Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 6

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  Yang’s lack of interest in trying to seize power by military force was ultimately due to the fact that he placed no value whatsoever on authority. It was his contempt for those who desired power—for their sense of values, their way of life, their very existence—that made him smile with scorn.

  People in high positions of power couldn’t help but despise Yang Wen-li, for to affirm Yang’s way of life was to deny their own. One can only imagine the depths of their indignation over their paradoxical relationship to Yang.

  They’d been waiting for an opportunity to tear him down from his national hero’s seat and throw him into a bottomless pit. But not even that was an option so long as the Galactic Empire posed a threat to their own ascendency. The Galactic Empire continued to thrive, even if its significance had changed. What was once an enemy nation had now become a sovereign ruler. Had not the elite’s shining star, Job Trünicht, given himself over to the empire in exchange for a comfortable life? Were they, perhaps, resentful that he’d taken the easy way out, leaving them to cough at the dust he’d left in his wake? Although his firebrand speech had saved millions of soldiers from certain death, one of the joys of his power was expending the lives of his citizens like cheap commodities. Anyone deceived by such cajolery as Trünicht’s was a fool. He’d sold the alliance’s independence and democratic principles to the empire for the pocket change of personal safety. But had they not also sold Yang Wen-li, who’d made the Imperial Navy eat its own foot on numerous occasions, in exchange for their own safety? In any case, the alliance was no longer. Seeing the nation as indestructible was an ideal that only mindless patriots believed in. They, however, knew the truth, and it was all they could do to cling to their assets, waiting for a chance to jump ship onto another that wasn’t sinking.

  Thus, a few shameless “merchants” had a mind to sell the commodity known as Yang Wen-li to the empire. Several pieces of anonymous intel to that effect had been sent to the imperial high commissioner, Senior Admiral Helmut Lennenkamp. Their content was virtually identical.

  “Yang Wen-li lied about Admiral Merkatz’s death and helped him escape in preparation for a future revolt against the empire, at which time Yang himself will rally his soldiers together to rise again.”

  “Yang plans to mobilize the anti-imperialists and extremists within the alliance under the banner of revolution.”

  “Yang is an enemy of the empire, a destroyer of peace and order. He will lord over the alliance as a tyrant, invade the empire, and try to crush the entire universe under his military boot.”

  Captain Ratzel, who oversaw surveillance of Yang, presented Lennenkamp with this anonymous intel inside the building that was a hotel turned commissioner’s office. The commissioner watched calmly as Ratzel’s expression changed from astonishment to anger while he read over the intel.

  “If this information is correct, Captain, then I must say the mesh of your surveillance network isn’t nearly tight enough.”

  “But, Your Excellency,” said Captain Ratzel, mustering fortitude against the former enemy general, “you can’t possibly take any of this seriously. If Admiral Yang had any inclinations toward being a dictator, why would he wait until such a difficult time as this when he had plenty of opportunities to seize that power before?”

  Lennenkamp gave no response.

  “To begin with, you can be sure these informants have been rescued from danger by Admiral Yang. And however much the political situation has changed, those who would turn their backs on the ones to whom they’re most indebted aren’t to be trusted. If and when, as they themselves claim, Admiral Yang does monopolize power as dictator, you can be sure they’ll change the colors of their flag at once and prostrate themselves at his feet. Are you really going to lend credence to such shameless slander, Your Excellency?”

  As Lennenkamp listened, an unpleasant expression arose on his otherwise-blank face. He nodded silently and dismissed the captain.

  Ratzel had never understood his superior’s state of mind.

  It wasn’t that Lennenkamp believed this anonymous intel. It was that he wanted to believe it. Rejecting Ratzel’s admonition, he advised the alliance government to have retired marshal Yang Wen-li arrested on charges of violating the Insurrection Act. On July 20, a simultaneous order was given to the armed grenadiers unit affiliated with the commissioner’s office to be on standby. Chaos, Part the Second, had begun.

