Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 6

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  “It’s his virtue,” responded Machungo, with an expression that was clichéd yet persuasive. “You don’t usually find it in one so young.”

  His body was wrapped in several places with geliderm, an ultra-thin plastic membrane used as a bandage, which gave him the appearance of a hulking zebra. Although no one within the Church of Terra surpassed his strength and fighting abilities, his body’s surface area was broad enough to have sustained an unenviable amount of shrapnel.

  “Virtue? Hmm, he’s got a lot to learn.”

  Poplin shrugged his shoulders. He was quick-witted and agile, even on land, and had emerged unscathed from the battle with hardly a tear in his clothing. Fighting with his feet on the ground was extremely undesirable to him, but his style had earned even Machungo’s respect.

  “How can he have come of age without having at least ten or twenty affairs under his belt?”

  Their voices didn’t reach Julian’s ears, and so the boy’s flaxen hair blew in earthly winds at the top of the cliff.

  Julian had come to Earth with one goal in mind. But not once thereafter did he ever desire to return to Earth. Wherever it was he needed to return, live, and die, Earth was most certainly not it.

  Julian wasn’t alone in thinking that way. To most people, Earth belonged to the past. It was fine to regard it as a museum. But reviving it as a center of power politics and military affairs did humanity not one sliver of good. As Yang Wen-li had once quipped, “Our limbs have grown too much for us to return to our cradle.” Although humanity’s past was on Earth, its future was destined to unfold elsewhere.

  On August 1, the Wahlen fleet’s first wave left Earth and charted a course for the imperial capital of Odin. Unfaithful cut a gallant, if modest, figure in tow. Both Julian and Poplin were of the same mind that they might as well have a look at the enemy’s home base, seeing as it was on the way.

  II

  At around the time of Wahlen’s report, the intel coming in from the Free Planets Alliance capital of Heinessen was exceedingly ominous.

  Commissioner Lennenkamp had been abducted, and many related incidents shocked the empire’s senior statesmen. Even after escaping the grip of death on more than one occasion and conquering many fixed-star worlds, the empire’s bravest generals were by no means accustomed to being surprised.

  Along with the official report, an urgent addendum came from Admiral Lennenkamp’s subordinate Captain Ratzel to his old friend Neidhart Müller.

  Müller’s sandy eyes filled with deep color.

  “Are you claiming that Admiral Lennenkamp acted unfairly as commissioner?”

  “Whether for the nation’s senior statesmen or for a superior to whom he was obliged, he overstepped his bounds. By his misguided actions, Admiral Lennenkamp tipped the scales when they were already balanced.”

  According to what Ratzel had said, Lennenkamp had put his faith in an anonymous tip, despite having no evidence to back it up, and coerced the alliance government into arresting Yang Wen-li. If true, then he’d crossed the line both publicly and privately.

  “Would you be willing to testify before an official assembly?”

  “Whether by court-martial or trial.”

  Müller nodded at Ratzel’s confidence, and with that information in hand, appeared before an assembly of top military leaders.

  In the hallway leading to the conference room, he ran into Wolfgang Mittermeier. Ratzel spoke of his testimony as they walked side by side.

  “I see. There was something shady going on behind the scenes after all.”

  Mittermeier clicked his tongue, lamenting the shallowness of Lennenkamp’s heart.

  Lennenkamp himself, of course, had only done what he did out of loyalty to Emperor Reinhard. But from where Mittermeier and the others stood, the impatience of his step and the myopia of his vision were troubling.

  Wolfgang Mittermeier, also known as the “Gale Wolf,” was a true military man. It had been his long-cherished desire to battle heroic enemies on an equal footing, but he was fundamentally opposed to torture.

  At the council meeting, only those officials ranking higher than senior admiral could attend, with one exception. Emperor Reinhard had a slight fever and abstained from the meeting, but expected a full report on the results of their free debate when it was over.

  Müller, who always demanded to speak first, presented Captain Ratzel’s complaints.

