Reinhard, attended by top officials Mittermeier, von Reuentahl, and von Oberstein, as well as Wahlen, Lutz, Mecklinger, Kessler, Fahrenheit, and three staff officers named Karl Robert Steinmetz, Helmut Lennenkamp, and Ernst von Eisenach, was sitting in the central command room at his admiralität, staring intently at its gargantuan screen. If the experiment was a success, Gaiesburg Fortress would appear on that screen—a silvery-gray sphere suddenly materializing against a backdrop of deep-indigo sky dusted with countless grains of silver and gold. It would be a truly dramatic spectacle.
“However, that will only happen if they succeed.” The tone von Reuentahl used to whisper those words to Mittermeier sounded more heartless than ironic. Unlike his colleague, who acknowledged Kempf as a better commander than himself, von Reuentahl’s evaluation was scornful. True, Kempf had been ordered to do this, but he was still pouring his heart and soul into something pointless.
Three members of the admiralty—Werner Aldringen, Rolf Otto Brauhitsch, and Dietrich Sauken—had been under Kircheis’s command, but after his death they had been placed under Reinhard’s direct supervision. The rank of all three was vice admiral. Additionally, Rear Admiral Horst Sinzer had been placed under Mittermeier’s command, and Rear Admiral Hans Eduard Bergengrün under von Reuentahl’s. These admirals were watching the screen intently from far in the back of the room, together with the other rear and vice admirals.
In the admiralität’s central command room were gathered the cream of the imperial military’s crop. By simply gesturing with their fingers, they could send tens of thousands of battleships racing across the void. Right here and right now, von Reuentahl thought, you could change the whole direction of the galaxy’s history, just by tossing a single photon bomb in this room. Actually, that wasn’t quite correct—there would be no need for everyone here to die. If only one of them, a blond youth of incomparable beauty and intelligence, were to vanish, that alone would be enough to completely change the fate of the universe. That bit of speculation made him feel vaguely apprehensive, yet at the same time, it was deeply interesting. Von Reuentahl was thinking about what had happened half a year ago—of what Reinhard had said when he had reported the capture of then imperial prime minister Duke Lichtenlade: And the same goes for all of you. If you have the confidence and you’re ready to risk everything, go ahead, challenge me anytime. Confidence! His dark right eye and his blue left eye shifted slightly, and von Reuentahl regarded his young lord. Then, sighing so softly that no one else could hear, he turned his attention to the screen. The voice of the countdown had reached his ears.
“… drei, zwei, eins …;”
“Oooh!”
A stir of amazed gasps rose up from the admirals. For a fraction of a second, the image on the screen was disrupted, but no sooner had that impression registered than the scene displayed had changed entirely. Now, the great sea of stars was a wall of light, and with that as its backdrop, a silvery-gray sphere with a ring of twenty-four giant engines appeared, spreading out over the center of the screen.
“It worked!”
Excited whispers broke out all around as everyone stared at the screen, each with his own emotions.
The warp was a success. Gaiesburg Fortress had appeared on the outer rim of the Valhalla system, carrying two million soldiers and as many as 16,000 ships. It was officially decided then that it should embark on the journey to retake Iserlohn. It was March 17, Imperial Year 489.
Duke von Lohengramm, the imperial prime minister, suddenly said, “I think I’m going to go visit Gaiesburg.” On the following day, he boarded his flagship Brünhild, accompanied by his chief secretary, Hildegard von Mariendorf, and his chief aide, Rear Admiral von Streit. After half a day at regular speed, Brünhild reached Gaiesburg, where Commander Niemeller, the ship’s captain, pulled her into port with a skill approaching artistry.
The two admirals, Kempf and Müller, came to greet them, and after congratulating them anew, Reinhard waved his hand to the cheering crew and headed off toward the Grand Hall right away.
Kempf and Müller exchanged a glance, both struck with the same surprise.
The Grand Hall was where Reinhard had held a ceremony last year to celebrate victory in the Lippstadt War and where Siegfried Kircheis’s incomparable loyalty had cost him his life.
“I’d like to be alone here for a while. Don’t let anyone else come in.”
So saying, Reinhard pushed open the doors and disappeared inside.
Through the narrow gap in the heavy doors could be seen a wall that had been blasted apart by a hand cannon, left collapsed and unrepaired. Ever the practical administrator, Kempf had decided that repairs need not extend so far as interior decorating. Which was of course true, but now that Reinhard was here, it appeared insensitive to have left the job undone.
Was it only to the dead that Reinhard would open his heart?
Hilda felt a sharp sense of pain flash through her chest. If that were the case, then his loneliness and solitude were far too great for any one man. For what purpose had Reinhard put an end to the old empire, and why was he trying to rule all the galaxy?
This is wrong, thought Hilda. Surely a more fulfilling way of life must be possible for a young man like Reinhard. What should she do in order to bring that about?
Just then, the doors were firmly shut, as if rejecting all the living.