  An invisible noose had been placed around Yang’s neck. The frenzied thinking of alliance leaders and Lennenkamp would never compare to Yang’s stable foresight and precaution. In the end, so long as Yang was breathing, he would always be an obstacle they would need to avoid. In order to prevent that, Yang would need to bow to the authorities or lose to Lennenkamp in the battlespace. The former wasn’t something of which Yang was incapable, while the latter wasn’t something that could be dragged upstream from the past and corrected.

  Udo Dieter Hummel was chief of staff of the imperial high commissioner. What Hummel lacked in creative thinking he made up for with his penchant for dealing with the law and administrative subjects efficiently and in good order. Because of his diligence, to Lennenkamp he was a most satisfactory assistant and, in any case, overly creative types with less than half a heart for anything other than their own creations were an unnecessary hazard in a militarily occupied administration.

  Nevertheless, there were such things as formalities in this world, and the Free Planets Alliance was an independent nation founded on those formalities. Lennenkamp was no colonial governor-general. His jurisdiction went only as far as the Bharat Treaty specified. Hummel’s assistance was indispensable in allowing him to make the most of his power within the scope allotted to him.

  Hummel had also been carrying out a more important duty behind the scenes: namely, reporting Lennenkamp’s every word and deed to Secretary of Defense von Oberstein.

  On the night of the twentieth, Lennenkamp called Hummel into his office for one of their regular debriefings.

  “Seeing as Marshal Yang isn’t a subject of the empire, he will be punished in accordance with alliance laws.”

  “I know, the Insurrection Act.”

  “But that’ll never fly. Yang helped Admiral Merkatz escape before the Bharat Treaty and the Insurrection Act were even put into effect. We can’t just apply the law retroactively. What I was going to suggest is the alliance’s National Defense Base Act.”

  As soon as he’d taken up his new post, Hummel had brushed up on the alliance government’s various laws and ordinances in the hope of finding a legal loophole to nail Yang once and for all.

  “When Marshal Yang helped Admiral Merkatz escape,” Hummel continued, “his furnishing of military ships was tantamount to an abuse of his authority over national resources. Under normal law, it would be possible to charge him with malfeasance. He’s guilty of a far greater crime than violation of the Insurrection Act.”

  “I see.”

  Lennenkamp grinned, his mouth stiffening under his splendid mustache. He wanted any possible excuse to execute Yang Wen-li only because he was regarded by the new dynasty and its emperor as public enemy number one, not because he wanted to dispel some personal grudge of defeat. He wanted to make that clear, so as not to be misunderstood.

  Yang Wen-li was renowned for his invincibility, his youth, and his seemingly inherent virtue. If accused of malfeasance simply for treading on Article 3, Yang’s renown would also be tarnished.

  Lennenkamp’s private secretary appeared and saluted.

  “Your Excellency Commissioner, there’s an FTL incoming from the secretary of defense.”

  “The secretary of defense? Ah, von Oberstein, you mean,” said Lennenkamp, somewhat forced, and with a joyless cadence in his step made his way to the special comm room.

  The image was slightly blurred, being transmitted from ten thousand light-years away. Not that Lennenkamp cared. Von Oberstein’s
pale face and oddly glinting artificial eyes aroused no fascination in those disinclined to aesthetics.

  The secretary of defense got right to the point.

  “From what I hear, you’ve ordered the alliance government to execute Yang Wen-li. Is this your way of seeking vengeance for losing to him in battle?”

  Lennenkamp went white with anger and humiliation. The blow to his heart was so deep he didn’t bother to ask if that’s what everyone had been told.

  “I can assure you this is not a personal matter. My recommendation to the alliance government to execute Yang Wen-li is nothing more than an attempt to clear a path toward a better future for the sake of the empire and His Majesty the Emperor. To say that I’m trying to resolve a grudge would be a gross misinterpretation.”

  “Just making sure we’re on the same page. There’s no need to get all worked up.”

