After a moment of silent disbelief, Admiral Rockwell said, “I demand legal protection!”
But the cry he let out was deflected as Fahrenheit barked, “I don’t know about its predecessor, but the Lohengramm Dynasty has no law protecting traitors. Cease your useless pleading.”
The assassins, marched away by Fahrenheit and the others, faded into the distance, stirring the air as they went with a threefold melody of screams, protests, and pleadings.
When they were gone, Reinhard said, “It’s just as you predicted, Fräulein. Those who eat rotten meat judge others by their own tastes.” He practically spat out the words, placing a white finger against his white front teeth. Hilda was on the point of vomiting from disgust at all of this; nevertheless, she had soldiered through, and after a small cough, murmured words that might have been an appraisal or might have been self-examination. “I think people are probably capable of doing far more despicable things than they realize. In a perfect world of peace and harmony, we would never have to discover that side of ourselves, but…”
The ice-blue curtains of Reinhard’s eyes stirred, and one tiny part of his frail soul, wrapped in its thick, tough hide, touched open air. Replace the word “despicable” with “foolish,” and he, too, became a criminal best locked away in purgatory. He himself knew that better than anyone else.
At last, he shook his golden hair and said, “If those men were sewer sludge, then that old man who died at Mar Adetta was newfallen snow.” Perhaps saying so was an escape mechanism that he himself was not aware of. But even if that were true, it didn’t mean he had spoken any falsehood.
“It’s from the ashes that the phoenix is reborn. Half-cooked, it can never receive new life. The old man knew that. So I’ll punish those men, and make them beg his forgiveness in Valhalla.”
With a graceful movement, Reinhard turned to face his cluster of aides.
“Bring a glass of white wine, would you, Emil?”
His young chamberlain bowed, and at a speed just shy of a full-tilt run, withdrew briefly from the kaiser’s presence. At last, he returned with a crystal glass filled with an almost-clear liquid, and reverently held it out toward his master.
However, Reinhard had not asked for wine so he could drain the glass himself. The young, golden-haired kaiser took the crystal glass from Emil’s hand, turned his graceful figure directly toward a window, and flipped his graceful wrist. A curtain of white wine ran down the windowpane, drenching the view of a courtyard half-enveloped in twilight’s palms—this was Reinhard’s offering to the dead.
The following day, a proclamation went out from the kaiser.
“Families of the Alliance Armed Forces’ war dead, as well as sick or injured soldiers—even those who fought as enemies against the Imperial Navy—shall be treated kindly. The time of hatred as the mover of history has ended. Those not satisfied with their treatment and those facing real hardship should not hesitate to come forward.”
The shock that this proclamation delivered to the Free Planets’ governmental bureaucrats was no small one. A deep-seated fear took hold of them—perhaps it was not themselves who had been defeated by military force, but democratic republican government itself that had been defeated by the ability of one individual. Had Reinhard taken heartless vengeance, they said, a spirit of rebellion against his despotism would have taken hold, but instead, its exact opposite, magnanimity, was like the sunlight that melts the ice, discouraging opposition.
Among the high-ranking government and military officers, people were switching sides one after another. The bitter punishment given Lebello’s assassins did make these converts quite cautious, but cooperating out of devotion to their duties was unlikely to stimulate the empire’s fastidious side.
Many of those who did not cast aside loyalty to democratic republican government were faceless soldiers and bureaucrats of midlevel status and below. Many of these attempted to resist their conquerors through various acts of minor sabotage, but there were also those who stated their intentions openly. Busias Adora, a counselor working in Heinessen’s city government district, flatly refused when ordered by the Imperial Navy to submit a declaration of allegiance to the kaiser.
“Who is this kaiser you speak of? Here in the Free Planets Alliance, we have a head of state chosen by the people, but we don’t have any kaiser. I don’t have to follow orders from somebody who doesn’t exist.”
Claude Monteille, treasury section manager at the Finance Committee office, was ordered to turn over a list of all state-owned properties, but he stubbornly refused to accommodate this demand.