  “This concerns the dignity of the empire, particularly the impartiality of its stance. Without fixating on the empire or the alliance, we would prefer it if you could come up with something that the public can agree with. If I may give my own opinion on the matter, I think the first thing we need to do is determine the whereabouts of those who seeded the situation with their anonymous tip.”

  Commander in chief of the Imperial Space Armada Mittermeier backed up Müller’s sentiments.

  “It would seem that Captain Ratzel is correct. We must protect His Majesty the Emperor’s dignity, first and foremost, by punishing these shameless informants. If we can prove that Yang Wen-li’s actions were out of legitimate self-defense against an injustice being forced upon him, that might just give us enough to piece together the rest.”

  Without revealing one iota of his own strategy, von Oberstein interjected.

  “He was only trying to eliminate Yang Wen-li as a danger to the future security of our great nation. Maybe he couldn’t help but resort to subterfuge.”

  “Was our nation founded on subterfuge?!” yelled Mittermeier with every fiber of his being. “No, it was founded on fidelity. If we don’t aim for that much at least, then how are we to explain to our soldiers and citizens the significance of this new dynasty? Yang Wen-li might be our enemy, but he’s also universally renowned. How do you plan on justifying to future generations that we eliminated him not with honor, but through betrayal?”

  “A splendid speech, Marshal Mittermeier. Need I remind you of your involvement in the plot to purge Duke Lichtenlade two years ago? Does it still pain your conscience?”

  An uncontrollable rage burned in Mittermeier’s eyes. Where did the very ringleader of Duke Lichtenlade’s purge get off bringing that up? Before he could say as much, the man sitting next to him raised a hand lightly and restrained his colleague.

  It was secretary-general of Supreme Command Headquarters, Marshal Oskar von Reuentahl. A keen light emitted from his mismatched eyes, clashing head-on with the light shooting out from the secretary of defense’s artificial ones.

  “The purge of Duke Lichtenlade was an even contest. One step behind, and we’d have been the sacrificial lambs. We shouldn’t be ashamed just because we attacked first. But is that what happened this time around? Aren’t we trying to charge a retired soldier living a comfortable civilian life with a nonexistent crime? Why should we involve ourselves with the shameless criminals of a self-interested alliance? With all due respect, Defense Secretary, is this the kind of disgraceful behavior by which we must abide, regardless of the philosophy it’s based on?”

  Von Reuentahl’s eloquence was not only keen, but also consistent with the sentiments of most of the men in the room, and so he was met with murmurs of agreement all around.

  Artist-Admiral Mecklinger spoke up.

  “If the relationship between Yang Wen-li and the alliance government is irreparable, might it not behoove the Imperial Navy to extend a welcoming hand? We should appeal to him against further mischief, and dispatch investigators right away to deal with the situation. I’d be happy to leave for the alliance capital of Heinessen under those auspices.”

  “It seems you’ve failed to grasp something here.” Secretary of Defense von Oberstein showed no signs of being uncomfortable in the hot seat. “My problem with Yang Wen-li’s crime has nothing to do with the anonymous intel, but rather with the fact that he and his men managed to abduct Lennenkamp, His Majesty the Emperor’s officia
l representative, and get away with it. If that crime goes unpunished, how do you expect to maintain the dignity of the empire and His Majesty? I’d like you to bear that in mind.”

  Mittermeier opened his mouth again.

  “It pains me to say this, but Lennenkamp must at least be held accountable for carelessly trusting an anonymous tip and taking it upon himself to try and execute an innocent man without a shred of evidence. If we’re going to come out of this with our dignity intact, shouldn’t we disclose the truth and make up for any mistakes we may have made?”

  Chief of the Domestic Safety Security Bureau, Heidrich Lang, was against this.

  “Senior Admiral Lennenkamp was graciously appointed by His Majesty the Emperor. Your Excellency Commander in Chief, to punish His Excellency Lennenkamp would harm the reputation of His Sacred and Inviolable Majesty the Emperor. I would advise you to take that into consideration.”