  There was no mockery in von Oberstein’s businesslike tone. Lennenkamp nevertheless picked up on negative vibes behind it. The secretary of defense’s mouth slowly opened and closed on-screen.

  “Allow me to tell you how to get rid of both Yang Wen-li and Merkatz at once. If, by your own hand, you do manage to, as you put it, clear a path toward a better future for the empire, your achievement will surpass those of marshals von Reuentahl and Mittermeier.”

  Lennenkamp was displeased. He didn’t like that von Oberstein was stirring up his competitive spirit, or that he couldn’t help but approve of its outcome.

  “By all means, then, give me your instructions.”

  After a short yet deep psychological civil war, Lennenkamp had given in.

  “There’s no need for any complex maneuvers,” said the secretary of defense, with no sense of triumph. “Even knowing you have no such privilege, you will demand that the alliance hand Admiral Yang over to you. You will then officially announce that you are taking him away to the imperial mainland. Once you’ve done so, Merkatz and his clique are sure to come out of hiding to rescue the hero to whom they’re so indebted. That’s when you strike.”

  “Do you really think it’ll be that easy?”

  “There’s only one way to find out. Even if Merkatz doesn’t show himself, Admiral Yang will still be under our control. It’ll be up to us whether he lives or dies.”

  Lennenkamp was silent.

  “If we’re going to incite the anti-imperialists within the alliance, the first thing we need to do is to arrest Yang Wen-li despite his perceived innocence. That will be enough to send his sympathizers on a rampage. Sometimes one needs to fight fire with fire.”

  “If I could just ask you one thing, Secretary. Does His Majesty Emperor Reinhard know of this?”

  A questionable expression flickered across von Oberstein’s pale face.

  “I wonder. If it concerns you so much, why not ask him yourself? See what His Majesty thinks of your intentions to kill Yang Wen-li.”

  Of course, Lennenkamp couldn’t speak of such things to Emperor Reinhard. Something he struggled to understand was how the young emperor could hold Yang Wen-li in such high regard. Or maybe the emperor just hated Lennenkamp more.

  But it was too late for Lennenkamp to jump out of the race now. If he stopped swimming, he would sink to the bottom. Sooner or later, the alliance would need to be completely subjugated. Safeguarding universal order as soon as possible was therefore of paramount importance. Because Yang was such a dangerous character, he had to be eliminated at all costs. And if Lennenkamp could pull off such a grand achievement, he could have any position he wanted, superseding the limited positions that von Reuentahl and Mittermeier had held for most of their careers. Imperial marshal, director of the Imperial Navy, and who knew what else…?

  After ending the transmission, von Oberstein looked blankly at the opaque screen.

  “One must bait a dog with dog food, a cat with cat food.”

  Commodore Ferner cleared his throat nearby.

  “But Commissioner Lennenkamp may not succeed. If he fails, the entire alliance government will side with Admiral Yang and unite as a show of resistance against the empire. Is that what you want?”

  Von Oberstein was unfazed by Ferner’s misgivings.

  “If Lennenkamp doesn’t follow through, so be it. Someone else will just have to carry out that duty in his place. The one who clears the road and the one who paves it needn’t be one and the same.”

  I see, thought Ferner. Any harm that comes to an imperial representative will be a clear violation of the treaty and will serve as an excuse to mobilize his troops once again in all-out conquest. Did the secretary of defense intend to conquer the alliance once and for all, scapegoating not only Admiral Yang but Lennenkamp as well?

  “But, Your Excellency Secretary, don’t you think it’s too early to be taking over the alliance?”

  “If we’re just going to back down from our objective and do nothing, then we’d better come up with a better backup plan.”

  “Certainly.”

  “We cannot allow Lennenkamp to become marshal while he lives. It is, however, an honor for which he is posthumously qualified. Being alive isn’t the only way to serve one’s nation.”

