“There’s plot to assassinate His Majesty the Emperor being carried out as we speak.”
The military police commissioner tried to keep calm, yet his eyes gleamed sharply, betraying their master’s intentions. Even while commanding fleets in outer space, his eyes hadn’t quivered in the slightest. But this was different, as every fiber of his being was loudly attesting.
“And how did you come by this knowledge?”
“Surely Your Excellency is aware of the religious organization known as the Church of Terra. I’ve dealt with them on occasion under the auspices of my former position. That’s when I learned of a conspiracy being hatched within their ranks. They threatened to kill me if I informed anyone, but my loyalty to His Majesty—”
“I understand.”
Kessler’s reply was not at all polite. Like his admirals in arms, he cared little for the defeatist standing before him. Everything that came out of Trünicht’s mouth reeked of a strong poison that made people hate him wherever he went.
“And the assassin’s name?” the military police commissioner asked, to which the former Free Planets Alliance prime minister answered solemnly.
Trünicht made it a point to insist that he’d never once agreed with the tenets of the Church of Terra and that the one time he had cooperated with the church had been because the situation had forced his hand, not because he’d wished to. Kessler had heard all he needed to hear and barked an order to one of his men.
“Take Mr. Trünicht to conference room number two. He is not to leave that room until we get to the bottom of this. Do not, under any circumstances, let anyone near him.”
Trünicht was placed under temporary house arrest under the pretense of his needing protection.
By the time Kessler acted, his informant no longer mattered. Kessler cared only about feeding himself, and there was no use for a dish once the meal was finished.
Kessler first rang the Kümmel residence on the visiphone, then Vice Admiral von Streit and Commodore Kissling, but couldn’t get through to any of them. The reason was clear.
Even as the military police commissioner ground his teeth, he wasted no time in contacting his regiment nearest the Kümmel estate. The commanding officer was one Commodore Paumann, a former armed grenadier with plenty of battle experience for his young age. Kessler had more faith in those who fought bravely in battle than in trueborn military police. Although he himself fit the latter bill to a T, practically speaking, not even the finest police investigator or interrogator was going to help him in this case. What he needed was a battle commander.
Upon receiving his orders, Paumann was nervous but not upset. He jumped into action, ordering all 2,400 armed officers in his jurisdiction to the Kümmel estate at once. It was a textbook covert operation. He forbade the use of armored vehicles, knowing that the sound of their engines would give them away before they even arrived. The military policemen ran in their stocking feet to the Kümmel estate, carrying their laser rifles in one hand and their military boots in the other. Some would laugh back on it the next day, but in the heat of the moment their actions were anything but humorous as they surrounded the
compound.
Kessler’s plan didn’t end there.
The 1,600-strong military police regiment under Commodore Raft raided the Church of Terra chantry house at 19 Cassel Street, rounding up all the believers they could find on-site. These weren’t pacifists, however, and instead of surrendering, they immediately welcomed the military police who stormed their building by opening fire.
Commodore Raft ordered his men to return fire. Prismatic beams shot out in all directions. It was a brutal, if short-lived, shoot-out. Ten minutes later, Raft’s men had made their way to the top floor, shooting anyone who stood in their way. At just past noon, they’d gained total control of the six-story building. Ninety-six believers were killed on the scene, fourteen died later of their injuries, twenty-eight committed suicide, and the fifty-two survivors, suffering from a variety of wounds, were arrested. No one escaped. On the military police side, eighteen were dead and forty-two wounded. Sect leader Archbishop Godwin had just been attempting to kill himself by drinking poison when a military police officer burst into the room and struck him with the butt of his gun. Godwin was placed in electromagnetic handcuffs and dragged unconscious from the scene, a failure at his own martyrdom.
The military police officers, still stoked by bloodlust, scoured the interior of the crimson-splattered building to gather any evidence that might prove the insurgents’ complicity in plotting the emperor’s assassination. They removed fragments of documents from the ashes of an incinerator, stripped corpses naked, pulled out pockets sticky with blood, kicked over altars, and tore up the floorboards, but turned up nothing. One of the wounded rebuked their blasphemous actions, only to be kicked to death by an officer in the back of the head where he’d been wounded.
As Commodore Raft’s unit was performing its blood rite in one corner of the capital, the soldiers of Commodore Paumann’s unit, having surrounded the Baron von Kümmel estate, put on their boots, awaiting their order to raid the compound. Those at the receiving end of that order could only comply, but the responsibility of the one giving it was immense. Their emperor’s life was poised on the tip of Paumann’s tongue.
Those whose lives hung in the balance of all this mobilization noticed a shift in their surroundings. A soundless stirring of the air brushed across their skin and stimulated their neural networks. After playing a quick game of catch with each other’s gazes, they all shared the same thought—something that was impossible for someone like Heinrich, who’d never once experienced combat, to perceive. Help was on the way. Now all they needed to do was stall for time.
Heinrich’s perception was focused on two things. First, the Seffl particle detonator switch in his hand, and second, the silver pendant that Reinhard kept fondling like a talisman.
Reinhard was moving his hand unconsciously. Or if it was conscious, then it was surely to provoke the needless caution of this would-be assassin. This made Heinrich even more interested in the pendant.
