Henslow didn’t go so far as to say that the money had come from his pocket, but maybe that was because his peculiar standards wouldn’t allow it.
“And that’s all we’ve done. So I’d prefer it if you didn’t act so high and mighty about it. The guest cabin is under Julian Mintz’s name. You’re just extra baggage.”
“But I’m the one who paid for it!”
In a flash, Henslow’s character had been jarred from its reserve, but it left no dent on Marinesk.
“As far as I’m concerned, it was Ensign Mintz who paid. You may have loaned him the money, but that’s between you and him and not for me to know.”
More than Henslow himself, it was the one sitting next to him—Warrant Officer Louis Machungo—who sensed that Marinesk was toying with him. The magnificently proportioned black man, whose physique recalled that of a bull, nonchalantly stepped in to neutralize the rising tension.
“Marinesk, when you came in, I sensed you had some kind of present for us. I wonder if I was wrong.”
His consideration was rewarded with sympathy. Marinesk aborted his pointless exchange with the commissioner and turned to the face the dark-skinned giant.
“You’ve quite the eye, Warrant Officer. In fact, I came here to give you these.”
Beryozka’s administrative officer pulled out three authorized passports from his inner pocket.
II
Julian Mintz was walking down the street holding a large paper bag from the bakery. He made an effort to leave his hideout once a day to familiarize himself with the city. At present, he had yet to incite the suspicions of roving imperial soldiers. Julian, for different reasons than Yang, didn’t seem at all like a military man. He was attracting the interest of girls his age, and even that minor issue threatened to compromise his low profile.
Julian froze in his tracks as a sudden shock seized his ankles. The curious gaze of his dark-brown eyes darted around nervously. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. And then he understood.
The cause of his shock wasn’t physical but aural. A single proper noun had leapt out from the pedestrian conversations around him and assaulted his consciousness with an overbearing energy: Lohengramm. Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm was going to pass by, soon, along this very street! The imperial prime minister, the Galactic Imperial Navy’s highest commander, imperial marshal—Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm was coming this way!
A bitter sense of regret obliquely penetrated Julian’s chest. On the off chance of an imperial inspection, he’d left his blaster back at the hideout. Had it been on his person, he might’ve taken the fate of that blond-haired youth who’d brought certain calamity to the Free Planets Alliance into his own hands. Had he been able to go back in time, he would’ve holstered his blaster against the wishes of Warrant Officer Machungo.
Julian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, at the same time ejecting a violent fury from the pilot’s seat of his composure. He barely managed to pull himself away from the abyss of foolishness in which he had yielded mind and body to this useless fantasy. No amount of wishing would materialize that blaster in his hand. Besides, hadn’t Admiral Yang once told him something? “Neither terrorism nor mysticism have ever moved history in constructive directions.” Julian had thought about becoming a military man since he was a little boy, but had never once considered becoming a terrorist. Taking down that blond-haired tyrant, Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm, should not be through an act of terrorism, he thought, but rather through a fair fight. It was all for the best that he was unarmed.
This was an opportunity for something other than terrorism: the chance to see Reinhard von Lohengramm with his own eyes. He knew von Lohengramm’s elegance only as rendered in holograms or in the media. Not even Admiral Yang had seen him in person. And now, that same tyrant would be here, in the flesh, at any moment. Having returned to his senses, and now driven by an even more intense desire, Julian swam through a small ocean of people.
Barriers had been set up along the roadway and sidewalks. Rows of hulking guards, armed and in uniform, gently forced back waves of people in the front and rear. Considering the position and authority of the one they were guarding, it was a rather underwhelming level of protection. Julian made his way to the front and, as he casually brushed back the hair from his forehead, waited for his glimpse of the young dictator.
A procession of land vehicles came trundling down the roadway. The first was an automatic armored vehicle, followed by a luxury car, which on its own wouldn’t have caught anyone’s eye. Julian had always heard that, as a rule, Duke von Lohengramm wasn’t fond of excess extravagance, and the rumors were proving true. On that point alone, Julian already had a favorable impression of Reinhard.
