This turn of events sat comfortably with neither von Reuentahl nor Mittermeier, who could only widen their search network. They said as much to Reinhard, but the young dictator didn’t rebuke them for their oversight.
“He can go wherever he pleases. When something destined to perish doesn’t, whether it’s a person or a nation, it’s destined to die in obscurity.”
Somewhere behind the indifference of Reinhard’s voice was a particle of compassion.
“If they want to dream about a Goldenbaum family comeback, then they’re welcome to crawl into their beds and shut their eyes to reality. Why should we seriously associate ourselves with people like that?”
Reinhard, in fact, had no time for the delusions of unrealistic romanticists. He had to prepare for his enthronement and coronation, and think through how to plan an imminent merger with alliance territory and the predetermined relocation of the capital to Phezzan. In addition, allocation of human resources following the establishment of the new empire was becoming an extremely pressing issue. Because the new empire would be under direct imperial rule, a prime minister would be unnecessary, but he did need cabinet ministers, and it was also necessary to reform the military. He was warned by von Oberstein to order a search for good measure, but it was thrown into a well of forgetfulness and sealed off.
Neither could the people of the alliance afford the luxury of fussing over the past while making light of the future. Alexandor Bucock liberated his body from public office and decided to heal his wounded heart by his elderly wife’s side.
Yang Wen-li retired from military service, and an unintentional military life of twelve years came to a full and sudden stop—or so it seemed. His rather comfortable retirement had begun, and over the past few days, he had been working out the details of his marriage to Frederica Greenhill, who’d also retired. The fact that he now had the life he’d always hoped for was tempered by the knowledge of the many other human lives that had been sacrificed for this modest fortune—it was a thought that would never leave his brain. But even as he worried about being under the constant surveillance of the Imperial Navy, the practicalities of planning for his future life with Frederica were overwhelming. Indeed, it was as if he had no conceptual ability when it came to the home, and so he was nothing more than a yes-man agreeing with Frederica’s modest proposals.
Julian, meanwhile, was secretly preparing to sneak into Terra, deep within imperial territory, motivated by that small bit of information he’d gleaned from Bishop Degsby of the Church of Terra. If there existed a church disciple with enough clandestine power to bring about Chairman Trünicht’s anti-coup d’état, then even if Degsby’s words—“Everything will make sense once you go to Terra”—were exaggerated, there had to be some truth to them. Surely there was no harm in investigating.
Moreover, as he’d declared to Caselnes, Julian had no intention of getting in the way of Yang and Frederica’s newlywed life. He knew the two of them wouldn’t stand in his way. Although—if not because—he knew this, Julian wanted to disappear for at least six months. His short life on Phezzan had matured him to some extent. And he wanted nothing more than to reunite with the two people he loved most after this journey, more of a man.
The dark-skinned, round-eyed ensign Louis Machungo was preparing to go to Terra with Julian as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When he said, “One cannot avoid his destiny,” not one person believed he was being forced to go along with a destiny he didn’t want. Both Julian and Machungo had tendered their letters of resignation, indifferent about whether they would be accepted. At any rate, right after returning to Heinessen, Machungo had become a live-in employee at a private residence cohabitated by Yang and Julian on Silverbridge Street, and from then on, even the imperial soldiers who came for inspection believed he’d been living in the Yang household all along.
Yang shrugged his shoulders and accepted Machungo’s presence, but had no doubts about entrusting the giant to protect Julian with his life. Besides, Yang was responsible for the social disappearance of Merkatz and the rest, and it seemed impossible to be a total hermit. If the imperial forces knew this, then Yang’s position in the new order would become problematic.
Boris Konev, once known to Yang as “Boris the troublemaker,” reunited with administrative officer Marinesk, who’d arrived from Phezzan. When he heard about the loss of his beloved Beryozka, it was impossible for him to fall back on his usual limitless optimism.