  “Silence, you pathetic boor!” The reprimand came not from the lash of Mittermeier’s tongue, but von Reuentahl’s. “So now you’re going to block the commander in chief’s sound argument not by your own opinions but by His Majesty the Emperor’s good name? Don’t try to be more than you are! Why should the chief of domestic safety be allowed into a meeting restricted to senior admirals and above in the first place? Not only that, but you have the gall to interrupt a debate among marshals? Know your place. Get out of my sight this instant! Or would you like to ride my boot on the way out?”

  Lang turned into a fluorescent-colored sculpture. Had he been entitled, he would have been disgraced, but he was lacking in the grace department, thought Mecklinger. Lang at last looked to von Oberstein for support, trembling slightly and not getting what he was asking for.

  “Leave until this meeting is adjourned.”

  At the secretary of defense’s words, Lang coldly and mechanically bowed. Then, with a gait as deflated as he was, he left the conference room, a wave of derisive laughter nipping at his heels. In his pale heart, he decided it was von Reuentahl, when in fact it was Kessler and Wittenfeld.

  Lang waited in a separate room until the conference was over. When von Oberstein showed up an hour later, he’d abandoned his usual composure. Lang’s face was covered in a flop sweat, and he couldn’t stop the handkerchief in his hand from trembling.

  “Well, I have never been so humiliated. Actually, if it was only me I wouldn’t even care, but to drag Your Excellency’s name through the mud as well…It’s like they were showering us with abuse.”

  “Von Reuentahl wasn’t the only one who didn’t care for your line of reasoning. I didn’t, either.” Von Oberstein was indifferent. He had no intention of going along with Lang’s treacherous sedition. “I was careless in allowing you to attend without the others’ consent. It seems neither the secretary of the interior nor the military police commissioner approve of you being close to me.”

  “It’s not like you to be concerned about such things.”

  “I don’t mind being despised. But I do mind standing in the way of others.”

  Lang turned his handkerchief inside out and wiped his sweat again, narrowing his eyes.

  “As do I. Even so, given the aggressiveness of Marshal von Reuentahl’s conduct, shouldn’t we slap him with a demerit, just in case?”

  Von Oberstein’s expression was completely blank. Lang didn’t know what lay behind it until von Oberstein’s clear speech broke the silence.

  “Von Reuentahl was indispensable in the founding of this nation. Lennenkamp cannot hold a candle to His Majesty the Emperor’s trust in von Reuentahl. Surely you know better than to follow Lennenkamp’s bad example and disavow others without evidence.”

  Lang’s eyes filled with oily light as he bared a few teeth from his twisted mouth.

  “Understood. Then allow me to seek out that evidence. Incontrovertible evidence…”

  Since the previous dynasty, Lang had shown exceptional ability in two areas. Punishing the guilty, and pinning crimes on the innocent. But he’d carried these out as official duties, and never out of a personal desire for revenge. Or, at least he shouldn’t have.

  But now, for the sake of his severely wounded reputation, Lang was seized by an improper and useless determination to seek out the young heterochromatic admiral’s weakest point and bring him down.

  III

  A slightly feverish Emperor Reinhard was laid flat in bed, his attendant Emil seeing to his every need.

  Reinhard thought it might be due to bad genes, but according to Emil, with all the wars and government affairs demanding his attention, it would be strange if he didn’t feel under the weather from time to time.

  “If it were me,” said the emperor’s future physician, “I’d be at death’s door.”

  “Either way, I’ve been feeling rather fatigued these days.”

  “It’s because you work too hard.”

  Reinhard smiled gently at the boy.

  “Oh? Are you saying I should neglect my duties?”

  Even the smallest jest made Emil turn bright red, and so the emperor always sported with him as he would a small bird. Only, this small bird sung in human speech, occasionally voicing wise things.

  “Please forgive my impudence, Your Majesty, but as my late father used to say, a strong flame burns out quicker. So please, try to take it a bit easier. I mean that.”

  Reinhard made no immediate reply. What frightened him wasn’t burning out, but the thought of smoldering away in vain. A distinction Emil was probably too young to understand.

  “In any case, right now you should be focusing on taking an empress and having a family.”

