One had been Kristoff Dickel, a young boy who, after losing both his parents while defecting from the empire with his family, had worked to put himself through school, graduated top of his class, and gone on to Officers’ Academy. Another had been a young woman who, despite having been accepted to university, had volunteered to become a military nurse instead, and had saved the lives of three soldiers on the battlefield. One was a young girl who had become a leader in raising funds to help wounded or ill veterans. And the last was a young man who had recovered from drug addiction, gone to work on his father’s farm, and taken first place in both a milk cow competition and a debate contest.
Trünicht had introduced these four as “young citizens of the republic,” made a show of shaking their hands onstage, and presented each with a “Young People’s Medal of Honor” he had come up with. The speech that had followed had been one utterly divorced from shame or objectivity. It had been a deluge of pretty words and phrases, and a waterfall of self-praise. Those who were showered in its spray had been caught up in waves of delusion that spread by the moment. Every attendee had been a holy warrior, battling the empire to protect freedom and democracy. The energy of this illusion had coursed through their veins.
Hugging the shoulders of the four young men and women, Trünicht had sung the national anthem in chorus with everyone, and when he had sung “Oh, we are freedom’s people!” the excitement and emotion in the room had become an active volcano that erupted. Attendees had become a wave of human bodies as they rose to their feet and unleashed a downpour of praise on the Free Planets Alliance and Chairman Trünicht.
Among the attendees at the ceremony, there had naturally been critics and opponents of Trünicht, but while the calculated nature of the whole production had inwardly disgusted them, they had nevertheless been unable to withhold applause. Ultimately, an enemy of Trünicht was viewed as an enemy of the state, and that was a danger they had avoided.
“I see—those are four fine young men and women he’s got there. But how, exactly, do the things they’ve accomplished relate to Mister Trünicht’s policies and decision-making?”
That question had been hurled at the screen by Iserlohn Fortress’s then commander Admiral Yang Wen-li, but as he had been in a place four thousand light-years from the capital, his words had never reached the ears of the authorities. In Yang’s estimation, the Free Planets’ greatest enemy had not been Reinhard von Lohengramm, but their own head of state.
“Every time I hear that guy getting all Shakespearean in his speeches, my soul just breaks out in hives.”
“That’s too bad. If it was your skin, you could take paid leave.”
This reply had been Julian’s, Yang Wen-li’s constant companion in conversation, who had been carefully pouring honey into Shillong tea.
Word was going around that Job Trünicht had secured guarantees for his personal safety and fortune, and embarked on a life of self-indulgence on the imperial capital of Odin. Though he was roundly criticized for his abandonment of principle, the people still couldn’t help acknowledging that—questions of good and evil aside—he had been a pillar on which their government had rested. Even if he had been falsehood made flesh, Trünicht had drawn people’s hearts together and inspired them, while Lebello’s efforts, much like the warming of an unfertilized egg, had done nothing but disappoint.
Neither the small number of people who knew the facts about Yang Wen-li’s escape nor the majority who knew nothing about it could fail to notice the stench of a rotting foundation rising up from the floorboards of that wooden house known as the Free Planets Alliance. All by himself, Lebello had pinched his nose shut and kept on working inside of that tilting house.
His sense of responsibility and mission didn’t always work in a positive direction. The load of duties he was trying to shoulder by himself in truth required over half a dozen shoulders to support it, but he seemed to be trying to solve every issue alone. Even his good friend Huang Rui, having been refused a meeting for want of free time, had shrugged his shoulders and not come again. His friend had always had little mental energy to spare, and once it was depleted, he had no choice but to shut the doors of his invisible shelter.
During this period, the empire had continued to keep its silence, but this was merely the silence of a dormant volcano waiting to erupt, and once it became active again, it would engulf the whole galaxy in boiling lava. Unable to imagine when and how the eruptions would resume, people were already gazing up at thick clouds of volcanic smoke in their minds.
