Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Volume 6

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  The golden-haired emperor nodded, lightly lifting a hand to signal adjournment. The dispatch to Earth was now in the hands of those doing the actual grunt work.

  No organization exists without inconsistencies and internal strife, and even the newly birthed Lohengramm Dynasty had a run in its stocking when it came to spearheading domestic safety in the wake of the Kümmel Incident.

  Between the military police force and the Domestic Safety Security Bureau, a dangerous antagonism had been making waves. Military police commissioner Senior Admiral Kessler and chief of the Domestic Safety Security Bureau Lang were too different in temperament to achieve any sort of accord. The former was a military leader, the latter a newcomer with no achievements to speak of. But Lang had been chief of secret police since the former dynasty had been in power, and as such had earned his position as one of secretary of defense Marshal von Oberstein’s closest confidants. Moreover, the organization known as the Domestic Safety Security Bureau was itself part of the Bureau of Internal Affairs. There was no way that Secretary of the Interior Osmayer, whose job it was to oversee domestic safety, was going to watch his own authority being infringed upon and the established bureaucracy thrown into disorder.

  Thus, Secretary of the Interior Osmayer and military police commissioner Kessler maintained a tacit connection, deepening covert opposition between Secretary of Defense von Oberstein and chief of the Domestic Safety Security Bureau Lang.

  After young Emil brought in coffee and withdrew, Secretary of Defense von Oberstein sought an immediate audience with the emperor. Although that in and of itself wasn’t a rare thing, von Oberstein took Reinhard by surprise when he asked his sovereign to give the matter of marriage some serious thought. For a moment, Reinhard’s expression waxed boyish, and then a bitter smile played across his graceful face.

  “Count von Mariendorf said the same thing. Is my not having a spouse really that unusual? You’re fifteen years older than me. Aren’t you the one who should be settling down?”

  “No one will mourn the loss of the Oberstein name. But not so with the Lohengramm royal line. So long as the dynasty continues to uphold justice and stability, its people will pay for its continuation with their own blood if they have to, and it would bring them much joy should Your Majesty marry and produce an heir.”

  These terms, laid out for the emperor’s sake, had real worth for von Oberstein as well. He went on:

  “But once the empress’s father and older brothers—which is to say, the heir’s maternal relatives—boast vainly of your honor by association, wielding your authority as if it were their own, it will bring great harm to the nation. Throughout ancient history, there have been many cases of an emperor doing in the entire family of his new bride upon marrying her, to strike at the root of evil before it sprouts. I only ask that you please bear that in mind.”

  Reinhard’s eyes were filled with ice-blue brilliance. Had any subordinate other than the secretary of defense said what von Oberstein just had, no doubt lightning would have struck that person down. But the trust between them was such that von Oberstein would be taken as seriously as he spoke freely.

  “If I’m not mistaken, it would seem you’re opposed to one person in particular wearing the empress’s tiara. But don’t you think it’s an inappropriate subject to bring up before a single candidate for empress has yet to be decided?”

  “I know it’s premature.”

  “So, it would be extremely awkward if the empress were to become second to the emperor, politically speaking? Is that what you’re thinking?”

  Had von Reuentahl or Mittermeier been there to witness this conversation, they would surely have been on the edges of their seats. They knew firsthand what it felt like to be a target of Reinhard’s scathing criticism.

  Von Oberstein, for his part, was unfazed.

  “Your Majesty discerns well.”

  “But if I marry, a child will be born.”

  “That’s a good thing, of course, because it will systematically guarantee the continuation of the dynasty.”

  Reinhard clicked his tongue sharply and stroked his youthful face. This gave him an idea, prompting him to change the subject.

  “Count von Mariendorf and his daughter are still under house arrest?”

  “Seeing as they’re directly related to that traitor von Kümmel, it’s only a matter of course. Were we living under the Goldenbaum Dynasty, the entire family would’ve been executed or banished by now.”

  Reinhard wound a finger around the pendant hanging from his neck.

  “In other words, not only does the Church of Terra have aims on my life, but it also wants to take away my indispensable secretary of state and chief imperial secretary?” Reinhard’s private emotions and public authority had been wounded enough. “I see no further point in keeping them under house arrest! As of tomorrow, father and daughter von Mariendorf are to be released and reinstated to their full official capacities.”

  “Understood.”

