Mobilization

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  “Hmm, Yang Wen-li?”

  If a voice could be poison, then so would Trünicht’s have been.

  “Think about it. Had that fool Yang Wen-li not destroyed the Artemis’s Necklace that once protected this planet, we could’ve saved ourselves from imperial invasion. That things have come to this is entirely his fault. A great commander? He’s just an imbecile who can’t see the future.”

  The commander in chief of the Alliance Armed Forces Space Armada, Marshal Bucock, spoke for the first time.

  “I see. So, if we still had Artemis’s Necklace, this planet alone would be protected. But what about the other star systems? So long as this planet, and your authority on it, are safe, you couldn’t care less about the war raging on in other star systems.”

  The voice of the old admiral, now in his seventies, while far from strict, nevertheless erected a granite wall against Trünicht’s reckless remarks.

  “The point is, the alliance’s days are numbered. Its politicians play with power. Its soldiers, as seen at Amritsar, are absorbed in speculative enterprise. They preach democracy yet make no efforts to protect it. Even its people have relinquished politics to fewer and fewer hands and have stopped trying to shape the state altogether. The collapse of a despotic government is the sin of its rulers and senior statesmen, but the collapse of a democracy rests on the shoulders of every citizen. Although you’ve had any number of chances to run from your seats of power legitimately, you’ve chosen to abandon your authority and responsibility by selling yourselves over to a rotten politician.”

  “You’re done with your speech, I take it?”

  Job Trünicht smiled faintly. Had Yang Wen-li seen that, surely his former impression of a feared and hated man would’ve resurfaced.

  “Yes, I’m done. Now’s the time to act. You just wait and see, Chairman Trünicht. I will stop you with everything I’ve got.”

  The old general rose from his chair, his entire being brimming with determination. Since no one present at the meeting could carry a weapon, the old admiral was unarmed, but without hesitation he tried to approach the young chairman thirty years his junior.

  Voices arose from all around. First of restraint, then of confusion as the doors of the underground conference room gave way to more than ten men storming in. They weren’t military police, but they held charged particle rifles and their faces were blank, like highly trained soldiers. Half of them formed a human barrier around Trünicht, while the remaining half pointed their guns at the others.

  “The Church of Terra … !”

  The petrified old admiral’s exclamation turned everyone present into living fossils. Their gazes were locked on the men’s chests, across which a slogan had been clearly embroidered: Terra is my home. Terra in my hand. The church’s unmistakable mark.

  “Lock them away,” ordered the chairman sternly.

  “The Free Planets Alliance government has accepted the Galactic Empire’s bid for peace. As proof, they’re immediately ceasing all military activity.”

  When they received word from the surface, Hilda, von Reuentahl, and Mittermeier were watching the screen over coffee in Beowulf’s conference room, which now served as their joint headquarters in Heinessen’s orbit.

  Mittermeier reverently bowed his honey-complexioned face.

  “Fräulein von Mariendorf, your resourcefulness is worth more than an entire fleet. I only hope you’ll exhibit more of the same on Duke von Lohengramm’s behalf.”

  “Much obliged. But I couldn’t have done it without your cooperation. Please, both of you, be his wings and lift him up. Help him in all public matters.”

  That was, of course, a hope aimed mainly at the heterochromatic admiral.

  “Honestly speaking, I didn’t think things would go this smoothly. Bravo.”

  Von Reuentahl smiled but, deep within, felt the sun darkening. He’d anticipated the possibility that the alliance government might be unaware of the surrender. Now that the democratic government’s headquarters, its stronghold, had come to embody justice in opposition to tyranny, he’d thought it had the moral backbone to wager its life in the name of self-protection. But to the leaders of the alliance, the fate of their democratic government mattered little if they had no power to show for it. In any event, to von Reuentahl, the matter was settled.

  “Indeed, I was worried the alliance’s pathetic leaders would ignore the risks to their own lives and wondered what we would do if they refused our demands.”

  Mittermeier shrugged his shoulders. Hilda nodded. Although they could count this as a success, it wasn’t without its pangs of dissatisfaction.

  “To think that something taking a hundred million people a century to build might be destroyed by one man in a single day …”

  “This is what they mean by the death of a nation.”

  After voicing this not particularly original sentiment, Mittermeier looked back at his nearby comrade. Von Reuentahl’s mismatched eyes were reflected on the dark surface of his untouched coffee. He lifted those eyes and spoke.

  “The Goldenbaum Dynasty of the Galactic Empire, the Free Planets Alliance, and Phezzan. We’ve witnessed firsthand the destruction of three major powers that, between them, ruled the universe. If I might borrow an expression from Vice Admiral Thurneisen: Future historians are sure to envy you.”

  And yet, even as Hilda and Mittermeier voiced their agreement, on the watery surface of each heart, a small, inextinguishable ripple was spreading its rings.

  IV

  In the Vermillion Stellar Region, far removed from the alliance capital of Heinessen, the ripples of soldier’s hearts were peaking in raging waves. In accordance with Yang’s orders, fleets turned back and the fighting stopped, but the soldiers couldn’t see past their anger and desperation over the absurdity of having to accept a cease-fire just shy of total victory.

