Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 6

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  “But if you come with me to Earth, Commander, what will all those pilots do without you?” With nonchalant high-handedness, Julian had tilted the conversational mirror back in Poplin’s direction.

  “I’ll leave them all to Lieutenant Caldwell. It’s about time he stood on his own as a commander. The way he relies on me for everything, he’ll never grow up otherwise.”

  It was a sound argument, but Julian thought that relying on the one expressing it was more problematic than the argument itself. By the same token, Julian wasn’t so emotionally obtuse as to downplay Poplin’s concerns, which he concealed with good humor.

  “Just don’t blame me if we don’t find any beautiful women on Earth.”

  “Then you’d better pray there are scores of man-starved beauties waiting with bated breath for our arrival.”

  Just then, Poplin’s eyes widened. He clapped Julian on the shoulder and brought him to the spartanian loading zone.

  “Corporal von Kreutzer!”

  In response to Poplin’s voice, a fully suited pilot came running over. The pilot, who was of small frame, had a face that was hard to make out from all the backlight.

  “This one could very well be the next Ivan Konev, if not the next Olivier Poplin. Hey, why don’t you take off your helmet and greet our guest. This here’s Sublieutenant Mintz, the one I’ve been telling you about.”

  The helmet came off to reveal a full head of luxurious black tea–colored hair. A pair of indigo eyes looked directly into Julian’s own.

  “Corporal Katerose von Kreutzer, at your service. I’ve heard a lot about you from Commander Poplin, Sublieutenant Mintz.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” answered Julian, but only after Poplin nudged him with an elbow. He was dumbstruck, for this teenage pilot, beyond the measure of Poplin’s praise, had done something wholly unexpected. With one flick of her indigo eyes, Katerose looked away from Julian at the ace pilot.

  “I need to have a word with the mechanics. If you’ll excuse me?”

  Poplin nodded. The girl vigorously saluted and turned on a heel. Her actions were brisk and rhythmical.

  “I know, she’s quite a knockout. But I’ll tell you straight, I’ve never laid a hand on her. I draw the line at fifteen-year-olds.”

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  “Women are like wine. They need time to mature to their fullest-bodied flavor. If only Karin were two years older.”

  “Karin?”

  “That’s my little pet name for Katerose. How about it? You’re both at that cheeky age. I think you should go for it. Talk to her.”

  With a bitter smile, Julian shook his flaxen-haired head.

  “She didn’t seem to notice me at all. Anyway, there’s no time for that.”

  “Then make her notice you. And make the time to do so. You were born with that baby face, so use it. Yang is that one-in-a-million exception who can just laze around and have a beautiful woman throw herself into his lap.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. By the way, from her name, I take it she’s an imperial refugee?”

  “You may be right, but she rarely talks about her family. There must be something going on there. Why not ask her yourself if you want to know so badly? Lesson one, my unworthy disciple.”

  Poplin clapped Julian on the shoulder and smiled. Julian tilted his head to the side. Hundreds, if not thousands, of portraits hung in the corridors of his memory, but in Katerose he’d sensed a perfect match. For reasons he couldn’t explain, seeing that girl’s face had struck him with déjà vu.

  Admiral Merkatz and his aide, von Schneider, as well as the commander of the notorious Rosen Ritter regiment, Captain Rinz, watched from the control room as Unfaithful made its departure. It was a sober parting, with no guarantee of a return.

  “Before July rolls around, we must finalize plans for reclaiming our battleships.”

  “Yes, I agree.”

  But Merkatz was focusing on something deeper within.

  “Von Schneider, my role in all of this is to preserve our military strength in preparation for the future. Most likely, the sun of that future will rise not for me, but for someone younger who doesn’t drag the heavy shadow of the past behind him.”

  “You mean Admiral Yang Wen-li?” asked von Schneider.

  Merkatz didn’t answer, and neither did von Schneider expect him to. Both knew better than to speak in hypotheticals.

  They returned their attention to the screen as the independent merchant ship Unfaithful disappeared silently into a high tide of stars. They continued to stand before the screen long after the ship was impossible to distinguish from the innumerable points of light surrounding it.

  III

  Boris Konev, captain of Unfaithful, would turn thirty that year. His legal status was secretary of the Free Planets Alliance commissioner’s office occupied by the Phezzan Dominion, but that status had been in limbo ever since the autonomy of Phezzan had been compromised. Under any other circumstance, he might’ve been overcome with uneasiness.

  But Konev wasn’t in the least bit discouraged or embarrassed. For one thing, he was still alive, and the laws he was subject to were just the shading of a line drawing.

  “We’ll be entering Earth’s atmosphere in one hour,” he announced to his modest crew. “Once we land, my work will be half-finished. While on Earth, be sure to stay clear of danger and misfortune. Transporting dead bodies is miserable work, and I’m in no mood for it.”

  Konev let out an incongruous laugh.

  “You’ll be posing as Church of Terra pilgrims. You’ll likely feel out of place, but only because it’s extremely unnatural for anyone other than pilgrims to come all this way.”

