Upheaval

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  Conspiracy is entirely uncorrelated with intellect and incompatible with character. That Müller failed to detect a conspiracy which could contribute only negatively to his humanity would actually raise his estimation among later generations. But losing Kornelias Lutz, a trusted senior colleague, grieved him far more than any evaluation of himself could.

  When the transmission confirming Lutz’s death reached Brünhild, Reinhard had closed his eyes, brought his folded hands to his brow, and remained motionless for some time. Finally, just as a concerned von Streit was about to say something, the kaiser lowered his hands again and spoke in a voice like the melody of a requiem.

  “Lutz is hereby promoted to imperial marshal. He might not like it, but that is his punishment for breaking his promise.”

  Reuentahl in revolt!

  These words reminded the leaders of the Imperial Navy that however many battlefields they had visited in this restless age, however mighty the enemy forces they had distinguished themselves against, they were not free from the demon of surprise.

  At the same time, however, there was an odd kind of sense to the news. They lived in an age that had seen a man of vigor, ability, and capacity rise from the lowest ranks of the nobility to claim the highest crown. Countless others would surely leap at the temptation to rule the entire galaxy, given the opportunity. Von Reuentahl’s position and self-confidence were commensurate to his ambition. He could not be accused of failing to know his limits.

  Of course, some did not believe the reports—or, perhaps more accurately, did not wish to believe them. When the news reached von Reuentahl’s dear friend Mittermeier, he was furious. “I thought that nonsense had vanished in early spring with the year’s snows!” he shouted. “Apparently I was wrong. Are you among the wretches who would have it snow in summer?”

  The bearer of the news did not flinch. “That was only rumor, but this is fact. Even if Marshal von Reuentahl had no connection to the conspiracy, what of his responsibility to ensure the kaiser’s safety?”

  As commander in chief of the Imperial Space Armada, Mittermeier had directed the search for the kaiser around Schattenberg. A muddy stream of intelligence flowed in as he carried out this task. Some reported that the kaiser had died. Others brought news of von Reuentahl’s coronation. The only news that could be confirmed was the death of Lutz. None of what Mittermeier heard brought him much comfort, whether true or false, until Wahlen sent word that the kaiser was alive and well.

  November 1. Escorted by the Wahlen Fleet, Brünhild entered the Phezzan Corridor, where it was met by Mittermeier. The Gale Wolf boarded the ship, rejoiced to see the kaiser safe, and thanked Müller and the others for their part in protecting him.

  “I have matters to discuss with the commander in chief,” Reinhard said to Müller and the others. “Leave us.”

  They obeyed, but were unable to hide their conflicted expressions.

  “Mittermeier.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “I am sure you understand why I had you remain in the room. Von Reuentahl is one of the greatest military minds of his generation. In all the Imperial Navy, only two men could even hope to prevail against him. One of those men is me. The other is you.”

  Mittermeier was silent.

  “That is why you are still here. Is my meaning clear?”

  Mittermeier did not need to be told twice. He hung his head, rivulets of near-freezing sweat trickling down his forehead.

  “I know it is too much to ask,” Reinhard continued. “Your friendship with von Reuentahl goes back over a decade. And so, on this occasion only, I grant you the right to refuse an order from me. Although I suppose you might only find this more insulting…”

  Mittermeier once more perceived Reinhard’s meaning. If Mittermeier refused his orders, the kaiser meant to lead a punitive expedition against the rebellion himself.

  “Please, Your Majesty, wait.”

  Mittermeier’s voice trembled. He had denounced the evils of Duke von Braunschweig, head of the most distinguished noble family in the Goldenbaum Dynasty, despite the threat of death, but now it seemed that even his heart had gone pale.

  Reinhard lowered himself into his chair and crossed his left leg over his right knee. His eyes were like ice-blue novae, and never left Mittermeier’s.

  “I would give up every honor I have won in battle if it would convince Your Majesty to reconsider. Is there any hope this request might be granted?”