The landcar bearing a high official passed in front of the crowd. Julian strained his eyes, but what caught them was a pale, angular face with streaked hair. The light emanating from his eyes had an inorganic quality to it, and his expression was thoroughly heartless. Julian guided that impression through the library of his memory and stopped in front of the shelf marked “Chief of staff of the Imperial Space Armada, Senior Admiral von Oberstein.” But there was no time to ponder that name because the next landcar had entered Julian’s vision. The moment he recognized that luxurious golden-blond hair in the back seat, Julian’s heart did a vigorous tap dance.
Was that Duke von Lohengramm? Julian gathered the entirety of his visual memory to etch the young dictator’s elegant face into his retinas, only to realize that such efforts were unnecessary for a face so impossible to forget. Not only because of its rare features, but also because of the type and volume of mental vitality behind it. Julian heard the sigh escaping from his lips as if from a distance and slightly shifted his line of sight.
The person sitting next to Reinhard at first appeared to be a beautiful boy the same age as Julian. But the short-cropped dull-blond hair and dignified expression revealed a young woman’s face. This had to be Duke von Lohengramm’s private secretary, whose name Julian couldn’t remember.
From inside the landcar, Reinhard scanned the crowd. His gaze flowed horizontally, passing over the flaxen-haired boy.
For the briefest of moments, his and Julian’s gazes intersected. It was a far more meaningful moment for Julian. For the other, it was but a small wave in a sea of many. If Reinhard, like Yang Wen-li or Julian, wasn’t superhuman, then neither was he an apostle chosen by some higher power. Although his disposition far surpassed the average person in the scope of its proportion, it was still within the limits of what any human being could possess. Others who had surpassed the enormity of his military genius, the magnificence of his political ambition, his fair elegance, and the intensity with which he carried himself had existed in the past. Only those who possessed each of these qualities in equal measure were rare, as was the sheer number of fixed stars and planets he was attempting to bring under his rule. In any event, he couldn’t perfectly foresee the future, and years from now he wouldn’t even remember the events of this day.
When Reinhard’s landcar had sped away and the crowd had dispersed, Julian drifted away as well. He, for one, wouldn’t forget this day for as long as he lived. Just then, he felt a light tap on his arm. In his surprised eyes was reflected the smiling face of Beryozka’s administrative officer.
“Marinesk …”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. So, how do you feel now that you’ve seen Duke von Lohengramm for real?”
“I’m no match for him.”
Those words slipped meekly out of Julian’s mouth. In both Reinhard’s expression and physical appearance, Julian recognized only the shining brilliance that so overwhelmed everyone around him. Now Julian understood why Admiral Yang admired the blond-haired dictator he’d made an enemy of.
Hearing out the boy’s brief yet heavy thoughts on the matter, Marinesk lightly raised his eyebrows.
“I see. He might seem like a young noble n
ow, but it’s not like he was born that way. The family name of Lohengramm, until he received the title of duke, was just the name of a poor man who happened to be nobility. His father sold his own daughter to guarantee a better future for his son.”
“Sold his daughter … ?”
“Had her locked up in the emperor’s rear palace. Not that he officially sold her, but he might as well have.”
To a low-class noble of the empire, a daughter was a precious commodity, a golden key opening the door to a veritable banquet hall of wealth and power. Reinhard and his sister Annerose’s father wasn’t the only one to make practical use of it. Nevertheless, had the younger brother of the emperor’s favorite mistress been incompetent, he might’ve dispelled any animosity, but Reinhard’s unparalleled ability put a stopper in the exhaust port of a person’s jealousy until it exploded. Naturally, Reinhard had never granted the slightest favor to anyone who clung to outmoded values. In Reinhard’s worldview, they existed only to be dominated. Even his own father was no exception. Reinhard had never forgiven him in the ugliness of his old age for selling away Annerose. Before his sudden death, Reinhard’s father had used up what little vitality he had left on debauchery and extravagance, and Reinhard had vehemently refused to make amends. The only reason he’d attended his father’s funeral at all had been so as not to upset his sister.
