value? I don’t even care to know your reasons for killing me.”
A glint of enmity welled up in the invalid’s eyes. Seeing the trembling in his almost colorless lips, Hilda withdrew into her shell. In that moment, she had accurately discerned her cousin’s intent. Heinrich wanted Reinhard to beg for his life. If only the absolute ruler of the entire universe would kneel before him and appeal for clemency, then Heinrich could at last vent the humiliating powerlessness that had come to define him. And with that, he’d relinquish the detonator switch with blind satisfaction.
But in the same way that Heinrich could never be free from his frail body, neither could Reinhard be free from his fame and self-respect. As Reinhard had said when meeting face-to-face with Admiral Yang Wen-li of the Free Planets Alliance, he wanted the power to get on without following the orders of someone he despised. For Reinhard to regret his life and beg his intimidator for mercy now would negate every step he’d taken along the path to getting here. And when that happened, there were several people to whom he’d never be able to show his face again. People who’d protected his life at the expense of their own. People who’d loved him even when he lived in the depths of poverty.
“Heinrich, please. It’s not too late. Just hand me the switch.” Hilda demanded his concession, if only to buy some time, regardless of outcome.
“Ah, Hilda, even you get riled up now and then. To me, you were always so graceful under pressure, overflowing with radiant vitality. But now, seeing that darkened expression of yours, I must say I’m a little disappointed.”
Heinrich laughed. Hilda keenly sensed that the pilot light barely keeping her cousin warm had been malice all along. There seemed to be no way out of this. Unable to look her cousin in his overzealous eyes, Hilda averted her own and held her breath. Commodore Kissling, whose topaz
eyes and unusual gait had earned him nicknames such as “Cat” and “Panther,” was slowly moving from his original position.
“I said, don’t move!”
Heinrich’s voice, expelled as if on cue, was neither loud nor forceful, but it exposed a vein of fury in the air all the same, and so its impact was enough to keep Kissling’s daring spontaneity in check.
“Stay right where you are, for a few more minutes. Allow me the pleasure of holding the universe in my hands for just another moment or two.”
Kissling implored Hilda with his eyes, but she ignored him.
“I’ve lived my whole life for these few minutes. Actually, that’s not true. It’s why I’ve held off death for so long. Let me keep it at bay just a little longer.”
When Reinhard heard this, his ice-blue eyes glistened, filled with an emotion that was neither compassion nor anger.
Hilda noticed his fingers fondling the silver pendant hanging on his chest and found herself wondering, inappropriately enough under the circumstances, what was inside it. It had to be something of great importance.
IV
Senior Admiral Ulrich Kessler served as both commissioner of military police and commander of capital defenses. Either job was exhausting in and of itself. To take on both, even without the birth of the new dynasty, would have been nearly impossible for one man alone.
The fact that Kessler had enough presence of mind and body to withstand this double duty only confirmed his worth.
On the morning of July 6, in his office at headquarters, he met with a few guests, but it was the unexpected fourth who brought the most important business. Job Trünicht, a gentleman in the prime of his life who’d been the leader of the Free Planets Alliance until just last month, had sold his sovereignty to Reinhard and taken up residence within the empire as a means of ensuring his own safety. The information he brought was shocking.
Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 6 Page 5