  “Reconsider?” Furious emotion colored Reinhard’s fair cheeks a pale crimson. “Reconsider what, pray tell? Are you sure you do not misunderstand this situation, Mittermeier? The one who should reconsider is von Reuentahl, not me. He betrayed me—I did not betray him!”

  The kaiser’s entire form seemed to gleam golden, ablaze with indignation and rage.

  “Your Majesty, I cannot believe von Reuentahl meant any betrayal. His loyalty and record of service dwarf my own. Please grant him an opportunity to explain himself.”

  “An opportunity, you say! And how many days passed between my escape from Urvashi through Lutz’s sacrifice and my rescue by Wahlen? If von Reuentahl wished to protest his innocence, could he not have done so a hundred times over?”

  On Urvashi, the kaiser had if anything been inclined to reject the view of von Reuentahl as chief conspirator. But the death of loyal Lutz and the escape that followed had wounded his pride deeply. A key retainer had been killed in his own territory, and he, the kaiser, had been forced to flee lest he become a prisoner of war.

  “Your Majesty, when von Reuentahl was slandered in February, your faith in him never wavered.”

  “Is an attack on my person and the loss of Lutz’s life mere slander?” Reinhard shouted. His fair hand swept a glass off the table. It shattered against the wall in a spray of crystal shards and droplets of wine.

  Black clouds of despair crowded hung low on the horizon of Mittermeier’s heart. The kaiser had set out virtually unarmed to visit von Reuentahl, and his magnanimous gesture had been rewarded with perfidy. His trust in one retainer had resulted in the death of another. Small wonder that he could not remain calm. And, of course, when grief and self-reproach over the dead flow back toward the living, an increase in severity is always the result.

  Reinhard had no reason to lash out at Mittermeier. In light of his friendship with von Reuentahl, it was all too possible to guess at his anguish. The kaiser did not fail to understand this, but he had psychic pain of his own, and he could not keep it from gushing forth. In truth, Mittermeier’s lack of anger at von Reuentahl for forcing Reinhard into this difficult situation also fueled the displeasure and anger that mixed with frustration within him.

  “Do you think it is my wish to put down von Reuentahl? No doubt there are indeed things he would like to explain. There was friendship between us, too, if not as deep as the one you and he shared. In which case, why does he not appear before me to explain himself? While I was fleeing in dishonor, what was he doing? Has he sent even a single line of apology? A single word of condolence over Lutz’s death? On what grounds would he have me recognize his sincerity?!”

  Mittermeier could not reply. Everything Reinhard said was correct. Von Reuentahl’s actions were more than deserving of criticism. In the back of his mind, Mittermeier saw his friend pushing deeper into a maze, but he could not speak of this to his liege. He felt that he must not speak of it, in fact, for both the kaiser’s sake and von Reuentahl’s.

  What he did say was something else entirely.

  “Your Majesty, this is difficult to say, but the reason von Reuentahl has not presented himself before you may be that he fears he will be intercepted by others before he can arrive.”

  “Others?”

  “I fear Your Majesty will take this as slander, but I mean Marshal van Oberstein and Heidrich Lang.”

  “You say they would ignore my wishes and prevent von Reuentahl from arriving?”

  “Your Majesty, please. Could these two men not be dismissed from their curr
ent positions, as a show of Your Majesty’s willingness to reconcile with von Reuentahl?”

  Reinhard was silent.

  “Only give Your Majesty’s word on this matter, and I vow to convince von Reuentahl to bend the knee before you, even at the cost of my own life. I beg you, forgive him this momentary madness. I know it reverses the correct order of things, but there is no other way.”

  “Am I obliged to concede so much to him? Instead of putting down a subject who has betrayed me, you order me to dismiss other, loyal retainers to win him back? Who is it who sits on the throne of this empire—me, or von Reuentahl?”

  Still enraged, Reinhard all but spat out the question, which was surely the most agonizing Mittermeier had ever been asked.