Hilda was also aware of this dangerous cycle but was helpless to do anything about it. Any interruption on her part might be impetus enough for Heinrich to put his sick curiosity into action.
Heinrich, after barely opening and closing his mouth a few times, broke the silence.
“Your Majesty, that pendant seems quite valuable to you. I would very much like to see it, and to touch it, if you would be so kind.”
Reinhard’s fingers froze. He fixed his gaze on Heinrich’s face. Hilda trembled in fear, for she knew that her cousin had trodden his muddy feet into the emperor’s inviolable sanctuary.
“Out of the question.”
“I demand to see it.”
“It’s not yours to see.”
“Just let him see it, Your Majesty,” von Streit interjected.
“Your Majesty!” said Kissling simultaneously.
Both men knew their allies were closing in and saw no harm in buying themselves even a few more seconds by any means necessary. What was the point of angering Heinrich further with this childish resistance?
Reinhard clearly didn’t share their views. The coolheaded, keen, and ambitious ruler his attendants all knew and served had disappeared, leaving in its place a man with the expression of a troubled boy. He was like a child desperately clinging to his toy box, which to the adults around him was filled with junk yet which he was convinced contained actual treasure.
In Hilda’s eyes, Heinrich was now the real tyrant and would never tolerate this. Heinrich had crossed the line not only of her trust, but also of his own into boldest action.
“I’m the one holding the cards here. Or has His Majesty forgotten? Give it to me this instant. I will not ask you again.”
“No.”
Reinhard’s obstinacy was hard to believe coming f
rom a hero who’d crawled his way out of poverty as a young man with only a name to show for his nobility, only to become ruler of the greatest empire in history. Heinrich’s irrational sentiments, it seemed, had been distorted and transferred over into Reinhard. Heinrich had a sudden fit, but his imbalanced passions erupted in an unexpected direction. His lifeless hand, which looked for all like a lab specimen fixed with formalin, reached out like a leaping snake and grabbed the emperor’s pendant. Reinhard’s graceful hand, which any artist would have desired as a model, struck the half-dead tyrant’s cheek. Everyone’s lungs and hearts ceased to function but went back online when the detonator switch flew from the Baron’s hand and rolled across the flagstones. Kissling sprang at Heinrich, almost embarrassingly like a cat, and pinned him to the ground.
“Go easy on him!” Hilda shouted, by which time Kissling was already letting go of Heinrich’s thin wrists. The baron’s sickly frame had let out a crack that sent the topaz-eyed brave general into recoil. Feeling the aftertaste of having mustered far more violence than was necessary, Kissling left this traitor in the hands of his beautiful cousin. This was not Kissling’s curtain call.
“Heinrich, you fool,” whispered Hilda, cradling her cousin’s weak body. It was all even someone of her intelligence and expressiveness could muster. Heinrich smiled. Not the malicious grin of moments before, but an almost pure smile, gilded by impending death.
“I wanted to do something before I died. No matter how evil or foolish it was. I wanted to do something before I died…that and nothing more.”
Heinrich enunciated every word with strange clarity. He didn’t ask for her forgiveness. Nor did Hilda demand that he beg for it.
“The von Kümmel barony dies with me. Not by infirmity, but because I acted so carelessly. My illness may soon be forgotten, but many will remember my foolishness.”
After speaking his mind, the crater of Heinrich’s life spewed its last glob of lava. His heart, abused by this one final act, was eternally released, and his veins changed from rivers of life to thin ponds.
Holding her dead cousin’s face in her hands, Hilda shifted her gaze to Reinhard. The young emperor stood in silence, his luxurious golden locks fluttering in the summer breeze. His ice-blue eyes betrayed nothing of the raging sea within. He was still fingering the pendant with one hand.
Von Streit plucked the detonator switch from the stone, muttering something under his breath. Kissling shouted, announcing to their allies surrounding the mansion that the emperor was safe and sound. The silence was broken by a disturbance in the air as an unknown man jumped out in front of everyone—a straggler who’d fled from the Church of Terra raid and stolen into the compound. He locked his blaster on Reinhard, letting out a hostile roar. But von Rücke was one step ahead of him, shooting out a ray of light from his blaster. The man turned around as if his survival instinct had suddenly kicked in. Von Rücke pulled the trigger again, hitting the center of the man’s back. The man threw up his arms like a sprinter leaping across the finish line, did a half turn, and fell headfirst into a thicket of common broom.
Three of von Rücke’s personal bodyguards carefully dragged out the body. That’s when von Rücke noticed the distinct embroidery on his clothing that would confirm his suspicions. He silently mouthed the words: Terra is my home, Terra in my hand.
“So he’s one of those Church of Terra cultists?” whispered Vice Admiral von Streit from over his shoulder.
He of course knew the name of the religious organization that had somehow expanded its influence throughout both the empire and the alliance in recent years. There were also those who’d heard of Terra yet knew little of Earth.
Everyone was at least aware of Earth as the birthplace of all humankind and understood that it had once been the center of the known universe. It continued to revolve around its sun, but the meaning of its existence had been lost to a distant past. Hardly anyone mourned its loss. It was nothing more than a modest planet, forgotten—if not compelled to be vanquished from memory—in the frontier.