  The boy was obviously relating something he’d heard secondhand.

  “It’s hard enough protecting me. I wouldn’t want to burden my guards further with an empress and crown prince to think of.”

  That was generally about the extent of Reinhard’s sense of humor. As a joke, it was as flat as he was, and a shallow expression of his true feelings. Emil didn’t care for it.

  Reinhard’s grand chamberlain entered to announce the arrival of Defense Secretary von Oberstein. Now that the council of the military’s highest leaders had reached something of a conclusion, he’d come seeking Reinhard’s approval. Because the emperor was still sluggish from fever, he welcomed his guest in the lounge adjacent to his bedroom.

  Von Oberstein briefed him on the details of the council. The backlash against Lennenkamp’s rash actions was unexpectedly severe, and many insisted on an investigation into the truth of the matter. But because the alliance clearly lacked the ability to maintain its own order, they motioned to prepare their troops to be mobilized at a moment’s notice. Von Reuentahl said nothing about banishing Lang from the conference room.

  “It’s my fault for appointing Lennenkamp in the first place,” Reinhard muttered. “To think he couldn’t hold down his station for even a hundred days. I suppose there are those who will only be able to demonstrate their abilities when I have them on a short leash.”

  Several faces, both living and dead, lined up in his mind.

  Von Oberstein ignored the sentiment.

  “But this gives us carte blanche to completely subjugate the alliance, does it not?”

  “Don’t overstep your bounds!”

  The violence in Reinhard’s voice was as intense as his good looks. He was suddenly furious. Von Oberstein bowed, less out of fear than out of a desire not to get a sick person riled up. Reinhard caught his breath and commanded that, out of consideration for Lennenkamp, Admiral Steinmetz would act as proxy for the high commissioner and that they negotiate with Yang Wen-li.

  “We must hear Lennenkamp’s testimony. Only then will we know how best to deal with Yang. Keep close watch on the alliance government’s movements, and if any disturbance should arise, Steinmetz is to employ whatever countermeasure he deems necessary.”

  With thi
s, he dismissed his secretary of defense.

  Reinhard’s state of mind was never simple. While he couldn’t suppress a loathsome anger toward Lennenkamp’s disgraceful behavior, Reinhard was the one who’d placed him in an important office unbefitting of a mere military man. Although von Reuentahl was the first to enter him as candidate for that seat, Reinhard had also voted for him in the end. The final responsibility therefore lay with Reinhard alone.

  Or maybe I expected Lennenkamp to fail all along, Reinhard thought to himself. When he learned of the rioting brought on by Lennenkamp’s tragic failure, Reinhard had to admit that every cell in his body throbbed with excitement. After sitting on the throne for only a few days, he’d already begun to feel the suffocation of a solemn equilibrium. In the end, his throne was nothing more than a golden cage, and it seemed his wings were too big to fit.

  As an architect, Reinhard was possessed of abundant genius. Two years ago, he’d crushed the Coalition of Lords, purged Duke Lichtenlade, and grabbed dictatorial power by the reins. Since then, he’d brought about major political, social, and economic reforms. The noble class, which had monopolized privilege and wealth, lost five centuries’ worth of undeserved glory, while the people enjoyed the benefits of a tax system and due process. The mansions and castles of nobility were converted into hospitals, schools, and welfare institutions, becoming an integral part of the metropolitan landscape.

  Those reforms were ones he’d cultivated in his heart since he was a boy. But while Reinhard was happy to see them realized, none of it exhilarated him. Good government was his duty and responsibility, not a privilege. He’d endeavored to be one who doesn’t neglect the requirements of his position, a great ruler who becomes such by acquiring power rather than having it handed to him. But were harmony and stability somehow incongruous with his original intentions?

  Reinhard had caught himself thinking that power was no longer necessary. What was necessary to him was something else entirely. But he was deflated by the fact that he had yet to hold that something else with his own hands. He knew it was something he’d never regain. He saw nothing but war ahead, and for the first time felt renewed. Only in the heat of battle could he believe that his own life was replenished.