  “What the hell is wrong with the capital? Letting themselves get besieged by the empire …”

  “We’ve surrendered. Unconditionally. A peaceful surrender. We put our hands up and asked for help.”

  “And what’s to become of the FPA?”

  “What’s to become of the FPA, he says! We’ll just become part of the empire. Maybe we’ll be given a semblance of autonomy … but just that, a semblance. Not that it’ll last for long.”

  “And then what?”

  “How should I know?! Go ask that blond brat, Duke von Lohengramm, seeing as he’ll be the one calling the shots from now on.”

  Not only were some mad, but others were grieving over this change of events. Some soldiers turned to their friends in tearful appeals.

  “I thought we stood for justice. Was justice ever meant to kneel to a dark, despotic power? This world has gone off its rocker.”

  All the same, not many agreed with that naive doubt.

  “Our government acts only to serve the enemy.”

  At first, such voices of denunciation were few and far between, but then they spread like wildfire throughout every fleet.

  “That’s right, our government officials have betrayed their own. They’ve gone against the faith and hopes of their own people.”

  “Those bastards are nothing but traitors. Why should we obey their orders?”

  Some blamed their communications officers. Why had they complied with that order? If only they’d feigned ignorance for two or three hours, they could’ve captured and killed Duke von Lohengramm by now. How could they have just bent over backward like idiots and transmitted it so honestly?!

  In this storm of disavowal, a small bud of affirmation timidly poked out its head.

  “But my family is on Heinessen. If we refuse to surrender and suffer a full-on assault … My family has been saved because the government surrendered.”

  There was nothing more to say. He glanced around, and saw how his comrades-in-arms had changed their expressions. At
least some were beginning to realize it took great courage to voice one’s humanity in a sea of indifference.

  “Let’s ask Admiral Yang to maintain true justice and tell him we don’t want him to go along with this outrageous cease-fire …”

  “Right on, let’s do it!”

  Julian Mintz hurried toward the observation room amid uproar. He wanted to speak with Vice Admiral von Schönkopf. Von Schönkopf stood at the window with a whisky flask in his hand. In his eyes, which reflected a dark stillness and the starry waltz within it, hung a mist of loathsome despair. Julian stopped and for a while said nothing, his eyes grave, fully knowing of the vice admiral’s despair.

  “Vice Admiral von Schönkopf …”

  Von Schönkopf turned and greeted the boy with a raise of his flask.

  “Ah, since you’ve gone out of your way to see me, can I assume, as you and I think alike, that you believe Admiral Yang should ignore the cease-fire?”

  Julian responded with a reserved yet uncompromising expression.

  “I understand what you’re feeling. But if we did that, we’d set a bad historical precedent. If we allow our military commanders to ignore governmental orders for the sake of their own convictions, the most important tenet of democratic government—namely, the ability to control military power on the people’s behalf—would never be realized. Do you think Admiral Yang capable of setting such a precedent?”

  Von Schönkopf’s lips curled into a cynical smile.

  “Then let me ask you this. If the government orders the slaughter of a nonresistant population, should the military comply with those orders?”

  Julian shook his flaxen head vigorously.

  “Of course not. When something calls into question one’s dignity, I think one must be a human being first, a military man second. In which case one must disobey, no matter the government’s orders.”

  Von Schönkopf said nothing.

  “Which is why, except in the most extreme cases, one must act first as a military man of a democratic nation and go along with whatever the government tells him to do. Otherwise, even if one resists for the sake of humankind, one will be criticized for acting out of self-interest.”

  Von Schönkopf fiddled with his flask.

  “Boy—no, Sublieutenant Julian Mintz—what you say is perfectly true. And while I understand it on a theoretical level, I had to say what I did.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Julian was being genuine. His objection to von Schönkopf was an objection of reason to his own emotions.

  “Admiral Yang has no political ambition whatsoever. And maybe he has no political talent, either. But he would never, like Job Trünicht, manipulate the nation as his personal possession, treat politics as an accessory, or betray the people who place their hopes in him. Compared to history’s greatest politicians, Admiral Yang’s abilities won’t likely be of much significance, but right now, we have only Job Trünicht to compare him with.”

  “Yes. I think so, too.”

  Julian loosened the scarf around his collar. He was having a little difficulty breathing. Agreeing with himself was much harder than agreeing with someone else.

  “But Chairman Trünicht was chosen to be sovereign by many who believed in him. Even if they were disillusioned, it’s the people’s responsibility to correct their own disillusionment, no matter how long it takes. Career soldiers should never attempt to correct people’s mistakes by force. Doing so would only bring about a repeat of the Military Congress for the Rescue of the Republic coup d’état that took place two years ago. The military would lead and rule the people.”

  Von Schönkopf brought the whisky flask to his mouth but put it back down halfway.

  “The Galactic Empire might very well demand Admiral Yang’s life as the wages of peace. And if the government responds by condemning him to death, what then? Do we willingly go along with that?”