  “One more thing. I forbid anyone to blame the von Mariendorfs for this foolish incident. Anyone who purposefully goes against my prohibition on this matter must prepare to be punished for insubordination.”

  The absolute monarch’s intentions towered over national law and people’s emotions alike. Von Oberstein bowed his head deeply and accepted the young emperor’s incontrovertible will. Reinhard locked his ice-blue gaze on von Oberstein, and turned his tall, elegant figure around, his voice and expression extinguished.

  By the time von Oberstein returned to his office at the defense ministry, a report, sent directly from the resident high commissioner’s office without going through Lennenkamp, was waiting for him:

  “The commissioner has ordered an intensification of surveillance of Marshal Yang Wen-li. There is reason to believe Yang has close connections with antigovernment movements within the alliance.”

  Upon receiving the report from the defense ministry’s Bureau of Investigations director, Commodore Anton Ferner, secretary of defense Marshal von Oberstein narrowed his artificial eyes.

  “The masses need a hero to unify them. It’s only natural that the alliance’s extremists and fundamentalists would idolize Yang Wen-li. Without him, they have no rallying point.”

  “Lennenkamp? I wonder…”

  “Do you think we should let this slide? Even if Marshal Yang has no intention of rebelling at present, so long as he has primary color paints at his disposal, at some point he will make a mess of the canvas.”

  Even though Ferner had found von Oberstein in a heartless mood, he saw the secretary of defense as an invaluable asset who’d exhibited no signs of erosion from the recent tide of events. The secretary of defense turned to his subordinate with indifference, showing no malice.

  “Let’s stay out of it for now. Lennenkamp especially hates it when people intrude on his authority.”

  “Yes, but, Your Excellency Secretary, if Commissioner Lennenkamp is too careless in dealing with the alliance’s golden boy, Marshal Yang, the grassroots alliance resistance against the empire might just get out of hand. The bigger a fire gets, the more difficult it is to put it out.”

  Commodore Ferner’s voice had the slightest affectation of an actor reciting his lines. This time, there was something other than indifference in von Oberstein’s discernment.

  “I’ve exceeded my brief. Please, strike what I just said.”

  Now that Ferner had recognized his mistake, von Oberstein dismissed him with a wave of his bony hand.

  Ferner left with a bow. He couldn’t help but guess the defense secretary’s innermost thoughts.

  Did von Oberstein have something planned for Marshal Yang? Like burying a magnet in the sand and coming up with small bits of metal, he was covertly rallying the alliance’s anti-imperial diehards and democratic fundamentalists around Yang. And what then? What was the pretext behind executing Yang? Was
it to eradicate distress from the empire’s future? Or was it to expand the influence of fanatical Yang supporters to bring about a rift in the anti-imperial forces? If he managed to encourage internal conflict and mutually destroy both sides from within, the empire’s hands would remain clean in their grab for alliance territory.

  But will things really develop as the defense secretary expects them to? Ferner thought to himself.

  In the realm of the battlespace, Yang Wen-li excelled at playing the resourceful general who could drive even a military genius like Emperor Reinhard into a corner. With neither fleet nor soldiers, was Yang Wen-li in fact resigned to being an ingredient in Marshal von Oberstein’s dish? Didn’t cornered rats always throw themselves upon the cats chasing them? If so, then Lennenkamp was sure to get bitten first. A trivial pity.

  “In any case, this will be something to watch. Whether the defense secretary’s will will be done, whether the current peace will come to define an age, or whether this is just the eye of the storm, history is at a crossroads. Every decision from this point forward will have dramatic ramifications.”

  Ferner curled the corners of his mouth into a cynical smile. As a staff officer of the former high noble army, he’d plotted to assassinate Reinhard. Not out of animosity, but out of faith to his position. That fateful night, Reinhard had allowed him to act as his subordinate and under von Oberstein primarily marked achievements in strategic planning and office management. He wasn’t a person of lawless ambition, but as a spectator, he clearly enjoyed unrest over peace, for he was possessed of a strange confidence that, by his own ability and dynamism, he could survive any situation.

  Von Oberstein turned toward his empty office with an inorganic glint in his eye.

  Whatever a lord lacked, his retainers had to make up for. To von Oberstein, the Lohengramm Dynasty and Emperor Reinhard constituted an opus worth betting one’s life on. It was incomparable in rapidity and in the beauty of its theme, but von Oberstein took issue with its durability, or lack thereof.