  Ferner wasn’t surprised to be privy to such sentiments. Perhaps von Oberstein was correct in his estimation of Lennenkamp. Not only in this case, but in overwhelmingly most others, von Oberstein spoke soundly. Then again, Ferner was opposed to thinking of human beings as mere variables in the equations of others. And what would happen if von Oberstein found himself in Lennenkamp’s position? Had the secretary of defense never considered that possibility? But Ferner wasn’t bound by duty to voice such concerns.

  III

  Upon receiving Lennenkamp’s “counsel,” the alliance’s High Council chairman João Lebello found himself in a predicament. It went without saying this was a grand imperial pretext, and he couldn’t just ignore the fact that Yang was the cause of it.

  “Yang fancies himself a national hero. Wouldn’t letting down our guard now make light of the existence of our nation?”

  Lebello was suspicious. If only Yang had listened, no doubt he would have grown bored and lost the will to rebel. But, seen only from the outer circumference of the situation, such suspicions as Lebello’s weren’t surprising. From the perspective of society at large, any man naive enough to throw away a seat of highest authority at such a young age for a pensioner’s life was nothing more than a degenerate. It was more compelling to assume that he was hidden away in some obscure corner of society, working on something bigger than anyone could fathom.

  Yang had underestimated his own false image. Those bitten by the hero-worship bug were prone to hyperbole, going so far as to believe that Yang was laying down a millennium’s worth of future plans for the nation and humanity at large in his sleep. Even Yang, depending on his mood, was prone to such rhetoric:

  “There are farsighted warriors in the world. I know that for a fact. I don’t sleep neglectfully, but am thinking deeply about the future of humankind.”

  And because he was known to spout such things, those who didn’t get the sarcasm out of context polished Yang’s false image even more. Anytime Julian Mintz heard Yang talking like that, however, he would just brush it off:

  “Then allow me to make a prediction about the admiral’s future. At seven o’clock tonight, you will have a bottle of wine for dinner.”

  As Lebello saw things, he was forced to choose between incurring the wrath of the empire by protecting Yang, thus risking the very existence of the alliance, or sacrificing Yang alone to save the alliance. Had he been a more audacious man, he might have appealed to Lennenkamp’s coercions, if only to buy himself more time. Lebello had convinced himself that the commissioner’s intentions were the emperor’s intentions. And while he usually voiced his conclusions after much mental turmoil, he decided to invite his friend Huang Rui, who’d left government service, to share that turmoi
l in progress.

  “Arrest Admiral Yang? You’re serious?”

  Huang Rui almost asked Lebello if he was insane.

  “Understand me. No, you must understand. We mustn’t give the Imperial Navy any excuse. Even if Yang is a national hero, if he endangers the peace of our good nation, I’ll be forced to execute him.”

  “But that goes against all reason. While it may be true that Marshal Yang aided in Admiral Merkatz’s escape, the Bharat Treaty and Insurrection Act had yet to be put into effect. Any retroactive application of the law is forbidden under the alliance constitution.”

  “Not if Yang encouraged Merkatz to hijack those ships, in which case that would’ve been after the treaty was put into effect. There’s no need whatsoever to apply to law retroactively.”

  “But where’s the proof? Let’s just say Yang went along with it. I doubt his subordinates would do the same. They might even take matters into their own hands in rescuing Marshal Yang by force. No, that’s precisely what would happen. And what do you plan on doing when infighting breaks out within the Alliance Armed Forces as it did two years ago?”

  “In that case, I’ll just have to execute them as well. It’s not as if they’re beholden to Marshal Yang in any way. Their place is to protect the fate of the nation at all costs, not Yang alone.”

  “I wonder if they’d agree with that. I know I wouldn’t. And another thing, Lebello—it makes me uneasy to think what the Imperial Navy’s intentions really are and what they might be planning. Maybe they’re waiting for us to rouse Admiral Yang’s subordinates and bring about civil unrest. That would give them every excuse to intervene. Not that they ever do as they’re told anyway.”