Julian had known something of Reinhard’s past, but, hearing about it again now, couldn’t bring himself to hate the enemy of the alliance. If anything, he felt somewhat embarrassed. The figure of a boy who, despite his violent disposition, was thinking only of his elder sister erased the power-hungry portrait he’d built up in his mind.
“Given these circumstances, it’s been said that Reinhard owes his success to his sister’s influence. Honestly, without her, he’s nothing.”
“But wasn’t he already a highly decorated, first-rate military man when he was my age?”
“You’ve been decorated yourself, Ensign. And if you don’t mind my saying so, our very own Miracle Yang was just a mediocre student at the Officers’ Academy at your age. Compared to him, you’re a step or two ahead.”
A cloud of deep thought passed over Julian’s eyes.
“Marinesk, by exploiting only the most convenient points about Admiral Yang and Duke von Lohengramm, one might think you were trying to provoke me, but it’s a lost cause. Had you compared me to someone of a lower level, I might be willing to go along with a little flattery. But when you compare me to the likes of Admiral Yang and Duke von Lohengramm, any self-confidence I have vanishes. It’s having the opposite effect. Makes me feel even more inadequate.”
Julian tried to control his tone but without success.
“Oh, so you take it to mean I was trying to provoke you?” said Marinesk without a trace of timidity, caressing his thin hair. “My sincerest apologies if it came across that way. I was only trying to point out that no one is born a hero or a great commander, but I guess I went too far.”
“No, I’m the one who went too far.”
“Let’s let the matter drop then, shall we? Anyway, I’ve wasted enough of your time. I’m actually on my way to see a customer.”
“A customer?”
“Truth be told, I wouldn’t be able to make a profit just transporting you and your party. I aim to round up as many customers as I can. It’ll help dispel some of the danger around you as well.”
Julian could understand where he was coming from. The more targets there were, the less rigorous surveillance and inspection would be. Even so, Julian couldn’t help but think this was how the Phezzanese liked to do things. Weren’t there people who’d lost money trusting their logic at face value? Then again, the Phezzanese in question probably believed in the correctness of their own logic as more than mere rhetoric.
Julian asked who the customer was, if only to keep the conversation going, having little interest in the answer. Julian was worried about his own background attracting the attention of other customers, who’d probably hide theirs if it bothered them for him to know.
“A priest of the Church of Terra,” said Marinesk offhandedly. “Come to think of it, someone more important than that. A bishop, maybe? In any case, he doesn’t work and puts food on the table by giving sermons.”
Marinesk saw no reason to hide his narrow prejudice toward people of such status.
“But I can’t very well deny the needs of a clergyman. Make an ally of one, and I can make a hundred of his believers into the same. That’ll get me access to a wealth of information. Even so …”
Marinesk added with displeasure that he could never understand the contradiction of how all these emperors, nobles, and clergymen—people who’d never survive without followers working for their cause—were so often worshipped. His opinion, as an industrious and profitable Phezzanese, was shared by many.
“But he’s an important customer, right?”
“No, but he was once an important man.”
Marinesk knew this not by his own gathering. Like some jewel with a sinister legend, the information had passed through many merchants’ hands before landing in his. This former priest had once prospered under the landesherr’s patronage, coming and going as he pleased. Knowing this was enough to incite the caution of conservative wealthy merchants. So long as Landesherr Adrian Rubinsky was in good health, he would try to win his favor, but Rubinsky had gone incognito immediately following the imperial occupation. Although neither hide nor hair of him had been seen in public since, the bishop’s loyalty was unshaken.
