“The child of Marshal von Reuentahl…”
“Yes. In legal terms, the child of a monstrous traitor, whose sins may be passed down the family line—but I will accept responsibility for that.”
“I do not think you need worry on that score, marshal,” Hilda said. “Since the child was not born in legal wedlock, the sins of his father should not be held against him. And this is the child of Marshal von Reuentahl, raised by Marshal Mittermeier—what a marvelous general he may grow up to be!”
Hilda looked down at the infant and smiled.
“You will hear no objections from me,” she said. “It will be my pleasure to speak to His Majesty on your behalf. But there is one thing that worries me.”
“And what is that?”
Seeing Mittermeier’s face stiffen, muscles tensing like slow-motion footage, Hilda could not suppress an inward smile.
“What Mrs. Mittermeier will think, marshal. Will she agree with you on all this?”
The pride of the Imperial Navy blushed a deep crimson.
“Thoughtlessly,” he said, “I had not discussed it with her. Do you think she will grant her consent?”
“Knowing her, I am sure she will do so with pleasure.”
“I believe so too—so strongly that I forgot to ask her.” Of course, Mittermeier did not intend to brag.
He further explained to Hilda that the boy serving as his orderly had recently lost both parents, and that he planned to discuss taking him into the Mittermeier household as well, if possible.
As he was about to leave, Hilda called out to him.
“Marshal Mittermeier.”
“Yes, fräulein?”
“You are the Imperial Navy’s greatest treasure. His Majesty has lost many companions, but I hope you will continue to stand by him as always.”
Mittermeier returned a salute that combined resolve and warmth in perfect harmony.
“I am a man of meager talents, far below the lofty heights scaled by Siegfried Kircheis or Oskar von Reuentahl. It pains me to receive praise I do not deserve simply because I happen to have survived—but I promise to do what you ask. I will serve the kaiser not just for myself but for them too. Whatever designs His Majesty may conceive, my loyalty to him will remain unwavering.”
He bowed his honey-haired head. Then the slightly built martial, resplendent in his black and silver uniform, turned and left the presence of the woman who would soon become empress of the Galactic Empire.
Evangeline Mittermeier’s delight to see her husband home safe was quickly followed by surprise. No sooner had her husband kissed her than he somewhat awkwardly said, “Eva, I brought something for you—or rather, someone.”
He had not felt so nervous speaking to her since the day he proposed. This time, instead of a bouquet of yellow roses, what he held out to her was an infant, still less than eight months old. His wife accepted it from his unskilled hands and soothed it tenderly. She turned her shining violet eyes to him.
“And what cabbage patch is this from, Wolf?”
“Well, I…that is…”
“I know. You found it in the von Reuentahl gardens, didn’t you?”
Mittermeier was speechless. His wife explained that she had received a visiphone call before he arrived from the Countess von Mariendorf, who had given her all the details.
“I think you did the right thing bringing the child here. I would be delighted to be its mother. But please let me decide one thing: his name. Will you grant me that, darling?”
“Yes. Of course. And what name will you give him?”
“Felix. His name is Felix. I hope you like it.”
“Felix…”
In an old, old language, Mittermeier knew, the word meant “lucky.” His wife must have known that too, and carried the name in her breast for years. For a child yet unborn. For a child that might be born one day. And finally for a child that might never be born at all…
“Felix. A fine name. So be it. Form this day on, he is Felix Mittermeier.”
And one day, when he reached adulthood and developed his own powers of judgment and values, he might go by his biological father’s name if he wished. For Mittermeier would make sure he knew who that biological father was—a man of pride, a man who would bend the knee to only one other in all the galaxy…
Suddenly, Mittermeier remembered his other news, and hastily opened the living room door. His student orderly stood in the entrance hall, still holding the baby’s bag of supplies. He sneezed once, then, despite his evident cold, smiled at Mittermeier.
V
At almost exactly the moment Wolfgang Mittermeier became a father, another man was informed of his own fatherhood. That man’s name was Reinhard von Lohengramm, and he was the twenty-four-year-old ruler of the entire Galactic Empire.
The Countess von Mariendorf’s visit to the kaiser’s private chambers in Imperial Headquarters that day was in a private capacity. Reinhard invited her to sit at the round table in his combined living room and study, and had his bodyguard Emil von Selle bring them coffee with cream. As they gazed out the window at the winter sky, its blue seemingly blocked by cryolite, he said, “It’s a chilly day, isn’t it, fräulein? I hope you haven’t caught a cold.”
Despite Reinhard’s outward magnificence, this was as close as he could get to solicitude. Knowing this, Hilda smiled. Casually, but decisively, she allowed the fateful words to slip through her firm lips:
“I hope so too, Your Majesty. A cold might be bad for the baby I carry.”
Reinhard’s eyes flew wide open, reflecting the winter sky. He gazed at Hilda’s form, and his porcelain cheeks flushed red. Blood raced through his body, bearing a torrent of thought and emotion, and it took several dozen seconds before these exploded into his mind.
When he had finally gotten his breathing and heartbeat under control, he parted his pink lips and said, voice melodious with rich emotion, “I beg you once more: Fräulein von Mariendorf, will you marry me?”