  “Your Majesty, I admit I have never been on good terms with Marshal von Oberstein, but it is not for that reason that I call for his dismissal. He could be relieved of his position temporarily, and restored to it later with his honor reaffirmed. But if we let this opportunity pass, von Reuentahl may never have another chance to return to Your Majesty.”

  “Do you believe this logic will convince the minister?”

  “I do not propose that he alone should be dishonored. I will also give up my role as commander in chief of the Imperial Space Armada. This, I believe, will mollify the minister to some extent.”

  “What are you saying? Who do you propose I have command my armada instead? Must I lose all three of my marshals at once?”

  “The armada may be safely left to Senior Admiral Müller. As for von Oberstein’s replacement, I know it is not my place to offer suggestions, but I believe that Kessler or Mecklinger could act as minister of military affairs. There is no need for concern.”

  “I see how it is. You wish to retire before the age of thirty-five. I confess I did not expect the most fearless general under my command to take life lessons from Yang Wen-li.”

  Reinhard began to laugh at his own joke, but this ray of sunlight was blocked by clouds before it could reach the ground. His mood having worsened, if anything, his eyes bored into Mittermeier again.

  “I will take your opinion on advisement. For now, I need your response to my orders. Ja, or nein? If the latter, of course, then I will simply lead the expedition myself.”

  Mittermeier bowed his head deeply. His honey-blond hair concealed his expression from the kaiser’s gaze. For long moments, the music of silence played.

  At last Mittermeier said, “I humbly accept Your Majesty’s orders.”

  I have no other choice, he thought, but did not say aloud.

  II

  When Mittermeier returned to Imperial Space Armada Headquarters from the sectors around Schattenberg, his staff officers could not look him in the eye. He disappeared into his office enshrouded in a pale magnetic field. Thirty minutes later, however, when he called in his youngest staff officer, Admiral Karl Eduard Bayerlein, his expression and voice were clad in the armor of officialdom.

  “Contact Wahlen and Wittenfeld. They’ll probably be shoring up the flanks on this expedition.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency. What about Admiral Müller?”

  “Müller’s wounds aren’t fully healed yet, and he’s needed by His Majesty’s side anyway. If I’m defeated, he’ll be the last line of defense.”

  Bayerlein frowned. “In that case, he’ll play no role at all. There’s no chance of Your Excellency being defeated, after all.”

  At this show of faith and respect, Mittermeier’s expression softened. “To be honest,” he said finally, “I’d rather let von Reuentahl win.”

  “Your Excellency!”

  “No, even that is my vanity speaking. Even if I pushed myself to the limit of abilities, I could never defeat von Reuentahl in the first place.” Mittermeier’s sour chuckle dismayed Bayerlein by how poorly it suited the commander he loved and respected.

  The Gale Wolf was young, fast, and bold. He kept his eyes forward, neither flattering those above him or mistreating those below. There was a bright clarity to him that made him an aspirational figure for everyone from Bayerlein to the students at the Children’s Academy. The children assigned to be his orderlies would brag with eyes agleam to envious classmates. Some even went to the trouble of bring the treats they received from Mrs. Mittermeier to school, making sure everyone saw them. But now that magnificent blue sky was filling with black clouds that threatened a terrible storm.

  “It does not seem that way to me,” Bayerlein said.

  “You’re free to believe what you wish, but I am no von Reuentahl.”

  “Your Excellency—”

  “There is no comparison to be made. I am just a soldier. Von Reuentahl is more. He is…”

  Mittermeier stopped himself. Bayerlein, sympathizing with his commander’s inner turmoil, could not help but hesitantly press him further.

  “Suppose that what Your Excellency says is more than modesty. You intend to fight Marshal von Reuentahl anyway, don’t you? So that the kaiser will not lead the expedition himself…”

  Mittermeier fixed Bayerlein, who was quite correct, with a gaze that was piercing but somehow lacking in force. He did not praise his young subordinate’s insight, or scold him for overstepping his place. He simply said, “The kaiser’s hands must stay clean,” and that was all.