Meanwhile, those remaining on Phezzan gathered in the high commissioner’s office, which had lost its legal basis for existence, uneasily sharing with each other whatever scant news they had, but Boris Konev left early to pay a visit to Yang Wen-li’s official residence. Imperial soldiers were already guarding the front door, as Yang was under house arrest, but after somewhat exaggerating what a close friend he was of the admiral’s, Yang came to the entrance and convinced them to let him in. Konev hadn’t seen his old friend in sixteen or seventeen years. Savoring Julian’s black tea, he learned that his younger cousin Ivan had died in battle.
“I cannot thank you enough for your help, Julian. Beryozka, was it? I hear everyone on that ship owes you their lives.”
“The honor is all Marinesk’s, so there’s no need to thank me. Problem is, that was my ship. The alliance government’s as good as gone, and it’s not like I can take this up with the imperial forces.”
“Leave it to me,” promised Yang nonchalantly, turning to his old friend with a knowing smile. “But first, I’m going to need you to do something for me …”
Among the generals who followed Yang back to the capital, von Schönkopf and Attenborough high-handedly submitted their letters of resignation and left government service. Caselnes’s resignation was rejected, and he was forced into a position as acting general manager of rear services. Fischer, Murai, Patrichev, and Carlsen were temporarily laid off. Over them all, the shadow of time was moving little by little, but no one knew how long, or how short, the winter would be.
IV
The sun sank into the horizon, and the fading light reflected diffusely in the atmospheric particles, soaking the world in orange waves. The land, which had once promised an abundant harvest as if ashamed of its own barrenness, begged for the wings of night to give it shelter.
This same land, which senility and fatigue had ravaged with deep wrinkles, had once been the heart of this planet called Terra, and indeed the center of the universe. That had been a long time ago, thirty generations into the past.
A man in his prime covered in black walked through an old stone building with a sluggish gait. As he stood before a certain door, a bodyguard bowed and opened it. The inside of the room was filled with a dull, cloudy light. He saw an old man, who seemed to have been a friend of time for much longer, sitting on a sheepskin.
“Grand Bishop …” The man who so reverently addressed the silent bishop continued. “Reinhard von Lohengramm has conquered the Free Planets Alliance.”
Upon hearing this, the black-clad bishop lifted his face at last and beckoned the man with an arid hand. The door behind the man was closed.
“And what will he do now?” he said, his voice rasping.
“I hear he has entrusted a man named Lennenkamp with watching over not only the conquered land, but also the grand navy, and he himself has returned to the imperial mainland, accompanied by a certain Trünicht …”
“It seems that man has also served his purpose. Do you intend to use him as a rotten apple within the empire?”
“No, we already groomed someone else in the empire over a year ago. A baron by the name of Heinrich von Kümmel. I just need a little more time.”
“I hear he’s very ill, but you’re sure he’ll be of use?”
“If he can just hold out for another six months, our objective will be carried out. Doctors have been dispatched, and if he’s jealous at all of von Lohengramm’s good looks and health, he
won’t be difficult to manipulate.”
“Very well, then. I’ll leave it to you. What will become of Phezzan?”
“Yes, regarding Phezzan, there are still too many uncertainties.”
The man’s voice for the first time lost its surplus of confidence. An aura of doubt wavered about his jaundiced eyes. The grand bishop inquired of him further.
“Are you in contact with Rubinsky?”
“For the time being. But the depths of that man’s heart are unknowable to me …”
Despite the fact that no one was listening, the grand bishop’s subordinate lowered his voice and leaned forward on his knees.
“It’s not just that I doubt the spirit of his obedience. It’s that I have reason to believe he might be harboring some insubordinate ambition toward us. We’ll need to be on our guard …”
“I’ve always known that.”
The old man’s voice was indifferent.
“I don’t care what kind of style he dances, so long as he does it in the palm of my hand. More importantly, what’s become of that incompetent fool Degsby?”
“I can confirm that Degsby is dead. The problem is whether he spilled any secrets before he died …”
Far overhead from where these two men were talking in secret about wanting to change the tide of history, the profuse light of the stars began to speckle the sky.
