After the emperor’s death, Annerose, the Countess von Grünewald, had removed herself from court and moved into a mansion in Schwarzen that Reinhard had readied for them to share. When he welcomed his sister, Reinhard had spoken like an overeager boy.
“You’re never going to have hard times again, so please, be happy, always.”
Coming from Reinhard, this was a rather unimaginative line, but one suffused with sincere emotion.
However, Reinhard had another face—the face of a heartless, ambitious schemer—that he didn’t want Annerose to see.
He was aware of the alliance that had secretly been formed between Duke von Braunschweig and Marquis von Littenheim, and in his heart of hearts he welcomed it.
Let it explode. I’ll have them executed as rebels against the new emperor and in one fell swoop purge the highborn of their strength and influence.
If he could destroy both of Friedrich IV’s highborn sons-in-law, then all the rest of them would be able to do nothing save yield before Reinhard’s ambition. All of their lordships would bow to the ground and swear obedience to him. And when that happened, he would naturally be able to break his alliance with Duke Lichtenlade. You sly old fox, at least for now, celebrate having risen as high as you can.
By the same token, Duke Lichtenlade was certainly not thinking of making his axial relationship with Reinhard a permanent one, although like Reinhard, he was counting on Duke von Braunschweig and Marquis von Littenheim’s scheming to eventually explode. Using Reinhard’s military might, he would crush them. And once that job was done, he would have no further use for a dangerous individual like Reinhard.
On Reinhard’s orders, Seigfried Kircheis was moving steadily ahead with military preparations against what was expected to be an armed uprising by a federation of highborn nobles, with Duke von Braunschweig and Marquis von Littenheim at its head.
Kircheis was aware of von Oberstein’s cold, dry gaze against his back, but as there seemed to be no cracks in his relationships with either Reinhard or Annerose, he had nothing to be ashamed of and decided to take no greater precautions than necessary.
Kircheis was working hard at performing his duties, while at the same time enjoying opportunities to meet with Annerose that had increased beyond compare with those of years prior. This made the passing of his days fulfilling and blissful.
If only such days could go on forever …
III
Around the time that the two camps in the empire and the alliance had finally formed new power structures and begun to climb, wheezing, the stairway to the future, Landesherr Rubinsky sat in an inner room at his private residence in the Phezzan Dominion and decided to make a call.
The room had no windows, and sealed tight behind walls of thick lead, the space itself was polarized.
He flipped a pink switch on his console, and a communications device activated. It was hard to pick out that device with the naked eye, the reason being that the room itself was the communications device, created to bridge several thousand light-years of interstellar space, changing Rubinsky’s brain waves into the distinctive wavelengths of FTL transmissions, and sending them to their destination.
“It’s me. Please respond.”
His thoughts would assume the structure of definite language during these periodic, top secret transmissions.
“Which me is ‘me?’ ”
The reply that came to him from beyond the reaches of space could not have been haughtier.
“Landesherr of Phezzan Rubinsky. How is your Holiness, Grand Bishop? Are you in good spirits?”
Rubinsky spoke with a humility that was hard to believe.
“I’ve no reason to be in good spirits … not when my beloved Earth has yet to reclaim its rightful position. Until the day that Earth is worshipped by all mankind, as in our distant past, my heart will not be unclouded.”
Rubinsky could sense in his thoughts the heaving of a great sigh that used the whole of the bishop’s rib cage.
Earth.
The shape of a planet floating in the void three thousand light-years away rose up in the back of Rubinsky’s mind to become a sharp, vivid image.
A backwater planet, abandoned after thorough subjection to humanity’s plunder and destruction. Decrepit and devastated, exhausted and poor. Ruins dotting its deserts, rocky mountains, and sparse forests. A small number of people just barely eking out a living, clinging to polluted soil that had forever lost its fertility. Dregs of glory, and precipitated grudges. A world so powerless that even Rudolf had left it alone. The third planet from its sun, which had no future and nothing but past …
However, it was this forgotten world that was Phezzan’s secret ruler. For it was from the supposedly impoverished Earth that Leopold Raap’s capital had come.
“For a long interval of eight hundred years, Earth has been looked down upon unfairly, but the day of her humiliation’s ending is at hand. It is Earth that is the cradle of humanity and the center from which all the universe is ruled, and sometime during the next two or three years, the day will finally come for those ingrates who abandoned the mother world to know it.”
“Will it be that soon?”
“You doubt me, Landesherr of Phezzan?”
His brain waves played the melody of low and somber laughter. The laughter of Earth’s religious and political ruler, known as the Grand Bishop, terrified Rubinsky and made every hair on his body stand on end.
“The flow of history is a thing that accelerates. Particularly in regard to the respective camps of the Galactic Empire and the Free Planets Alliance, the convergences of their political authorities and military powers are moving forward. To that, we will presently add a new mass movement among the people. The spiritual movement to return to Earth that has been lurking unseen in both camps will soon appear on the streets. The work of organizing them and raising capital has been left to you Phezzanese, and there must be no mistakes.”
“Of course.”
“It was for this purpose that our great master selected the planet Phezzan, sent people loyal to Earth there, and set them the task of amassing wealth. Through force of arms, you cannot stand against either the empire or the alliance. It’s only through economic might attained through careful use of its special position that Phezzan dominates the secular sphere, while it’s through faith that our Earth rules the spiritual … The galaxy shall be recaptured for Earth without a shot being fired. It’s a grand project that has taken centuries to be realized. And now, in our generation, will the wisdom of our master bear fruit … ?”
At that point, the polarity of his thoughts reversed, and he called out sharply:
“Rubinsky!”
“Uh … yes?”
“Don’t ever betray me.”
If even one person who had known the Landesherr of Phezzan had been present, his eyes would have snapped wide open at the realization that even this man could break out in a cold sweat.