  It took some time, but Bayerlein eventually understood his import. If Reinhard led the expedition to put down von Reuentahl, his hands would be stained by the blood of a traitor. This would cloud the faith of those who believed in the “soldiers’ kaiser,” eventually cracking this once-perfect icon far more deeply than his stalemate against Yang Wen-li ever could. For Mittermeier, this was something that had to be prevented, even if that meant riding roughshod over his own feelings.

  “If von Reuentahl falls—even if I fall with him—the Galactic Empire will survive. But if the worst were to happen to His Majesty, the unity and peace he worked so hard to bring about would collapse overnight. It may be that I cannot win this fight, but I must not lose it.”

  Bayerlein found Mittermeier’s calm tone paradoxically unsettling. “Your Excellency, I must protest. If you and Marshal von Reuentahl fell together, Marshal von Oberstein could act as despotically as he pleased with no one to stop him.”

  Bayerlein’s invocation of von Oberstein was an attempt to inspire his commander, but Mittermeier did not seem affected. “Not to worry,” he said. “The minister might be so satisfied to have us out of the picture that he retires from the public eye himself.”

  “Your Excellency, even as a joke—”

  “In any case, enough hypotheticals. Contact Wittenfeld and Wahlen.”

  Still looking at his superior with concern, Bayerlein saluted and left.

  Von Oberstein I can live with, von Reuentahl thought. But the other one—he alone is beyond forgiveness. For the kaiser’s sake, before leaving for battle I will have to exterminate that particular pest.

  Although Heidrich Lang had no official post at the Ministry of Military Affairs, it was not unusual for him to visit Minister von Oberstein there.

  Today, a gleeful Lang had come to report that the hated von Reuentahl had finally sunk to the level of traitor. The news had, of course, already reached von Oberstein, who said, with his usual dispassion, “I may be sent as special envoy to von Reuentahl as a result of the disturbance in the Neue Land.”

  “Oh, dear, what a burden for you. And dangerous, too.”

  “No need for sympathy. You will come with me, after all.”

  Despite the calmness of von Oberstein’s delivery, panic slapped Lang hard enough to knock him off balance.

  Von Oberstein ignored this embarrassing display and sipped his coffee. “Be prepared to depart at any time,” he said. “I have finished my preparations already.”

  “I-if I show my face around von Reuentahl, he will kill me on the spot. He despises me, after all, for what reason I do not know.”

  “I am fairly certain he despises me more.” Von Oberstein’s voice had no echo of irony or mo
ckery. It was a factual observation, delivered with scholarly detachment.

  Stuttering a feeble excuse for postponing his reply, Lang fled from the minister’s office just as Commodore Ferner entered. Lang thought he detected a sneer on Ferner’s face, but had had no time to check.

  This was no joke. He had no objection to von Oberstein being slain by von Reuentahl. If anything, such an outcome would benefit his own future prosperity yet. The two marshals dying at the same time would be even better—ideal, in fact. But he had no interest in appearing in that tableau himself.

  At this time, Lang’s ego was as obese and distended as a goose liver made into foie gras. He did not realize that others viewed him as von Oberstein’s inferior.

  He went around to the rear staircase, hoping at least to reduce the number of people who saw him, and had just begun descending when he froze on the spot, entire body rigid. A young man in the black and silver uniform of the Imperial Navy was climbing the stairs toward him from below. The man’s gaze was fixed on him, and the light that brimmed in those gray eyes was the polar opposite of goodwill.

  “M-Marshal Mittermeier…”

  “Well, well, the man of the moment even knows my name. I’m honored beyond words.”

  Mittermeier’s voice was uncharacteristically venomous. Lang took two unthinking steps back, still fixed by that gray-eyed stare. This was the first time he had confronted Mittermeier without anyone else to hide behind.

  “I-if you have business with the minister, he is in his office on the fifth floor…”

  “My business is with you, Junior Minister Lang.” The change from hostility to harmful intent seeped into Mittermeier’s voice. “Or do you prefer Domestic Safety Security Bureau Chief Lang? Either way, your title in life won’t do you much good where you’re going.”