Marinesk was seldom prone to speculation, but if pushed he could grab Captain Boris Konev, a man who rarely set foot on land, by the neck and pull him down. As quietly as possible, of course. But now that he’d already decided to brave the danger of ferrying Julian Mintz into Free Planets Alliance territory, Beryozka’s administrative director didn’t see the danger as a problem. A proverb of Phezzan corroborated his thinking on this matter: If the poison is lethal enough, the result is the same no matter the dose.
“So, Ensign, care to stretch your legs a little and come meet your fellow passenger?”
Marinesk scrutinized Julian’s expression, gently spreading out his hands in mimicry of his smile.
“To be honest, I’ve yet to meet this priest or bishop or whatever he is, and I’m a little uncomfortable about the whole thing. I won’t be able to manage him on my own if he turns out to be a nut. I’d feel better having you there.”
Marinesk was impossible to hate. Moreover, Julian saw no harm in doing him a small favor, considering all he’d done. If Marinesk had wanted to lay a trap, he’d had multiple occasions to do so already.
Julian agreed and, still clutching his bakery bag, walked a step behind Marinesk into a long-abandoned building that was on the verge of crumbling. The stagnant air was like a sludge turned into vapor. The two of them walked to the second floor with the accompaniment of rats chorusing their threat to these intruders. Marinesk opened a door.
“Bishop Degsby, of the Church of Terra, I presume?” he intoned courteously into the dim room.
Having never seen this man before, Marinesk had chosen to call this person, of whom he thought so unkindly, by that higher form of address. A blanket shifted sluggishly, and a pair of hazy eyes regarded the visitors.
III
A report detailing Senior Admiral von Reuentahl’s recapture of Iserlohn Fortress was waiting for Reinhard when he stepped into his makeshift prime minister’s office.
“Congratulations. With this, Your Excellency has control of both corridors.”
Von Streit spoke courteously, but somehow as if he were reading from a script. Admiral Lutz also offered his congratulations, but the poetic contrast of his words intrigued Hilda.
“May events continue to be in your favor.”
It was good news, and Reinhard had no reason to be in bad spirits, but the swelling balloon of hi
s mood was one needle away from popping. The last time Reinhard had taken Iserlohn Fortress, the statesmen of the Free Planets Alliance had been convinced their rule was manifest. He saw no reason to celebrate this small win.
“I take it Yang Wen-li is safe and sound,” muttered Reinhard from behind his desk, his nimble fingers flipping through the pages of the report. Nowhere did von Reuentahl’s report glorify his own achievement. It was thoroughly objective in its perfect reconstruction of events.
Von Streit looked at his young master.
“Your Excellency, I hear that Yang Wen-li has abandoned and evacuated the fortress, but won’t those actions incite the anger of the alliance government and spell certain execution for him?”
Reinhard looked up from the report. Most times, he welcomed questions from subordinates. With enough merit, they served as moderate stimuli for his thinking.
“And if they executed him, who would command Admiral Yang’s fleet? Even if he does nothing but sanction documents as commander in some safe place, his soldiers will never be able to handle themselves. And if he ignores that …”
… then the alliance government’s highest commanders are even more feebleminded than the high nobles of the empire, Reinhard thought derisively to himself.
“As you wish, but if he could secure the Iserlohn Corridor, then he could also keep our imperial aggressions in the Phezzan Corridor at bay. Why wouldn’t he take such precautions?”
“It wouldn’t be very safe. Still, emancipating his soldiers is the only way for the alliance to gain victory.”
“How so … ?”
“You don’t get it? By killing me in battle.”
Reinhard’s expression and voice were indifferent. Only Hilda gave a momentary indication of a response. She saw that his eyes, for all like azure jewels abandoned in an ice floe, were starting to flicker with renewed brilliance.
After Admirals von Streit and Lutz took their leave, Reinhard called his orderly and had coffee prepared for him and Hilda. The boy, chosen from among the students of the military prep school, had been with him throughout this expedition. Coffee and cream were brought in, and the pleasing aroma of their admixture tickled their nostrils.
Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 5 Page 7