“Only citizens of the Free Planets Alliance who have the right to vote in elections, have the right to run in elections, and also pay their taxes have the right to view lists of state-owned properties. Furthermore, governmental and public employees perform their duties only according to the laws of the alliance and their own consciences. I am truly afraid. I don’t want to die. But once I became a public servant, I could not shirk my duties, humble though they may be.”
Furthermore, on February 11, Graham Ebard-Noel-Baker, a secretary second class at the Supreme Council Secretariat, made the following entry in the public record:
“Today at 10:30, a man by the name of Reinhard von Lohengramm, calling himself ‘kaiser of the Galactic Empire,’ applied for a tour of the assembly hall without legal standing.”
Even when the entry’s deletion was requested, he did not cooperate.
All three of them ended up in prison, but when the kaiser eventually learned of it, they were released on his order.
“They’re fine men, all of them. The failure to promote that sort beyond the middle ranks is exactly why the alliance ultimately fell. We mustn’t harm people like that. For the time being, put only obedient people in charge of governmental administrative functions.” Since the handful of courageous individuals who were determined to resist caused no particular impediment to the occupation’s administration, perhaps Reinhard had been able to let his emotions—or his sentimentality—manifest itself.
Eventually, it came to light through a number of testimonials and pieces of evidence that High Commissioner Lennenkamp’s chief assistant, Udo Dater Fummel, had enticed malcontent elements, including Admiral Rockwell, to assassinate Lebello. A storm cloud hung low over Reinhard’s brow when he heard of it. He ordered Müller to go and bring Fummel before him, then questioned him as to why he had committed such a dishonorable act of incitement.
“I was afraid of him causing trouble for Your Highness,” Fummel answered.
To which Reinhard jumped to a pointed conclusion. “A praiseworthy endeavor, but if that’s the case, you should have restrained Lennenkamp’s rash behavior. And now you come here acting so clever, intending to put me in your debt?”
The selfsame day, Reinhard made the decision to dismiss Fummel, and sent him back to the imperial capital of Odin.
IV
On February 20, the “Winter Rose Garden Edict” was promulgated as follows. It was referred to as such because it was issued from a garden of winter roses within the expansive grounds of the National Museum of the Arts, located in a corner of Heinessen’s government and municipal office district. Its official name was of course a prosaic one: the “Edict of February 20, New Imperial Calendar Year 2.” It was a name impossible to misunderstand, as it did not appeal to people’s emotions. It was the common name that lingered long in their memories.
Neidhart Müller, standing behind the kaiser, paying careful attention to security while also watching history unfolding in the present progressive tense, would long remember the gold and crimson standing out against a background steeped in greenish grays. Reinhard, standing still before high-ranking officials of the imperial navy and the FPA government, flanked on both sides by imperial marshals Wolfgang Mittermeier and Oskar von Reuentahl as he received the written edict from Hildegard von Mariendorf, looked like one in
to whom the brilliance of every constellation had been condensed, and seemed a personification of the royal hellebores growing crimson among the other winter roses. The shades of dusk rapidly deepened, and as the substance of the people merged with the shadows, Reinhard’s golden hair alone stood out dazzlingly, as though he had wrapped the sun’s last flash of light around his own head.
“I, Reinhard von Lohengramm, kaiser of the Galactic Empire, do hereby proclaim that the Free Planets Alliance is utterly fallen, having lost the substance that would justify its name. From this day forward, there is only one rightful governing body to rule humanity: the Galactic Empire. At the same time, I publicly acknowledge that in past history there existed the Free Planets Alliance, which has long been alienated, and referred to as dishonorable rebel forces.”
The corner of von Reuentahl’s mouth twisted at micron scale with irony. How much more bitter could the kaiser’s declaration be? To at last be recognized by the empire’s highest ruling authority, only after being extinguished both in name and in fact. Acknowledged, but only as an artifact of the past—a bouquet of lies to decorate a shroud.