Behind those doors, Reinhard was sitting on the long-neglected steps leading up to the dais. Scenes from half a year ago rose up before his ice-blue eyes. Siegfried Kircheis, lying in a pool of his own blood, had said, “Take this universe for your own …; and then tell Miss Annerose …; tell her that Sieg kept the promise that he made when we were young …;”
You kept your promise. And so I’ll keep my promise to you, as well. No matter what it takes, I will make this universe my own. And then I’ll go and get my sister. But I’m cold, Kircheis. In a world with neither you nor Annerose, the warm light is missing. If I could turn the pages of time back twelve years, if I could go back to those days …; if I could do it all over again …; then my world might have been something a little brighter, a little warmer …;
Reinhard held in his hand a pendant he had been wearing around his neck until a moment ago. The chain and pendant alike were made of silver. With his finger, he touched an oft-pressed spot to open it, revealing a small lock of slightly curling hair, red as if dyed with dissolved rubies. The blond-haired youth, not moving a muscle, stared at it for a long time.
In a room in the landesherr’s office on Planet Phezzan, his official aide Rupert Kesselring was reporting on a number of matters to Landesherr Adrian Rubinsky. After first informing him that the test warp of Gaiesburg Fortress had been successful, he touched on the movements of the Free Planets Alliance.
“The FPA government has summoned Admiral Yang Wen-li temporarily to Heinessen and has apparently decided to subject him to face a court of inquiry.”
“A court of inquiry? Not a court-martial, then.”
“If it were a court-martial, formal charges would be required to open it. The defendant would have to be given a lawyer, and there would have to be a public record of the proceedings. However, these courts of inquiry have no basis in law—or to put it another way, they’re completely arbitrary. Far more effective than an official court-martial, if what you’re after is a psychological lynching founded on suspicion and speculation.”
“It’s just like the alliance’s current leadership to do something like that. They extol the virtues of democracy with their mouths, while in reality they ignore laws and regulations, turning them into hollow shells. That’s a makeshift—and dangerous—way of doing things. And it’s because their authorities have no respect for the law themselves that their societal norms are coming unglued. A symptom that they’re entering the terminal phase.”
“Even if that’s the case, they should solve these problems themselves,” Rupert Kes
selring said in a tone of pure acid. “There’s no need for us to worry ourselves over them. When someone inherits a fortune through no ability of their own, they should face a commensurate test. If they can’t endure it, destruction awaits, and that doesn’t apply just to the Goldenbaum Dynasty …;”
Landesherr Rubinsky, saying nothing to that, tapped his fingers on the top of his desk.
On March 9, an order from the government of the Free Planets Alliance was delivered to Yang Wen-li at Iserlohn Fortress, summoning him to the capital.
The order had come straight from the Defense Committee chair, and Yang, on receiving it via the FTL hotline, converted it to text and spent the next five minutes staring at the plate on which it was displayed. At last, he noticed Frederica Greenhill looking at him worriedly and gave her a smile.
“I’ve received a summons. It says to head for Heinessen.”
“What for?”
“To appear before a ‘court of inquiry,’ it says. Any idea what kinda powwow that’s supposed to be, Lieutenant? I can’t seem to remember.”
Frederica’s pleasantly shaped eyebrows drew together slightly.
“I know about courts-martial, but there’s nothing in the Charter of the Alliance, the FPA Basic Military Code of Justice, or the regs about anything called a ‘court of inquiry.’”
“Aha, something that transcends mere laws and regulations, then.”
“Or to paraphrase, something arbitrarily made up, without a legal leg to stand on.”
It was said that Frederica, with her superior powers of memory, knew by heart every article in the Charter of the Alliance and the FPA Basic Military Code of Justice.
“You’re right,” Yang said, “but the fact that this is coming from the Defense Committee chair means it has excellent legal standing. Looks like I gotta head on over to Vanity Fair.”
Despite his having been born on Heinessen, the sound of that planet’s name summoned a rather depressing image in Yang’s imagination: a hotbed of Trünicht faction scheming and power plays. In any case, there was only one man he could leave in charge of Iserlohn while he was away. Yang called in Rear Admiral Alex Caselnes.
After Yang had explained about the order, Caselnes furrowed his brow but was of course unable to tell Yang not to go. “Whatever you do, do it discreetly,” he said. “You’ve got to make sure you don’t give them any excuses.”
“Yeah, I know. Can you hold the fort down for me again?”
Rear Admiral von Schönkopf, commander of fortress defenses, also seemed reluctant to send off his commanding officer.
“Will you be taking a security detail? I’ll be happy to lead it personally if you—”
“No need to go overboard here. It’s not like we’re sneaking into enemy territory. Just give me one person I can trust.”
“It just so happens that you’re speaking to a clever and courageous warrior at this very moment.”
“But there’ll be trouble down the road if I take the commander of fortress defenses off the front line. Stay here and assist Caselnes. I’m not taking Julian this time, either. I’ve decided to go with the minimum number possible.”
For transport, Yang selected a cruiser called Leda II instead of his flagship Hyperion, along with an escort of ten destroyers that would stay with him only as far as the Iserlohn Corridor’s exit point. As he was a commander of vast military forces, he didn’t want anyone thinking he was trying to intimidate the government. In his position, Yang had to take all sorts of tiresome things like that into account.