“Th-that’s something I never dreamed I would hear you say.”
“You’ve both ability and ambition … I was merely warning you so that you do not succumb to temptation. Surely you are sufficiently aware of the reason why the illustrious Manfred II, as well as your own predecessor as landesherr, had to die.”
Manfred II had believed in the ideal of peaceful coexistence between the empire and alliance, and had attempted to implement that as policy. Rubinsky’s predecessor Walenkov had hated being controlled from Earth and had tried to act independently. Both of them had attempted acts disadvantageous for Earth.
“It’s because of Your Grace’s support that I was able to become landesherr. I am no ingrate.”
“If that’s the case, then all is well. That praiseworthiness will protect you.”
Some time later, the transmission came to an end, and Rubinsky went out onto the marble terrace, where, standing still, he looked up into the
starry night sky. That he could not see Earth was fortunate. The feeling of relief, as if he had returned to reality from some other dimension, was gradually restoring his usual indomitable confidence.
Had Phezzan belonged to Phezzan alone, it might well have been he himself who was the de facto ruler of the galaxy. Unfortunately, however, the reality was different.
To the monomaniacs who were trying to reverse eight hundred years of history and make Earth capital of all the assembled stars once again, Adrian Rubinsky was nothing but a manservant.
However, would that be true in perpetuity? Nowhere in the universe was there an absolute and just reason why that had to be so.
“Well then, who’s going to be the last one standing? The empire? The alliance? Earth … ?” As Rubinsky was talking to himself, the corners of his mouth turned upward, just like the mouth of the fox that was his other namesake.
“Or will it be me … ?”
IV
“We aren’t going to be able to avoid a decisive battle with the highborn. It’s a battle that will likely divide the empire.”
At Reinhard’s words, Kircheis nodded. “I’m in consultation with Mittermeier and von Reuentahl,” he said, “and operations planning is coming along nicely. There’s just one thing, though, that worries me.”
“ ‘What will the rebel forces do?’ ”
“Exactly.”
What would happen if, while the empire’s internal forces were divided between the Lichtenlade-Lohengramm axis and the Braunschweig-Littenheim camp, the alliance’s military were to take advantage of the state of civil war and launch a second incursion? Even Kircheis, who was confident in the planning and execution of his operation, was feeling uneasy about that point.
The golden-haired youth gave his red-haired friend an easy smile.
“Don’t worry about it, Kircheis. I have an idea. No matter how much skill Yang Wen-li may boast as a strategist, this measure will ensure that he won’t be able to leave Iserlohn.”
“And your strategy is … ?”
“In short, it’s this.”
Ice-blue eyes flashing enthusiastically, Reinhard launched into his explanation.
V
“I can feel the temptation,” Yang murmured. Lost in thought, he had not so much as touched the tea that had been brought in for him. When Julian came in to take away his cup, he stared at Yang wide-eyed, but something in the air prevented him from asking what was wrong. He said nothing.
Although the empire’s political situation appeared to have gotten a brief reprieve because of the swift establishment of the Lichtenlade-Lohengramm axis, there was no way that the present configuration was going to transition into a period of stability. The Braunschweig-Littenheim camp was going to rise up with armed force or, more precisely, be driven into a corner from which it would have to rise up. A civil war was going to break out and divide the empire.
And when that happened, Yang would come up with an ingenious reading of the situation and intervene—for example, suppose he joined forces with von Braunschweig’s people to defeat the Marquis von Lohengramm in a pincer movement and then repaid von Braunschweig’s side with a single blow to slaughter them. The Galactic Empire would likely fall.
Or maybe he could give his plans to von Braunschweig, let him do half the fighting against Reinhard, and then hit them both when both sides had reached the limits of exhaustion—that he could probably do himself. For his part, Yang was actually rather disgusted that he prided himself so on his mind as a tactician. When he had murmured, “I can feel the temptation,” that was what he had been talking about.
If he were a dictator, that was what he would do. But what was he but one soldier of a democratic nation? There were, of course, restrictions on what he could do. To exceed those restrictions would only make him Rudolf’s successor …
When Julian had taken away the cup of cold tea, brewed a fresh pot, and set it on Yang’s desk, Yang noticed at last.
“Oh, thank you,” he said.
“Did you have something on your mind?”
Upon being asked directly, a boyish look of embarrassment appeared on the face of the youngest full admiral in the Alliance Armed Forces.
“It’s not the kind of thing I can talk about with other people. I mean, honestly, if all people think about is winning, there’s no bottom to how low they can go.”
Not quite understanding what Yang was getting at, Julian remained silent and waited for him to continue.
“By the way,” said Yang, “I understand von Schönkopf’s been teaching you how to shoot. How’s that coming along?”
“From what the rear admiral says, I’m apparently ‘a natural talent.’ ”
“Oh, that’s good to hear.”
“But, Commander, you never practice marksmanship at all. Is that really all right?”
Yang laughed. “I don’t seem to have any talent for it. Don’t care to make an effort, either, so at present I just might be the worst marksman in the service.”
“Well, in that case, how do you protect yourself?”
“A fight where a commanding officer has to take up a gun to defend himself is already lost. All I’m thinking about now is how to not end up in that situation.”
“I see. In that case, I’ll be the one to defend you.”
“I’ll be counting on it.” Smiling, Yang picked up the cup of tea.
Watching the young commander, a thought occurred to Julian: He’s fifteen years older than me. In the next fifteen years, can I reach his level?
The boy had the feeling that it was too great a distance.
The galaxy turned, carrying with it thoughts, beliefs, and hopes beyond number.
It was SE 796, IE 487, and neither Marquis Reinhard von Lohengramm nor Yang Wen-li had foreseen any of what still lay ahead for them.
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 carrier 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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