Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 6

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  “I didn’t realize I’d married a fortune-teller.”

  “I’m no fortune-teller. Call it a woman’s intuition.”

  Watching his wife saunter off into the kitchen, Caselnes muttered something under his breath and made for the foyer to greet their guests. His two daughters skipped along behind him.

  When he opened the door, the Yangs were speaking with some of the imperial soldiers assigned to the Caselnes household. To their haughty interrogation about the purpose of their visit and the contents of their bags, Yang replied sincerely and with great patience. As the two Caselnes girls pushed their father lightly aside, the soldiers saluted and backed down. Yang handed Charlotte Phyllis a present.

  “Give this to your mom. It’s Bavarian cream.”

  Now it was Yang who was on the receiving end of Caselnes’s reprimands when he entered the living room.

  “So, I can’t help but notice that you don’t come around here much anymore.”

  “What’s eating you, oh great husband of Madam Caselnes?”

  “Would it kill you to bring over a bottle of cognac from time to time? What’s with all the girly dishes?”

  “Well, if I’m going to kiss up to someone, it’d better be the one who wears the pants in this family. Last time I checked, wasn’t it your wife who’s going to all the trouble to make dinner for us?”

  “Man, you’re whipped. Who do you think paid for those ingredients? Food doesn’t just fall from the sky. No matter how you slice it, the one who wears the real pants around here—”

  “Is your wife, like I said.”

  While the active vice admiral and the retired marshal were engaged in their light verbal sparring match, Mrs. Caselnes briskly doled out table-setting instructions to Frederica and the girls. As Yang watched them with a sidelong glance, he couldn’t help but think that, in Mrs. Caselnes’s eyes, Frederica and her two daughters were on the same level of domesticity.

  “I would love to learn more about cooking. You could start me off with a few basic meat dishes, some seafood dishes, and then some egg dishes. I was hoping you might show me the ropes—that is, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  Nodding to Frederica’s enthusiastic words, Mrs. Caselnes answered with a somewhat ambiguous expression on her face.

  “You’re certainly raring to go, Frederica. But there’s no need to be so systematic about it. Things like cooking should happen organically. Besides, more important than providing for your husband is learning how to discipline him. He’ll walk all over you if you go too soft on him.”

  After the Yangs left, Mrs. Caselnes praised Frederica’s bravery in the strongest possible terms.

  “I thought she looked rather composed under the circumstances. Healthy, too.” Caselnes paused to stroke his chin, his expression serious. “But if Julian doesn’t come home soon, he’ll be welcomed back by the corpses of a young couple who died of malnutrition.”

  “Don’t say things like that. It’s bad luck.”

  “I was only joking.”

  “Jokes are like chili peppers: best used in moderation. You don’t exactly have the most balanced sense of humor. Sometimes, you’re not careful and you cross the line. Do it too much, and others might start taking it the wrong way.”

  Alex Caselnes, not yet forty, worked as acting general manager of rear services, where he was consistently praised for his competence as a military bureaucrat. But at home, he was just another wrinkled shirt in need of ironing. Knowing he was defeated, he lifted his younger daughter onto his knee, then whispered into the little ear nestled in her brown hair: “Daddy didn’t lose that one. Knowing when to back down and make one’s wife look good is the key to keeping the family peace. You’ll both understand soon enough.”

  He suddenly recalled his wife’s prediction. If Yang took off into the universe, he would have to think about his own course of action. His daughter looked curiously at her father’s face, the calmness of which was now disturbed.

  V

  Helmut Lennenkamp’s prejudice against Yang Wen-li would also make a big impression on future historians seduced into thinking of Yang as a “hero for democracy” and an “extraordinarily resourceful general.” They would interpret Yang’s actions more as worshippers than as researchers, as if his actions were predestined to put him on the path to greatness. Even his seemingly mediocre retirement, they concluded, was a farsighted and deeply laid stalling tactic in anticipation of his ultimate goal to overthrow the empire. To Yang, it would’ve been an annoying overstatement. Getting paid even at his young age to live an ordinary life without having to work was nothing to be praised for. That was provocation enough to get him back in the game.

  Yang did, in fact, have a deeply laid plan. Maybe it was just a way for him to pass the time, but the details, as conveyed after the fact by witnesses, went down something like this:

  The primary objective of his plan was to rebuild a republican system of government, unsullied by the inevitable dangers of a military dictatorship. In the best-case scenario, he would escape from the Galactic Empire’s clutches and restore total independence to the Free Planets Alliance. At the very least, he could aim for a democratic republic, no matter how large or small in scale. A nation was the methodological embodiment of the welfare and republican principles of its people. But it was also more than that. From time immemorial, those who would deify a nation parasitized its citizens, and it was pointless to shed new blood trying to save them. Yang would need to be more resourceful if he was going to affect lasting change.

  With a suitable political system in place, the reconstruction was to be divided into four parts: A. Fundamental principles; B. Government; C. Economy; and D. Military.