That he did not ask a foolish question like “Whose is it?” is, perhaps, evidence that there was hope for his psychological makeup yet. He continued.
“I have finally come to understand how much you mean to me. These past months have opened my eyes. Your counsel has never led me astray. If I am honest, you are a far better woman than I deserve…”
Reinhard’s features were the pinnacle of aesthetic refinement, but this proposal was light-years away from such grace. Moreover, he spoke only of his own feelings, making no allowances for hers. But Hilda knew that this did not reflect poorly on his youthful sincerity. It was simply the kind of person he was: a martial genius, a political prodigy, but no master of love or romance. His dazzling inventiveness and expressive power lit up the battlefield, but did not make the bedroom sweet. This was the man who had chosen her, as she had hoped he would. She knew his flaws well—but, as her wise father perceived, she thought those flaws invaluable too.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I will. If you will have me…”
Hilda had intended to first go directly to Odin and meet with Reinhard’s older sister, the archduchess Annerose von Grünewald, but the discovery of her pregnancy made interstellar travel an impossibility. She had not the slightest intention of allowing harm to come to the child in her womb. In the end, she had sent an FTL transmission to Odin’s Freuden Mountains in mid-November, establishing a direct circuit to Annerose’s estate.
“Fräulein von Mariendorf—no, Hilda—thank you for falling in love with my brother.”
Thus said Annerose when she heard the news. Her voice was warm, and seemed almost to tremble with feeling. It made Hilda think of a gently falling shower of spring sunlight.
“My brother is lucky to have someone like you by his side. Please take good care of him.”
Take good care of him—Hilda was the second person to whom Annerose had spoken those words. The first, of course, had been Siegfried Kircheis.
“Reinhard never had a father of his own,” Annerose continued. Hilda u
nderstood, of course, that she was speaking metaphorically. By “father,” Annerose meant a paternal element during his formative years. A father that a boy, and later a young man, could resist, rebel against, and finally overcome—a presence that would tear him from the maternal element and bring to him psychological independence. Reinhard’s true father had not been up to this task.
For Reinhard, the concrete manifestation of the maternal element was, of course, his sister Annerose. And what had torn him from her in his youth was not his true father, as things should have been, but Emperor Friedrich IV and the tyrannical might of the Goldenbaum Dynasty—the worst aspects of the paternal principle, amplified to a scale encompassing all humanity.
The uniqueness of Reinhard’s personality had been conceived here. Though he himself did not realize it, toppling the Goldenbaum Dynasty was, for him, the equivalent of overcoming his father in his formative years. With that father figure eliminated, to battle and defeat powerful foes became the meaning of life itself for him. Reinhard knew war, but not love, and so Annerose feared for him, placing distance between them that so he would have to do more than chase her shadow. But she had never been able to express this clearly, and, with matters partly complicated by her own peculiar connection to Siegfried Kircheis, Reinhard may have been hurt by her parting words. The gratitude that Annerose felt toward Hilda was both factual and truthful.
It is interesting to note that virtually all the historians who have criticized Annerose for not loving Reinhard enough were female. For this reason, male historians voiced sometimes severe criticism of their female colleagues:
In the end, we cannot avoid the conclusion that they [female historians] view Archduchess von Grünewald’s actions solely through the lens of motherhood and its abandonment. Would they be satisfied if the archduchess had continued to cling to her brother’s side into his twenties, indulge and spoil him, meddle in politics, and undermine his psychological independence? Of course, the same authors would doubtless claim that to be robbed of one’s virginity by a tyrant at the age of fifteen, and then imprisoned for the next ten years, is not enough to make Annerose herself a sacrificial victim.
Of course, neither can it be said that the judgments of male historians were perfect. In the end, only the balance of probabilities can be compared—but whoever has the better of the argument, Annerose’s influence on Reinhard was undeniable. Had she objected to his marriage to Hilda, Reinhard might have suffered some distress, but ultimately he would have put his sister’s will first. But Annerose did not do this; instead, she offered Hilda nothing but encouragement, granting her blessing and rejoicing that she could entrust her brother’s future to the wise young countess. And nobody could deny the fact that this decision helped move history in a constructive direction.
VI
Life and death, light and dark—the galaxy contained all these things and more. But in one corner of the stars lurked a group of people who had nurtured the same hatred, the same obsession for eight hundred years. With religious unity as one weapon and humid conspiracy as another, they had interfered in countless ways with the workings of history—all to restore the glory of Mother Earth. In recent years, as they approached what seemed to be a long-awaited consummation, the leader of a new generation was emerging from among them.
They were the Church of Terra, and he was Archbishop de Villiers.
At this time, the glow of ambition on his still-youthful face was covered by a shadow of startling severity.
When he had added first Yang Wen-li and then Oskar von Reuentahl to the rolls of the dead, it appeared that all his intrigues had been successful. The future of the universe, it seemed, would be his to command from atop his dark throne. However, immediately after the death of von Reuentahl, it was discovered that they had lost a crucial pawn in the form of Job Trünicht. Now he sensed a faint stirring, a certain distrust in the eyes the church leaders turned on him. One of his fellow archbishops, long unhappy with how rapidly de Villiers had risen in the church hierarchy and how far his power had expanded, expressed the group’s unease in a frankly stated challenge.