Yang Wen-li’s clique had disappeared into the torrents and swells of the stars, continuing their unseen journey like a school of deep-sea fish. Naturally, antennae of reconnaissance had been extended for them in all directions, but with High Commissioner Lennenkamp’s unexpected death, Marshal Yang’s flight, and of course the order from the imperial high commissioner and the FPA government’s scheme—which together had flung Yang bodily into a zero-g vacuum—classified as top secret, the recon orders had hardly been followed with any great attention to detail.
Once Yang’s Irregulars had been spotted by FPA naval vessels on patrol, but Marshal Yang—with a face unknown to no one in the FPA Armed Forces—had shown himself on-screen and said, “We’re on a top secret mission from the government.” The ships’ commander, rather moved, had saluted and seen them off without incident. He had used the military’s own authoritarianism and the government’s own secrecy against them perfectly, but a common understanding that formed among many high-ranking officers later was, “If they’d revealed the facts to us, not only would I not have arrested Yang—I would’ve switched sides and joined him.”
It required no self-deprecation to state the obvious: both soldiers on the front lines and civilians in the rear held Yang Wen-li in far greater esteem and had far greater trust in him than they did the government.
Unable even to warn his good friend, Huang Rui would stare out the window of his study each day, watching one small eddy in the rushing torrent of history.
The fall of the Free Planets Alliance was no longer avoidable. And if it was going to be destroyed anyway, Lebello should have refused Lennenkamp’s order to arrest Yang Wen-li, and in so doing demonstrated clearly the significance of a democratic nation’s continued existence: No one was arrested without legal grounds. The rights and dignity due to each individual were given precedence over the ever-shifting interests of the state. These were the things that could have chiseled into history the significance of the Free Planets Alliance having existed.
It was too late now, though.
For Huang Rui as well, it was supremely regrettable that a good friend like Lebello had given himself over to the sort of illicit tactics that had been so unlike him, only to fail. Lebello had always been one to pursue the ideal with straightlaced, earnest conviction. The sight of his friend, no longer able to fall on his sword after a lifetime spent free of compromise, had now all but vanished from Huang Rui’s field of view. Huang Rui’s vision couldn’t even penetrate to the bottom of the waves.
IV
Following the retirement of its commander in chief Marshal Alexandor Bucock, the Free Planets Alliance Space Armada had been left without a supreme commander. Its general chief of staff, Admiral Chung Wu-cheng, had remained in his position while serving as deputy commander in chief, although he was now widely known as “a baker’s son gone to work for the scrapyard.” In fact, all he had done since taking on the duty was oversee the disposal of battleships and mother ships in accordance with the Baalat Treaty. Or to put it more precisely, he was really just doing so on paper; even the man himself was avoiding comment on whether or not the numbers in his statistics were trustworthy.
“How about I take the deputy thing once Yang Wen-li comes back to the military? There’s no one else who could work as our commander in chief.”
That, followed by an apology, was what Chung Wu-cheng had said to Lebello when he�
��d been about to appoint him to the position officially.
“He kidnapped High Commissioner Lennenkamp and made the fracture between the Free Planets and the empire irreparable,” Lebello had said. “After that, there’s no way he’s ever coming back.”
“If I may say a word, how exactly would you deal with Yang Wen-li if he were overcome with a thirst for personal vengeance, and threw in his lot with Kaiser Reinhard’s forces? There’s no reason we should cut off any chance for reconciliation. We need to prepare an environment where he can jump back in at any time.”
Chung said nothing further, although he was already implementing numerous measures to allow Yang to command as effective a fighting force as possible when he returned.
“If you tell me to go fight him, I will,” he added. “Not that I’ll have any hope of winning. First of all, do you really think the soldiers have any desire to fight that undefeated admiral? The punch line to that would be them running over to join his camp with weapons in hand.”
The content of what he was saying had stopped just short of becoming a threat, but Chung Wu-cheng’s expression and tone had remained easygoing and nonchalant, so Lebello hadn’t realized it. His psychological circuits already overloaded, his ability to project the words and actions of others onto his own consciousness had been starting to break down.