The security guard that von Schönkopf recommended was one Warrant Officer Louis Machungo. With glossy dark skin, upper arms as thick as Yang’s thighs, a broad-chested hulk of a body, and charmingly rounded, light-brown eyes complementing a strong jawline, he gave an impression not unlike that of a gentle ox. Those huge muscles could probably unleash a hurricane of overwhelming force the moment he got angry, though.
“Pit him against those weaklings back in the capital,” von Schönkopf said, “and he can probably take out a whole platoon one-handed.”
“Meaning he’s even stronger than you are?” Yang replied.
“I’d take out a whole company.”
Von Schönkopf had spoken offhandedly, but afterwards his expression turned a bit mean-spirited as he added, “By the way, will you be taking Lieutenant Greenhill with you?”
“If I don’t take an aide, I won’t be able to function.”
“That’s not in dispute, but if you take the lieutenant and leave Julian behind …; you’ll make the boy jealous.”
Having said what he’d wanted to say, von Schönkopf left to go watch Julian’s practice on the firing range. When it was over, he said to the boy:
“I’m aware Lieutenant Greenhill has an interest in Admiral Yang, unfathomable as that may be. But how does the admiral feel about her?”
“I wouldn’t know …;” Julian murmured, smiling slightly. “At any rate, he’s the type who hates to have people know what he’s feeling, so he rarely says anything that would mean committing himself.”
“Which in its own way makes him rather transparent. He’s smart and has a simple, honest disposition, and that makes him just a little naive in his personal relations.”
“You seem to know all about everybody.”
Julian’s comment caught von Schönkopf off guard for a moment. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Er, nothing. I have to start getting dinner ready, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Got to make that Irish stew the admiral likes.”
Julian saluted and started walking away immediately.
“It’s fine to keep busy,” von Schönkopf shouted in a spiteful tone at the boy’s retreating back, “but don’t wear out those talents of yours making stew.”
Julian was genuinely disappointed that he couldn’t go with Yang to the capital. Part of it was the talk he’d had with Caselnes; now more than ever, he wanted to stick close by Yang and look out for him. He remembered what Yang had said before he’d been able to express his wishes: “Julian, I’m letting you off from housework for exactly two months.”
Julian was unsure whether those words had sprung from the same well as von Schönkopf’s parting jab or not. Yang also seemed to be worried about Julian these days—about his apparent lack of friends his own age. Because of this, he might well have been trying to create a chance for Julian to go out and make some friends.
Staying or going, however, this trip to Heinessen would probably not afford Julian any chances to be of service to Yang. He couldn’t help the admiral in the same way Frederica could—if she didn’t go, Yang’s ability to do his administrative chores would plummet.
At any rate, I at least want to make myself useful before he ships out, Julian thought. To that end, he set to the task of making Yang’s travel preparations. Yang looked on silently, aware that he’d just get in the way if he tried to help.
As if the thought had suddenly struck him, Yang said, “Hey, Julian. About how tall are you now?”
“Huh? I’m 173 centimeters.”
“I thought so. Looks like you’re gonna pass me next year. The first time we met, you didn’t even come up to my shoulder.”
That was all he said, but in those words, the boy felt something like a warm current of air.
II
Travel time between Iserlohn and the capital depended to some degree on conditions along the route, but three to four weeks was standard. Yang had decided to set aside this unexpected blank space in his schedule to do some writing, either on historical theory or on his theories about nations. Even if there wouldn’t be enough time to bring a work to completion, he figured he should at least be able to finish a draft. The cruiser Leda II set out from Iserlohn, and Yang immediately ensconced himself in his office.
There are two ways to defend a country. One is to possess armaments more powerful tha
n the opposing nations; the other is to render those nations harmless through peaceful means. The former method is the simpler of the two, and the one more attractive to ruling authorities, but it’s been axiomatic since modern societies first took shape that an inverse proportion exists between increasing armaments and economic development. Increasing the armaments of one’s own nation invites other nations to do likewise, and this goes on until at last this striking overemphasis on armaments warps the economy and society beyond their limits and causes the collapse of the nation itself. This gives rise to one of history’s universal ironies: a nation destroyed by the will to defend itself …;
Yang looked up from his word processor and slapped the back of his neck with one hand. After revising for a few dozen seconds, he started writing again.
It’s said that since ancient times, many nations have been destroyed by external invaders. What demands our attention now, however, is the fact that more nations have been destroyed by internal factors: by launching invasions that result in a counterattack, by corrupting the mechanisms of state authority, by distributing wealth unfairly, and by angering the citizenry through suppression of thought and speech. When societal inequities go unaddressed, when armaments are needlessly multiplied, when their power is abused—internally, to suppress the people; externally, to invade other countries—that nation is on the road to destruction. This is a provable historical fact. Ever since the emergence of modern nations, lawless acts of invasion have inevitably invited defeat and destruction—not for the invaded country, but for the invading one. Without even getting into the morality of it, invasion should be avoided simply because the success rate is so low …;
Endurance Page 13