When Reinhard completed the proclamation, his gaze went wandering over the garden. Even if this garden, where generations of past alliance heads of state must have strolled, assembled their supporters, and held garden parties, was a far cry from the ridiculous grandeur of Neue Sans Souci Palace, it was still worthy of appreciation.
Even in the middle of winter, hellebores of crimson, white, and pink formed rainbows on the ground. A modest two-story guesthouse adjoined the garden. I’ll make that my residence while I’m here on Heinessen, Reinhard thought. Although he was known for elegance when boarding a battleship, and magnificence when leading his forces, his personal lifestyle was more simple, and he even exhibited a sense of revulsion toward luxurious estates. Though he took some enjoyment in gardens, he preferred scenic ones that were close to nature over geometric, man-made beauty. Among the cultural relics of the Free Planets Alliance, this garden of winter roses was one of the few things he liked. And while “interim palace” was too grand a word for it, he nevertheless made up his mind to stay there from that point forward.
Marshal von Reuentahl’s aide-de-camp, Lieutenant Commander Emil von Reckendorf, whispered something to his commanding officer, to which the secretary-general of Imperial Military Command Headquarters nodded, and begged the kaiser’s leave to return to the hotel that was currently his residence. That night, over one thousand high-ranking officers were supposed to gather for a celebratory banquet, and as it was the middle of winter, it wouldn’t do to get all dressed up for a garden party. The kaiser started walking, and more than fifty thousand soldiers stationed around the Winter Rose Garden’s perimeter began to cheer. They needed no one’s order to do so.
“Sieg kaiser!”
“Sieg mein kaiser!”
“Sieg Kaiser Reinhard!”
The wild enthusiasm of officer and enlisted man alike was a bit disorderly, but it became a powerful chorus that spread out like a canopy over the entire imperial military. The courageous, battle-hardened admirals who were standing around the kaiser at that time also felt it just as strongly: that they had been here to see a moment that would be spoken of for generations being carved into history with a golden chisel. With pride, they gazed upon their crimson “royal hellebore.”
At last, I’ve finally made it here, Reinhard murmured in his heart. The old alliance’s capital was now nothing more than a territory situated at one end of the vast land that he ruled. Before, when he had walked this land, he had still nominally been a mere court vassal of the Goldenbaum Dynasty. But now he was kaiser. Even without falling back on that “holy and inviolable” nonsense, he had become the most powerful presence in the universe.
And yet, the truth of the matter was, he should have been able to become even more powerful—if one of his unseen wings had not been broken because of his own sin. Trying to shake away the pain, he raised one hand, and the soldiers, looking up at him as they would a sun come down to earth, let their emotions boil over, singing the kaiser’s praises again and again.
The next day, February 21, Reinhard summoned his top advisors to a room at the hotel that had become his temporary imperial headquarters, and announced that he would personally lead a force to Iserlohn, and attempt to once again retake the fortress.
“What Lutz has lost, I shall regain,” he said.
That his young master had splendid fighting spirit, von Reuentahl acknowledged frankly. However, he couldn’t help feeling cautious when it came to the unexpected and brilliant plans of Yang Wen-li. It was possible that Yang had already devised a plan, and was waiting for an infuriated Reinhard to come out and attack him in person. He shouldn’t risk it, von Reuentahl thought. And he couldn’t help thinking: That’s a strange thought coming from me. The kaiser’s defeats and failures would lead directly to his own ascension—he could follow his ambition and watch from the sidelines as Reinhard self-destructed. Nevertheless, he wanted from the bottom of his heart to advise him against rash action at this time.
It goes without saying that the historians of later generations were unable to simplistically evaluate the man known as Oskar von Reuentahl. After all, he himself had perceived a labyrinth that existed within his heart.
“Mein kaiser, in the unlikely event that anything should happen to you, the new dynasty would crumble, and this age would lose its standard-bearer. Please, return to Phezzan for a time, and work on plans to perpetuate what you have built. As for Yang Wen-li, I ask that you task both Mittermeier and myself with subduing him.”