Reinhard, having triumphantly returned to the empire, commenced vigorous activities for formality’s sake. Various things that needed to be dealt with were awaiting his judgment and decision.
The first task he carried out was for his own personal duty and timid dissatisfaction. To his sister Annerose, now carrying the title of Countess von Grünewald, he gave the title of archduchess. He decorated Siegfried Kircheis with the posthumous title of archduke and established a medal in his honor. Von Oberstein raised an eyebrow at these measures but was put in his place by being told there was no harm in taking them.
With that decided, Reinhard put on his business hat, focusing his attentions on human resources, organization, and institutions. On the military side of things, von Reuentahl, Mittermeier, and von Oberstein became marshals, and von Oberstein took on the additional role of secretary of defense. Ten admirals became senior admirals, but the youngest, Müller, became their leader as reward for the meritorious service of saving Reinhard from certain defeat at Vermillion. Human resources for civil officials were decided, and Hilda’s father, Count Franz von Mariendorf, was nominated as secretary of state. Eugen Richter became secretary of finance, and Karl Bracke the newly established secretary of civil affairs.
On June 20, the father of the child empress and the current head of the Pegnitz family, Jürgen Offer, was promoted three ranks from viscount to duke. Bearing the burden of uneasiness and uncertainty, he was invited through the imperial prime minister’s gates. A young noble in his early thirties who’d devoted nearly all his attention to his passion for collecting ivory carvings and his assets, and who had no interest whatsoever in politics or military affairs, Offer was presented with a piece of paper by a coolheaded von Oberstein: a declaration of the empress’s abdication. This was followed by a declaration that yielded the throne to Reinhard. In all, the young noble, dripping with sweat, was presented with three pieces of paper, each of which already bore Reinhard’s signature. The Pegnitz family’s peerage and safety were guaranteed, and it was specified that from now on the empress would be provided with a yearly pension of 1,500,000 imperial reichsmark for the rest of her life. Duke Pegnitz, for the sake of his own relief, dabbed his face with a handkerchief, drenching his expensive clothes with even more sweat. Taking the pen, he signed two documents as the parental authority of the empress, now one year and eight months of age.
And with that, the Goldenbaum Dynasty, which since the time of founder Rudolf the Great had welcomed thirty-eight emperors on its throne to rule the people over 490 years, came to its demise.
June 22 marked the enthronement and coronation of the new emperor, Reinhard. From this day forward, he would cease to be His Excellency Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm and come to be called His Majesty Emperor Reinhard. The Goldenbaum family, which had once snatched his sister Annerose away from him, had lost everything and had hidden its wretched self away in the territory of the past.
Thousands of high officials of both pen and sword filled the spacious Black Pearl Room of Neue Sans Souci to the gills to pledge their loyalty to the new dynasty. But the two people Reinhard wanted most to see weren’t there. The one whose head was golden just like his, and the other whose head was red like a burning flame.
And while cries of “Long live the emperor!” overwhelmed the spacious room, Reinhard picked up the golden emperor’s crown nestled in purple silk, and casually, yet with an elegance no one could duplicate, placed it on his own head. The golden crown meshed with his golden hair as he silently proclaimed himself its rightful owner.
The Lohengramm Dynasty had begun.
about the author
Yoshiki Tanaka was born in 1952 in Kumamoto Prefecture and completed a doctorate in literature at Gakushuin University. Tanaka won the Gen’eijo (a mystery magazine) New Writer Award with his debut story “Midori no Sogen ni …” (On the green field …) in 1978, then started his career as a science fiction and fantasy writer. Legend of the Galactic Heroes, which translates the European wars of the nineteenth century to an interstellar setting, won the Seiun Award for best science fiction novel in 1987. Tanaka’s other works include the fantasy series The Heroic Legend of Arslan and many other science fiction, fantasy, historical, and mystery novels and stories.
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