  The entire plan hinged on the integrity of A. A sound philosophical foundation would determine how much enthusiasm could be harvested toward rebuilding a republican government and restoring the people’s political authority. If the people saw no significance in such a project, then no amount of planning or scheming would bear fruit on their already weary limbs. To kick-start the process, Yang needed either the tyrannical rule of a despotic government or a charismatic sacrifice. Emotional and physiological reinforcement would be necessary to handle the trauma that would result from either scenario. Were this to be attempted by a purely republican faction, the situation would more than likely degenerate into conspiracy. Yang had never subscribed to the constant mantras around notions of effort. Without patience and sober action, no amount of even the best-meaning effort would bring about true and lasting change.

  Although B was the direct outcome of A, not only would the alliance retain autonomy in domestic affairs, but it would also be possible to organize an anti-imperial faction at the highest level of administration. Placing someone on the front lines with experience in both taxation and public order was preferable to the alternative. In addition, Yang and his cohort would need to position cooperative workers both within the empire and the Phezzan Dominion under direct imperial control. Said workers, especially those who were intimately linked to the center of the enemy’s authority, didn’t even need to be aware of their complicity. In fact, it was better that they weren’t. These were extremely underhanded tactics, to be sure, but so were bribery, terrorism, and any number of other methods used by the most power-hungry players. The only logical outcomes from such actions were jealousy, animosity, and betrayal.

  In the case of C, more so than in B, cooperation of Phezzan’s independent merchants was essential. Given that the alliance was required to pay the empire an annual security tax of one trillion five hundred billion imperial reichsmark, there was no hope of finances changing for the better anytime in the near future. One idea was to loan money to Phezzanese merchants at high interest rates, thereby granting mining development privileges and route priority, but guaranteeing indefinite expansion was no easy sell. The important thing was to make those merchants understand it was in their bes
t interest to cooperate with the republican faction more than with the empire. So long as they had a stake in industrial nationalization and monopolization of material-goods-related policies, asking independent Phezzanese merchants for their cooperation would be a cakewalk. One reason why great empires of the ancient world faced uprisings from their own people was because authorities coveted unjust profits, enforcing monopolies on the salt necessary for human existence. Considering this lesson of the past, they would need to give Phezzan’s merchants appropriate benefits, although this wasn’t so much of a worry since the rebuilding of a republic concerned both Phezzan and the alliance.

  Only after A through C were completed could D taste the sweet flavors of reality. At the present stage, there was no need for a tactical plan. Military rebuilding would yield an organization responsible for staunching anti-imperial activities. For this, a core unit would be necessary. And while the infrastructure was already in place, they still needed the benefit of military reinforcement. There was also the matter of who would lead. The self-respecting Admiral Merkatz had enough character and ability to do just that, but given his former allegiance to, and recent defection from, the empire, he couldn’t be trusted to lead a republican regiment. Admiral Bucock was another possibility. In either case, further deliberation on the matter was a tall order.

  Underlying all of these was an implicit golden rule: diminish the enemy and increase the enemies of the enemy, even if they aren’t allies. Everything was relative.

  These were the cornerstones of Yang’s plan, but he had yet to fit them into a grander scheme on paper. He couldn’t afford to neglect the competence of High Commissioner Lennenkamp when it came to maintaining public order, nor could he leave behind any evidence that would deem him a traitor under the new dynastic terms.

  From first to final movement, the whole notes of this “Insurrection Symphony” were ordered on the sheet music of Yang’s brain. Only their composer knew where to pencil in every tie, slur, and rest. But if Yang was ever asked why his name didn’t come up in the affairs of military leaders, he had an answer prepared: “I’m through working. My mind is spent. At this point, I can only sell the rest of me to a greater cause. Let them do with me what they will.”

  Yang’s plan came down to the all-important task of what he called “restoring the clan.” As far as he was concerned, the nation was nothing more than a tool, the purpose of which depended on the intentions of those wielding it. He’d said as much to others repeatedly and had even jotted it down for his own amusement.

  Above all, however, he’d managed never to incur the hatred of Reinhard von Lohengramm. On the contrary, one might say no one else regarded Yang so highly as his archnemesis. From Yang’s perspective, Reinhard was a military genius without equal, an absolute monarch of great discernment and little self-interest. His government was impartial, virtuous, and immune to criticism. It wasn’t far-fetched to think that most people were rather happy with the prospect of his long reign.

  But even as Reinhard brought about universal peace and prosperity by force of political suggestion, people were getting used to relinquishing their own political power to others. Yang couldn’t abide by this. Perhaps it was idealistic of him, but there had to be a way to broker peace among the different galactic factions without blindly supporting even the most well-meaning regime of despotism.

  Yang wondered if the good government of a tyrant wasn’t the sweetest drug when it came to one’s awareness as a citizen. If people could enjoy peace and prosperity, knowing that politics were being justly managed without them having to participate, express themselves, or even think, who would ever want to get involved with something as bothersome as politics to begin with? The obvious downside to such a system was that people grew complacent. No one ever seemed to exercise their imagination. If the people were troubled by politics, then so was their ruler. What happened, for instance, when he lost interest in politics and began to abuse his limitless power to satisfy his own ego? By then, it would be too late for anyone to devise a suitable counterstrategy, for their ingenuity would have already atrophied beyond the point of no return. A democratic government was therefore essentially just compared to an autocratic one.