Soon enough, however, the name “Earth” would ring in people’s ears to the accompaniment of an ominous elegy, as it was revealed to be a strategic base for an outrageous conspiracy to assassinate the emperor.
V
Upon returning to Neue Sans Souci, Emperor Reinhard had reverted to his usual dictatorial self, as if his life hadn’t just been hanging in the balance of an invalid’s hands. But because he never explained how his silver pendant had incited a most unforeseen turn of events, both Vice Admiral von Streit and Commodore Kissling felt a lack of closure. Hilda, at any rate, being related to a criminal who had engaged in a wanton act of high treason, was placed under house arrest.
Senior Admiral Kessler, who held concurrent posts as military police commissioner and commander of capital defenses, flagged Reinhard down in the corridors. Suppressing the surge of emotions swelling inside him, he formally congratulated Reinhard on his safe return and apologized for not knowing of Heinrich’s intentions beforehand.
“Not at all. You did well. Did you not suppress the Church of Terra’s headquarters where the plot was hatched? You’ve nothing to blame yourself for.”
“Your magnanimity knows no bounds. Incidentally, Your Majesty, Baron von Kümmel may be dead, but he’s still a criminal of the highest order and must be dealt with accordingly. How do you suggest we proceed from here?”
Reinhard shook his head slowly, causing his luxurious golden hair to sway attractively.
“Kessler, imagine you’ve just apprehended someone who put your life in danger. Do you punish the weapon he used to do it?”
It took a few moments for the military police commissioner to grasp what the young emperor had left unsaid. Namely, that no one was to charge Baron von Kümmel with a crime. Which meant, of course, that Hilda and Count von Mariendorf were to be exonerated. If anyone needed to be blamed and punished, it was the religious fanatics pulling strings from the shadows.
“I will interrogate the Church of Terra believers immediately, bring out the truth, and punish them as you see fit.”
The young emperor nodded silently and turned away, looking through the reinforced window at the long-neglected garden. A feeling of disgust roared like a distant ocean deep inside him. Although he’d found great fulfillment in fighting to gain power for himself, there was no joy in continuing to fight to keep the power he already had. He spoke telepathically to his silver pendant: How I enjoyed battling at your side against a worthy enemy! But now that I’ve become the mightiest ruler of all, I sometimes wish I could defeat myself. If only there were more great enemies. If only you’d lived just a little longer, then I might’ve satisfied my heart’s desire. Isn’t that right,
Kircheis?
The emperor’s intentions were conveyed to the military police through Kessler. The fifty-two Church of Terra survivors were brought before military police, who were seething with loyalty to their emperor and a desire to avenge the attempt that had been made on his life. Kessler proceeded to dole out punishments so cruel that the surviving Terraists envied the dead. Kessler and his men could have gotten all the information they needed without resorting to a truth serum, but they wasted no time in using the strongest drugs at their disposal. One reason was that they were capital offenders, and the necessity of getting confessions was far more important than any concern for the well-being of those giving them. The other reason had to do with the tenacity of the Terra believers. It was as though they craved martyrdom, which only fueled the animosity of their interrogators. Such fanaticism provoked only revulsion in those outside their faith.
During one such interrogation session, a doctor was hesitant to administer the full dose and cowered at the officers’ harsh words.
“You’re worried they’ll go crazy? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? This lot has been crazy from the beginning. These drugs might just bring them back to normal.”
/>
In the interrogation room, five levels below military police headquarters, the amount of blood spilled far exceeded the amount of information retrieved to show for it. The Church of Terra sect established on the planet Odin had only carried out the plot, and had neither given nor drafted the order.
The chief offender, Archbishop Godwin, after failing to bite off his own tongue, was injected with a copious amount of truth serum. He gave up nothing at first, much to the doctor’s amazement. After the second injection, cracks appeared in his mental levees, and little by little information began trickling out. Still, even he could only guess as to why he’d been ordered to assassinate the emperor at this point in time.
“As time goes by, the foundation of that golden brat’s power will only grow stronger. He may reject his ostentation as supreme ruler, value simplicity, and try to take down the barrier between subjects and citizens, but he will eventually brandish his power and make lavish use of his entourage, of that you can be sure. We’ll never get a chance like this again.”
“Blond brat” was a term only Emperor Reinhard’s opponents used to curse him. Those words alone were enough to convict Archbishop Godwin of lèse-majesté. In the end, however, he wasn’t judged in a courtroom. After receiving his sixth injection of truth serum, he bashed his head against the ceiling and walls of the interrogation room, muttering incoherently, until he died, bleeding from every orifice.
The severity of this interrogation left no doubt about the truth. The Church of Terra had committed high treason. The only option was to make the church acutely aware of the nature of its offense.
“But where’s the Church of Terra’s motive? I’m still baffled as to why they would aim to murder Your Majesty.”
This was a doubt felt not only by Kessler, but by all chief statesmen who knew of the incident. For all their discernment, the dreams of fanatics were impossible to divine with only limited truths as their dowsing rods.
Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 6 Page 6