  Julian voiced his assent, while Poplin only laughed, saying he was more than aware of that fact. During their journey, he and the ship’s captain often looked at each other askance, exchanging cynical bons mots before and after meals. The young ace went so far as to say he had a natural aversion to anyone with the last name Konev.

  “What’s the current population of Earth?”

  “Approximately ten million, according to Phezzan’s trade bureau data. Not even 0.1 percent of the total population during its golden age.”

  “And are they all Church of Terra followers?”

  “Hard to say.”

  Regardless of scale, the fact that one denomination had managed to seize full planetary control and bring about a unity of church and state didn’t leave much room for religious freedom. Otherwise, nonbelievers would have set up their own social systems. Such was Konev’s supposition.

  “Religion is a convenient tool for those in power and ensures that all hardships are rooted not in politics or flawed authority, but in unbelief. Revolution is furthest from the mind of anyone who buys into that ideology.” Boris Konev spat out those words with overt malice. Although he’d managed to avoid selling his ship through the income he made transporting Church of Terra believers to the holy land, he’d had his fair share of disagreeable passengers. He sensed a certain naïveté in radical believers but had zero sympathy for the religious leaders who exploited those believers for personal gain.

  “I hear that the Church of Terra’s leader is an old man known as the Grand Bishop,” said Julian, “but have you ever met him?”

  “I’m not so important as to get inside access. Even given the chance, I’d have no interest in meeting him. Maybe it’s pride talking, but I’ve never found pleasure in listening to the preaching of old men.”

  “The Grand Bishop or whatever that old man’s called,” Poplin interjected, “must have some beautiful daughters or granddaughters.”

  “You think so?”

  “I’m sure of it. And they’re bound to fall head over heels for the young rebel hero.”

  Now it was Boris Konev’s turn to laugh with scorn.

  “I think our Commande
r Poplin should be a teleplay writer for children’s solivision dramas. Then again, children are growing up faster than ever these days and might not be all that impressed by something so formulaic.”

  “But don’t you know that formulaic stories deal with eternal truths?”

  Julian’s guard, the dark giant Ensign Louis Machungo, offered his own opinion with a smile:

  “But if such an austere religious leader were to get married and have daughters, how could that religious organization exist in the first place, I wonder?”

  Poplin knitted his eyebrows, and Konev nodded with satisfaction.

  “Be that as it may…”

  Poplin folded his arms, his eyebrows still knitted.

  “The way I see it, whatever those Church of Terra folks profess to love isn’t Earth itself.”

  The legacy of Earth entailed controlling those living on other planets by monopolizing political and military influence, and by the fruits of its own labors. That’s what the Church of Terra loved.

  “They’re only using Earth as a pretext for what they really want, which is to restore the privileges once enjoyed by their ancestors. If they really loved their planet, then why involve themselves in wars and power struggles at all?”

  Maybe Poplin was right, thought Julian. Although he wasn’t trying to disavow religion, there was something immoral about any religious organization desirous of political authority. Controlling people not only on the outside but also on the inside was the worst totalitarianism imaginable, and the Church of Terra had done its utmost to achieve its current monopoly in both realms. All too often, people accepted a completely uniform existence by overcoming diversity of value systems and individual tastes. Those who professed to be God or divine representatives wielded the power to kill those who didn’t believe. They couldn’t just sit around and wait for such an age to come.

  On July 10, Julian set foot on Earth’s soil. No one could have predicted that it would be the same day on which the galactic imperial council would decide to take Earth by force.

  I

  AS THE ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION OF Emperor Reinhard was unfolding on Odin, the Twin Ramparts of the Imperial Navy, marshals Oskar von Reuentahl and Wolfgang Mittermeier, were away from the imperial capital on their own respective missions. The former, as secretary-general of Supreme Command Headquarters, was conducting a domestic fortress inspection, while the latter, as commander in chief of the Imperial Space Armada, was overseeing the military exercises of newly built ships and fresh recruits in the Jötunheimr star system.

  An urgent message prompted both men to return to the capital at once. They were beyond surprised, livid over the fact that the emperor’s life had fallen prey to such a cunning scheme. That an imperial council was convened only after they’d returned showed just how highly the emperor held them in his esteem.

  Meanwhile, the Ministry of Defense was busy reorganizing all military districts under its jurisdiction. The solar system that included Earth was set to be assigned to the ninth military district, which for the moment existed only on paper, having neither headquarters nor commander to its name. The Galactic Empire was notorious for having an uneven distribution of military power at its center, the fleets it normally used for foreign campaigns setting out in grand formations from the capital of Odin. Reinhard had ordered their reorganization to free himself of excess authoritarianism.

  Once the recalibration of military districts was complete, it would become the responsibility of the secretary-general of Supreme Command Headquarters to oversee them. The secretary-general would also be taking on the job of commander in chief of domestic forces. Von Reuentahl’s responsibilities were enormous, to be sure, if only

  on paper.