  That said, Yang’s own stake in democratic principles wasn’t entirely immovable. Yang sometimes found himself musing that, if change for the better were possible, and humanity could enjoy the fruits of peace and prosperity indefinitely, then was there really any use in getting so caught up in the minutiae of politics? He felt embarrassed thinking back on his own shameful abstention from voting, when he would drink himself unconscious on the eve of an election day and wake up the next night, long after the polls had been closed. Those were hardly the actions of an honorable man.

  Such self-assessment was necessary when embarking on something as grand as universal reformation. Most people would have called this commitment to change nothing less than “faith.” And while it wasn’t the word Yang would have used, he would never be able to accomplish anything so monumental if it required him to see his enemies as inherently bad people.

  Even among future historians were those who thought that all faith was pardonable. Those same historians would invariably criticize Yang Wen-li for so often expressing his contempt for faith:

  “Faith is nothing more than a cosmetic used to cover up the blemishes of indiscretion and folly. The thicker the cosmetics, the more difficult it is to see the face underneath.”

  “Killing someone in the name of faith is more vulgar than killing someone for money, for while money has common value to most people, the value of faith goes no further than those it concerns.”

  As Yang would’ve argued, one needed only to look at Rudolf the Great, whose faith had destroyed a republican government and left millions dead, to realize that faith could be a dangerous virtue. Anytime someone used the word “faith,” Yang’s respect for that person dropped by 10 percent.

  In fact, Yang told his wife, downing his “tea-spiked brandy,” as someone who was attempting nothing less than destroying the new order, he was likely to go down as one of history’s most abhorrent criminals, and Reinhard as history’s legitimate poster child for greatness.

  “No matter how you slice it, the very anticipation of corruption is reprehensible, because you’re ultimately taking advantage of other people’s misfortune in order to tear it down.”

  “But aren’t we just waiting it out at this point?” prompted Frederica.

  She calmly reached for the brandy bottle, but Yang beat her by a hair.

  “Your timing needs work, Lieutenant Commander.”

  Yang began pouring more brandy into his tea but, seeing his wife’s expression, poured only two-thirds of what he’d intended and capped the bottle, saying apologetically:

  “We only desire what the body demands. Eating and drinking whatever we feel like is best for our health.”

  Yang’s point of view may have been broader, and the range of his sight longer, than most people’s, but he couldn’t possibly grasp every phenomenon in the universe. For just as he was settling down into married life, ten thousand light-years away from home, on the Galactic Imperial capital planet of Odin, a deployment of punitive forces was being readied at Reinhard’s command.

  I

  WHENEVER LIVES WERE irrevocably changed by circumstances beyond their control, people often dug up the term “fate” from the graveyards of their memories to reassure themselves that everything was meant to be. Julian Mintz, who had yet to turn eighteen, wasn’t old enough to fully exhume fate from his own mental graveyard, and he resorted to sleeping in a fetal position under his bed, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

  According to Yang Wen-li, his legal guardian of five years, fate had “the face of a gnarled old witch”—a natural sentiment for someone who’d spent eleven years in a profession he’d never wanted.

  Five years ago, Julian had been sent to then-Captain
Yang Wen-li’s house under Travers’s Law, which placed war orphans in the homes of other soldiers. And when, after dragging along a trunk that was bigger than he was, he’d come face-to-face with a black-haired, dark-eyed man who looked neither like a soldier nor a hero, Julian thought he’d glimpsed the profile of fate, which in his eyes was fair complexioned. He never could have imagined how that fate would change on his trip to Earth.

  The cradle of human civilization, which he was seeing for the first time in his life, emerged on the main screen of the starship Unfaithful as a dimly colored mass. Of all the planets Julian had ever seen, he wouldn’t have counted Earth among the more beautiful. Maybe it was just his preconception, but the cloudy globe practically broadcast itself as a planet laid to barren waste.

  Over one month since departing from Heinessen, Julian found himself in the innermost frontier star zone of imperial territory.

  On the occasion of his departure, it was decided that, between Phezzan and Iserlohn, they would take the former route. Until just a few days ago, this very sector had been embroiled in a bloody conflict between the Imperial Navy and the Alliance Armed Forces. Its militarily strategic position had played a central part in Iserlohn Fortress falling into the hands of the Imperial Navy for the first time in two and a half years. It was currently closed to civilian vessels.

  Every time Julian thought of Iserlohn Fortress, a disturbance rippled outward along the watery surface of his emotions. It had been the year SE 796 when his guardian, Admiral Yang Wen-li, had surrendered Iserlohn, once believed impregnable, without shedding a single drop of the blood of his allies. After the alliance’s crushing defeat at the Battle of Amritsar, Yang had served as commander of both Iserlohn Fortress and its patrol fleet, and continued to stand on the front lines of national defense. Julian had stayed by his side, repairing to Iserlohn. He’d spent two years on that giant artificial planet, itself sixty kilometers in diameter and, if you counted both soldiers and civilians, boasting a population of five million. It was then that he’d officially become a soldier. It was also where he’d experienced his first battle. He’d gotten to know many people, some of whom he’d found himself forever parting from.