  The boy’s face blushed.

  “I would never let that happen,” he declared. “Never.”

  “But I thought one must go along with whatever the government orders?”

  “That’s a question for the admiral. This is a question for me. I’ve no intention of yielding to Duke von Lohengramm and following the orders of his government. The only orders I follow come from Admiral Yang. If the admiral accepts the cease-fire, then I must accept it as well. Nothing else matters.”

  Von Schönkopf capped his whisky and looked at the seventeen-year-old sublieutenant, deeply impressed.

  “Julian, I spoke out of turn. You’ve really grown up. I should follow your example and accept what I should accept. But there are certain things one just can’t abide, no matter what. You’re right about that, too.”

  The air in the flagship Hyperion conference room was so oppressive it seemed half-solidified. One standing and stretching his spine proudly within that invisible fluid was Guest Admiral Merkatz’s aide, Bernhard von Schneider. His sharp eyes were aimed squarely at Yang Wen-li.

  “There’s nothing we can do about the cease-fire. It’s the government’s decision. But if you think for one minute I’m going to watch the FPA make Admiral Merkatz a scapegoat for your own protection, I cannot abide by such egotism.”

  “Von Schneider!”

  “No, Admiral Merkatz, Commander von Schneider speaks the truth.”

  That was all Yang said. He said nothing bad about the alliance government. To begin with, since there was just cause in surrendering to save the people from indiscriminate attack, he couldn’t afford any criticism. Even if it was obvious what the government’s true feelings were …

  “I’d like for Admiral Merkatz to step down from the fleet,” Yang went on.

  These words stirred the fluid air, and the staff officers with it, into a frenzy of shock and apprehension.

  “I have no way of predicting the future. But, as Commander von Schneider has said, it’s not far-fetched to think the alliance government might hand him over to curry imperial favor. I’m a man of the alliance, and as such am bound to go along with my government’s foolish measures. You, on the other hand, have no such obligation. If you don’t abandon this sinking ship, I’ll be very upset.”

  Yang hesitated for a moment.

  “Please take some warships with you. As well as whatever fuel, provisions, and men you might need, of course.”

  The fluid churned again.

  “Should it face defeat, there’s no way the Alliance Armed Forces will maintain military power at the same level it did before. If the ships are going to be destroyed eventually by the Imperial Navy anyway, I’d just as soon hide them. We could say they’ve been obliterated in battle or self-destructed. They’ll have a hard time verifying either way.”

  “I’m grateful for what you say, Admiral Yang. But do you really expect me to escape for my own safety and leave you to take the heat?”

  When Merkatz said this, Yang flashed a certain expression. Julian and Frederica recognized it as a smile of satisfaction.

  “I thought you might say that. It’s not like I’m asking you to retire, Admiral Merkatz. Rather, I have something more audacious in mind. For the sake of the future, I want you to preserve the most essential part of the Alliance Armed Forces. I want you to be our ‘mobile Sherwood Forest,’ as in the Robin Hood legends of old.”

  After a few seconds, the oppressive atmosphere in the room was suddenly lifted. Those who understood Yang’s words looked at each other with exalted gazes. There was hope after all! Amid the commotion, Yang stroked his face, thinking he’d done something conceited. At least he’d gotten his point across.

  And then, a sonorous voice of declaration:

  “I’m with you.”

  Everyone’s gazes fell on Olivier Poplin. The Alliance Armed Forces’ preeminent ace pilot didn’t care how important the meaning of his statement was.

  “The ‘Free’ in Free
Planets Alliance refers to independence. I’ve no lingering affection for an alliance reduced to a possession of the empire. It’s like a woman without self-respect: unattractive. Requesting permission to accompany Admiral Merkatz, sir.”

  Most people who heard the metaphor thought it was just like him to use it. They felt their hearts starting toward a slightly brighter horizon. It was much easier to follow than take the lead when someone took the first step. At least they knew it wouldn’t be a lonely journey.

  “And I as well, with Your Excellency von Schönkopf’s permission …”

  The Rosen Ritter’s second commander, Captain Kasper Rinz, also stood up firmly.

  “As the son of a refugee, I won’t stand to be subordinate to the empire any longer. Allow me to accompany Admiral Merkatz. That being said …” Rinz looked at the black-haired marshal. “Someday, I want Admiral Yang to lead us all. So long as you’re alive, you have the Rosen Ritter regiment’s loyalty.”

  “This is the first step toward militarization, pledging loyalty to neither nation nor government, but to one man. Only bad can come of this,” said Alex Caselnes benignly, at which one person laughed.

  Feeling his stance being questioned, Caselnes answered.

  “I’ll stay behind. Or should I say, I must stay behind. If too many generals disappear, the Imperial Navy might get suspicious. I’ll remain here with Marshal Yang.”

  Von Schönkopf, Fischer, Attenborough, Patrichev, Marino, and Carlsen chose to follow Caselnes. Merkatz opened a window of words to something he’d long kept locked inside and bowed to Yang.