“We have lost more than just Trünicht. The kaiser plans to marry. What is more, rumor has it that his fiancée, Count von Mariendorf’s daughter, is already with child…”
Venomous foam sprayed from the corners of the speaker’s mouth with every word. De Villiers shifted his gaze slightly, but bore up under the unpleasant pressure. The speaker continued, voice growing even louder. He had favored a plan to assassinate Kaiser Reinhard directly, and could not be dispassionate in pursuing de Villiers’s responsibility for choosing a different course.
“If an heir is born to the kaiser, will that not become the core around which the Lohengramm system continues? In bringing about the death of von Reuentahl—as well as Yang Wen-li—we will have accomplished nothing but eliminating any of the golden brat’s potential challengers and clearing his path.”
The man fell silent, out of breath.
A moment later, the miasmic quiet was broken by a low laugh.
“What need is there for this unseemly urgency?” asked de Villiers. “The kaiser’s heir is not born yet. And even once it is, then there is no guarantee it will strengthen his position.”
De Villiers laughed again. There was a certain exaggeration in the confidence he sought to convey by this, but it was not entirely hollow. The galaxy was vast; a million, a billion more conspiracies could be woven within it with room to spare.
Yang Wen-li’s successor Julian Mintz had received high praise for not taking Iserlohn to war that year. If war broke out in the coming year, would he be praised even more?
Julian did not know. But to join the military had been his original ambition, and he believed that some fights must be fought. Ironically, though, after the death of Yang, his ambitions had shifted slightly, and the desire to tread a non-martial path was slowly accumulating in the reservoir of his heart.
When receiving the news of von Reuentahl’s death the previous day, Julian had seemed to hear Yang’s mild voice in his mind.
“Millions went to their death under my command. Not because they wanted to. Every one of them would have preferred to live out a peaceful, fulfilling life. And I’m no different. If it didn’t mean the death of those we loved, war might not be so bad, but…”
Julian let out a long, deep sigh. He had never been on the same side as von Reuentahl. The heterochromatic admiral had always been an enemy to Yang and Julian. But Julian could not help taking his death as the implosion of a giant star. Was their age coming to an end with such startling rapidity? With whose death, or perhaps birth, would it finally end? Overcome by a regular but suffocating sensation, as if time itself whirled within his body, Julian rose from the park bench and began to walk through the trees at a somewhat brisk pace. He did not know at this time that Job Trünicht had died.
Leaving the park, Julian was met by bustling activity. A hubbub, but one born of peace. The whole of Iserlohn Base had come together to prepare for the New Year’s party to bid farewell to SE 800 and ring in SE 801. Some had protested that it was inappropriate to celebrate the end of the year in which Marshal Yang had died, but Frederica had rejected those arguments. “He never objected to a festival mood among his friends. Rather than holding back, for his sake, please make it a lively event.”
Julian saw Dusty Attenborough and Olivier Poplin approaching, trading their usual insults. When they saw the youthful commander of the revolutionary forces, they called out to him cheerfully.
“Hey, Julian, I hope we’re not going to sit out all the fun next year too.”
“We’re counting on you, commander.”
“Talk to the kaiser, not me,” said Julian. “That would be a more certain thing.”
In Julian’s mind, the calendar pages turned backward, and a scene from four years ago reappeared before him—the first New Year’s party on Iserlohn Base. Some of those who were by his side then were still there today: Frederica, the Caselnes family, v
on Schönkopf, Poplin, Attenborough. Also with him today were Merkatz, von Schneider, Soon Soul, Boris Konev, Machungo, and of course Katerose “Karin” von Kreutzer.
Yang Wen-li had been there. Murai had been there, Patrichev had been there, Fischer had been there, Ivan Konev had been there. Apart from Murai, who had departed for the planet Heinessen, Julian would never meet any of the departed again—at least not while he lived. But he had inherited their thinking, and it fell to him to ensure its flowering. The tiny shoots of democratic republicanism: self-determination, self-governance, self-control, and self-respect. Until these took root across the galaxy, he would have to prepare for the coming spring.
“Julian, the party’s about to start. Shall we go together? Frederica and the Caselnes are waiting.”
The voice was Karin’s. She had taken a momentous step: she had called him by his first name.
Julian nodded. “Let’s go, Karin,” he said, somewhat self-consciously. As the two of them walked off side by side, Karin’s father watched from afar, with Well, here we go written on his face. Drifting across the expression was a thin mist of alcohol from the glasses he had raised in von Reuentahl’s memory. Leaning against his broad shoulder was a young woman whose name he did not know.
In due course, SE 801 would dawn—year 3 of the New Imperial Calendar, the third year of the Lohengramm Dynasty. In its first month, Kaiser Reinhard was to formally take the Countess Hildegard von Mariendorf as his empress. Some welcomed the prospect. Others did not. Could the new galactic order, established just one year previously, endure forever? Or would it prove a momentary bubble on the river of history, soon to vanish forever? The year in which this would be decided was about to begin…
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 career 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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