This guy’s gonna totally burn out before much longer, Chung Wu-cheng had observed, wondering if that might actually be a blessing for the unfortunate head of state. In fact, the only person living who could speak to Lebello unreservedly or sarcastically was, at present, himself, although naturally he did not put that observation into words.
The voices of journalists were getting steadily louder and more intense as reporters laid siege to the government, saying, “Tell the people the truth!” While they would have to brace for retribution if they criticized the empire, the pen apparently still retained its power when it came to criticizing the Free Planets’ government.
Those in the office of the imperial high commissioner would have loved to have made the incident public to expose the lack of leadership in the Free Planets’ government, but if the facts of High Commissioner Lennenkamp’s kidnapping had indeed come to light, the authority of the imperial government would have suffered no small injury. Furthermore, it would have given direction to anti-imperial sentiments held by the Free Planets’ citizens, and that could have ended up making Yang Wen-li a symbol among the anti-imperial resistance efforts. A variety of conditions had forced them to remain silent, but that had lasted only until instructions arrived from the imperial government. Hummel, who had been Lennenkamp’s aide, was ensconced in the darkness of the high commissioner’s office like some sort of nocturnal beast, busily sharpening his claws and canines.
A certain journalist confronted the government, saying, “There are just two things I’d like to ask. First, where is High Commissioner Lennenkamp? And secondly, where is retired marshal Yang Wen-li? That’s all I want to know. Why won’t the government answer?”
Those questions, however, were exactly what the government could not answer, and in this way they ultimately lent credence to the proverb “A witness’s silence is the mother of rumors.”
“…Marshal Yang was kidnapped by Commissioner Lennenkamp. He’s being held out of sight in their camp on Planet Urvashi, since it’s been put under the empire’s direct jurisdiction.”
“…No, the government has Admiral Yang hidden away in a mountain cottage in a certain highland region. A rancher who lives in the vicinity caught sight of both Yang and his wife. Apparently, the marshal had his arm around his wife’s shoulder, and they were strolling through their garden, with their faces turned down a little.”
“…According to a very accurate source, Marshal Yang and Commissioner Lennenkamp both shot each other, and are in a military hospital with serious wounds.”
“…All you guys are full of it. Marshal Yang has already shuffled off this mortal coil. He was assassinated by one of the kaiser’s men.”
Scarcely a word of these rumors even came close to touching a part of the epidermis of a fact, and naturally, the one that became most popular was the one that most strained the limits of exaggeration with regard to Yang’s fame and abilities. It claimed Marshal Yang was concocting a thousand-year plan to perpetuate republican democracy, and had chosen his old stomping grounds of El Facil as a stronghold. This whole chain of circumstances was playing out in the palm of Marshal Yang’s hand, and the day would soon come when the marshal would reveal his undefeated, gallant figure on El Facil, assume his seat as leader of their revolutionary government, and declare to the whole universe that he was raising an army!
“We are not isolated,” said the spokesperson for El Facil’s autonomous government. “We will surely answer his call, and then the politics of true republican democracy will be promulgated throughout the universe. From the bottom of our hearts, we will welcome the coming of Marshal Yang, democracy’s greatest protector.”
With no one to pick up where he left off, however, the spokesman’s sense of isolation only deepened. Naturally, his comment drew objections:
“In its words and deeds, the autonomous government of El Facil is turning its back on the good of the Free Planets Alliance as a whole. This is a grave betrayal that threatens the very existence of the republican form of government. It’s our hope that you will abandon your self-righteousness, and return to the ideals of our founding father, Ahle Heinessen.”
Those words were spoken by Lebello himself, but because he had remained silent on the matter of Yang’s life, death, or present whereabouts, it was no surprise that they failed to apply much pressure.
The scenario presented by Chung Wu-cheng—a diagram depicting Yang and Kaiser Reinhard uniting their forces—seemed to shine out like a red signal lamp even in Lebello’s extreme tunnel vision.