Mittermeier supported his friend passionately. “Von Reuentahl is right. Since Your Majesty’s campaign has for the time being achieved its goal, please take some time to rest, and leave the hard work on the front line to us.”
Reinhard’s recent frequent fevers due to overwork concerned him.
“I don’t intend to rob you of any military accomplishments,” Reinhard said, “but I do want to settle things personally with Yang Wen-li. And that man is likely thinking the same thing.”
The one who asked to speak at this time was the kaiser’s chief secretary, Fräulein Hildegard “Hilda” von Mariendorf.
“Your Majesty, both of your imperial marshals are right about this. Please, return to Phezzan for a little while. Your Majesty’s presence there is what stabilizes Phezzan, and allows its position as your seat of power at the center of the universe to take root.”
Reinhard’s spirit had apparently been stimulated in a negative direction this time; the ice-blue gleam in his eyes contained needles.
“Fräulein von Mariendorf, when caution knows no bounds, the criticism of weakness and indecisiveness become inevitable. Were I to simply head straight back after losing Iserlohn, anti-imperial forces would believe that Yang Wen-li had prevailed by default against me. They would idolize him, and rally around him.”
“Your Majesty, please consider this. If Yang Wen-li takes all possible measures at the tactical level, all he can do is barricade himself inside Iserlohn Fortress and mount a strong defense. That means ceding control over both ends of the corridor to our imperial forces, which has no effect at all at the strategic level.”
Reinhard dismissed this with a low laugh.
“You’re speaking in a roundabout way. It’s most unlike you, Fräulein. Has Yang Wen-li not occupied El Facil already, and seized control of the corridor’s exit?”
But Hilda refused to back down. “That is true. However, in this case, satisfying his strategic requirements would demand too much support at the tactical level. To begin with, Yang Wen-li’s force strength is barely enough to defend Iserlohn Fortress alone. With such a small force, I have to say it’s incredibly difficult to take and hold El Facil as well. Even with his superlative planning, Yang Wen-li’s circumstances make it difficult for him to simultaneously solve the problems of both his strategic plan a
nd his tactical limitations. As long as this contradiction remains unresolved, we will have any number of opportunities to strike at Yang Wen-li.”
“Yang may resolve them,” Reinhard tried to argue. Perhaps unable to deny the rightness of Hilda’s reasoning, though, his voice now had little strength to it.
In the end, Reinhard postponed his campaign against Iserlohn. It was merely a temporary delay. But Hilda’s advice aside, what made him do so was a dossier that arrived from distant Phezzan.
I
“GOOD NEWS ONLY comes alone; bad news brings its friends.”
This not terribly original thought was a recollection of Alex Caselnes’s. Ever since the “prodigals’ return” to Iserlohn Fortress at the start of the year, the Yang Fleet’s visitors of the solitary sort had all but died out.
The arrival of the fleet led by Murai, Patrichev, Fischer, and Soul was the extent of the good news, and thanks to that, the Yang Fleet’s military power and human resource pool had become strikingly more robust. On the other hand, the fact remained that Poplin moaned, “Not that crabby old man again!” the moment he heard Murai’s name, and began whistling a strain from a funeral march. Attenborough’s view, that “our picnic just turned into a study tour,” was also well attested.
When Senior Admiral Wittenfeld of the Imperial Navy had turned back and made for Mar Adetta, some of his subordinates had urged him to strike the capital of Heinessen instead, to which he had answered, “We believe that war is our vocation. We aren’t like Yang Wen-li’s people, playing at war and revolution only when we have nothing better to do. We act only according to principle.”
Although Wittenfeld’s characterization was the essence of slander, not one of the Yang Fleet’s top leaders could have rebuffed the accusation as groundless. After all, Dusty Attenborough had accepted the charge, and even stated publically that “showing off and having fun” had been the wellspring of their energy. In that he actually prided himself on this view, he was a rather hopeless individual.
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