  The relationship between secretary of defense Marshal von Oberstein and secretary-general of Supreme Command Headquarters Marshal von Reuentahl was far from honey-sweet. They politely avoided making eye contact with one another, speaking and listening only as they felt was necessary. Sometimes emotions got the better of them, and their exchanges of cynicism and blame became as heated as physical altercations, despite the fact that the secretary of defense was technically the secretary-general’s superior. As much as they hated each other, however, neither von Oberstein nor von Reuentahl could deny the other’s strengths. Von Reuentahl was renowned as a general of both wisdom and courage who always preferred reason over sentiment in formal settings. Von Oberstein, on the other hand, a man so sharp and coolheaded that he was said to be “sculpted out of dry ice,” was thought of as an empty shell devoid of emotion. And while he was clearly prejudiced, he never made any effort to dispel his prejudices. On that front, at least, no one could blame him for wearing his heart on his sleeve.

  Von Reuentahl had become close friends with the Gale Wolf after sharing so much in the way of death with him in the battlespace and saving each other’s lives. Not even an elevation in rank had any adverse effect on their tight connection. About von Oberstein, Mittermeier avoided the usual slander—“that cold-blooded son of a bitch von Oberstein,” “that merciless von Oberstein,” and the like—but said quite simply, and in a tone which, like his swift and determined tactics, no one could imitate, “That damned von Oberstein.”

  Aside from these three, others who attended the July 10 imperial council were Secretary of the Interior Osmayer, chief of the Domestic Safety Security Bureau Lang, military police commissioner Senior Admiral Kessler, and Chief Cabinet Secretary Meinhof, along with Senior Admirals Müller, Mecklinger, Wahlen, Fahrenheit, Wittenfeld, and von Eisenach, as well as senior imperial aide von Streit and secondary aide von Rücke. Including the emperor himself, that made for a total of sixteen. Secretary of state Count von Mariendorf, father to chief imperial secretary Hilda, was still under house arrest, and so the chief cabinet secretary was serving as his proxy.

  Reinhard would never be happy without his two most trusted men at the imperial council. Despite being a monarch in the absolute sense, there were times when he had to hide his discomfort. Hilda’s absence bothered him above all. Although he’d had other private secretaries before her, some lacked follow-through despite their loyalty, while others had blatantly sucked up to him as a means of furthering their own plans for success.

  A dispatch to Earth was unanimously approved by the council, although individual differences arose regarding the pros and cons of the deployment. This wasn’t a matter to be taken lightly, and so Lang, chief of the Domestic Safety Security Bureau, requested a short recess to consider the matter further. Since the Church of Terra’s true motives were still unclear, Lang expected a dispatch of troops to be successful only after a detailed investigation and private inquiry were conducted. The emperor laughed at the mere suggestion.

  “Stop skirting around the issue. The Church of Terra’s rancor is already obvious, so what possible need could there be for any further investigation and inquiry?”

  “I see your point, but—”

  “And are you so sure you’ve made no slipups in your own investigations of those cultists so far?”

  “Again, I see your point.”

  Lang robotically blurted out his artless answers.

  “Which means they will recognize no authority other than that of their God. Rather, any investigation will tell us the same thing: namely, that the church wouldn’t so much as hesitate to violently eliminate anyone standing in their way. If they have no interest in coexisting inside the new system, then I see no reason not to let them martyr themselves for their beliefs. I could show them no greater mercy.”

  Lang blushed and bowed to the emperor’s decision, which superseded his meager bureaucratic judgment.

  Whenever Emperor Reinhard stirred in his seat, his lion’s mane of golden hair bobbed magnificently. With every flick, some would write, it was as if a plume of gold dust were being scattered in the air. But to his attendant, Emil von Selle, sitting patiently against the wall behind him,
such descriptions were no exaggeration. The fourteen-year-old now lived at court and had been given all he needed to study medicine while seeing to the young emperor’s needs. No one saw anything wrong in granting him this privilege. Emil knew better than to let his ardently revered lord down.

  “As His Majesty has rightfully stated, we cannot expect to coexist with the Church of Terra’s followers,” said the orange-haired Senior Admiral Wittenfeld. “It’s about time we gave those insurgents the punishment they deserve, if only to demonstrate the extent of our will and might.”

  “Shall we go ahead and demonstrate that to its fullest extent, then?”

  “Yes, let’s do just that. And I would be honored if Your Majesty would grant me the honor of doing so.”

  But the emperor shook his head and laughed slightly.

  “Deploying the Schwarz Lanzenreiter to take over a single frontier planet would be overkill. I would have you stand down this time, Wittenfeld.”

  After silencing the reluctant general, Reinhard cast his gaze to another.

  “Wahlen!”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Your orders are as follows: Take your fleet and head for the Terran solar system. There, you will suppress the Church of Terra’s headquarters.”

  “Understood!”

  “You are to apprehend their founder and any other religious leaders you can find. You will then escort them back to the capital. As for the rest, kill them for all I care. Whatever you do, do not lay a hand on those unaffiliated with the church. Not that I would expect any nonbelievers to be hanging around on Earth.”

  Had Boris Konev been in attendance in the imperial council’s lowest seat, he would have applauded the emperor’s insightful plan.

  Wahlen stood up from his seat and bowed reverently to the emperor.

  “I am beyond honored to have been given this great responsibility. Rest assured, I will destroy those Church of Terra insurgents, arrest their leaders, and make them realize the true meaning of Your Majesty’s sanctity and lawful providence.”