“You’re saying that if we back Yang into too tight a corner, he’ll have nowhere else to go and will join hands with Kaiser Reinhard and place himself under imperial command?”
That was exactly what Chung Wu-cheng was pointing out. What other way was there to interpret it?
“Even if he doesn’t want to, he could be forced into taking the only option he’s got if there’s no other way to survive. We mustn’t corner him.”
“Still, no matter how tight a fix he’s in, Yang grew up drinking the water of republican democracy—I can’t believe he would ever subordinate himself to a despot.”
“Don’t forget, Your Excellency, Rudolf von Goldenbaum started out as a leader in a democratic republic and ended up the ruler of a dictatorship that was positively medieval.”
“In that case, do we need to deal with Yang before that happens?”
“Kill the snake while it’s still in the egg, you mean? Still, we’ll need soldiers if we’re going to fight Marshal Yang. And that’s definitely a tall order.”
The imperial forces considered Yang their greatest enemy. The battles at Astarte, Amritsar, the Iserlohn Corridor, and Vermillion had proven that was true. And as for the soldiers of the Free Planets Alliance Armed Forces, they couldn’t think of killing Yang as anything other than aiding and abetting the empire.
“I don’t believe that fighting Yang means sinking to the status of imperial cat’s-paws.”
“Chairman, the problem I’m pointing out has to do with the soldiers’ emotions, not your opinion.”
After firing off that impolite line in a courteous tone of voice, Admiral Chung Wu-cheng took his leave of the agonized head of state. He had other things to do, and could not afford to waste time on grave but fruitless discussions.
What finally pushed Lebello off of his merry-go-round of limitless trepidation was a young man with luxurious golden hair. On November 10 of that year, Reinhard von Lohengramm, kaiser of the Galactic Empire, appeared on FTL comm screens all across the galaxy, standing in front of his new banner.
“Citizens of the Free Planets Alliance, the time has come for you to reconsider whether or not your government is deserving of your support.”
Kaiser Reinhard’s speech, which began with that introductory remark, was one that shocked both the citizens and the government of the Free Planets Alliance.
He spoke of the imperial high commissioner’s—of Senior Admiral Helmut Lennenkamp’s—suicide. Of retired marshal Yang Wen-li’s escape from the capital. Of the commissioner’s office’s heavy-handed approach and the FPA government’s scheming, which together had formed the seedbed from which these results had sprung. All the things that the people couldn’t have learned if they’d wanted to were told to them at that time.
“I freely admit my own ignorance and the imperial government’s thoughtlessness. These things are deserving of criticism, and I can’t help but grieve for the accomplished man who was lost, and the peace that was shattered. Yet at the same time…”
In the eyes of a people riveted in place by shock, that golden-haired young conqueror was like a gilt idol to the god of vengeance. His ice-blue eyes blazed with a bitter light, searing the retinas of onlookers.
“…At the same time, I cannot overlook the incompetence and faithlessness of the Free Planets’ government. It was wrong for the late high commissioner Lennenkamp to demand the arrest of Marshal Yang. The Free Planets’ government should have appealed to me regarding this injustice, and safeguarded the lawful rights of your most illustrious citizen, Marshal Yang Wen-li. Instead, they chose to curry favor with the powerful, violating even their own laws in the process. Not only that, when the scheme fell apart, they sought to avoid retaliation by offering the high commissioner up to his enemies!”
The pale form of Lebello, facing impeachment from a distance of several thousand light-years, was doubled over in an underground room at the High Council building, surrounded by his secretaries.
“They sold out your most distinguished citizen for the sake of a temporary benefit to the state. After which they immediately switched sides and sold out my representative. Where did the pride—and the very reason for being—of the republican form of government go? At this present point in time, it has become an injustice to recognize the perpetuation of such a system. The spirit of the Baalat Treaty has already been defiled. There is no way to correct this except through force.”
Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 7 Page 7