  In a salon of the Mariendorf residence, the count and his daughter were sitting on sofas, watching the languid dance of time go by.

  “I don’t feel any pity for Heinrich,” said Hilda to her father. “For a few minutes, he stood proudly on that stage as the lead actor in a production of his own making. I have a feeling that he purposefully chose that location to pour his life into one final performance…”

  “Performance, you say?”

  Her father’s voice was intelligent, if devoid of vitality.

  “I don’t believe that Heinrich had any intention of assassinating His Majesty. Leaving aside why the Church of Terra convinced him to attempt such a heinous act, he took on the dishonor of being called an assassin just to have those last few minutes of his life.”

  Thinking about it in such a way only somewhat placated her father’s grief. Hilda knew that her father, who’d never sired a son, had always felt a certain affection for his feeble nephew. But now Hilda wondered if her own thoughts hadn’t caught the sleeve of truth. Baron Heinrich von Kümmel had refused a gradual death and had chosen to gather his meager life savings and burn the powder of his short existence in a flash of radiance. Hilda couldn’t bring herself to see this as a great act. Then again, there was probably no other way for Heinrich to have purified the violent envy and jealousy he felt toward Reinhard.

  Hilda reached out her hand and picked up the bell on the table, intending to ask her butler Hans for some coffee. But the fair-complexioned and broad-shouldered Hans appeared before the bell had even made a sound.

  “My lady,” the butler announced in a high voice. “There’s a visiphone call for you directly from the imperial palace. The man on the screen has introduced himself as von Streit, and he would like to share some good news. Please come to the visiphone room at once.”

  As Hilda returned the unrung bell to the table, she stood up with the sprightly movement of a boy. Hilda had been expecting good news. The young golden-haired emperor couldn’t very well banish Count von Mariendorf and his daughter from the court forever. Neither could she help but predict that the imperial court would show one side of its thorny crown sooner or later.

  Hilda had to protect her father and herself so as not to give secretary of defense Marshal von Oberstein’s hunting dogs a scent trail to follow.

  “Did they really think I’d give in so easily?” she muttered while making her way down the hallway.

  Hans looked over his shoulder with a dubious glance.

  “Is something the matter, my lady?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Just talking to myself.”

  Even as she said these words, Hilda caught herself wondering whether the typical noblewoman would’ve kept her mouth shut. She hit her head of short, dull-blond hair lightly with her fist. Why should she care at all about how other women carried themselves at court? It was unlike her to think of such things.

  II

  Happiest of all about Count Franz von Mariendorf and Hilda having their house arrest lifted was Marshal Wolfgang Mittermeier.

  “Who does that damned von Oberstein think he is anyway?” he said to his wife, Evangeline. “Entire families pleading guilty to treasonous crimes, regardless of complicity, is an outdated custom that ended the moment this dynasty began. I can think of no better candidate for empress than Hilda. If the two of them produced an heir, you can be sure he’d grow up to be one sagacious prince. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “I suppose, but all that matters in the end is how they feel about each other.”

  Evangeline kept her husband’s impertinence in check, turning her head to the side in that birdlike way he loved. At twenty-six, she had no children, the innocence she had when they were first married almost entirely untarnished. As ever, the way she managed the household had a musical rhythm to it that pleased Mittermeier to no end.

  “I didn’t take your hand in marriage because you were a capable military officer with a promising future. It was for who you were, and still are, my dear.”

  “If I’d known that, I might’ve been more suave when I proposed. I didn’t know much back then…”

  The chime on their home computer indicated a visitor. Evangeline left the salon with that cadence in her step he so adored and soon came back to announce that Admiral von Reuentahl had come to see him.

  Oskar von Reuentahl had visited the Mittermeier residence much less often than Mittermeier had visited his, and so his presence told him something serious was going on. Although he saw families and marriage through the dark lenses of extreme prejudice, he always adhered to etiquette when stepping foot inside a friend’s home. He also presented a bouquet of flowers to the woman of the house out of sheer politeness.

  As Evangeline Mittermeier put that evening’s jonquils into a vase and brought in a plate of homemade sausage and cottage cheese to her husband’s guest, the Twin Ramparts of the Imperial Navy were already watering their own flowers of conversation with wine.

  Having no interest in being privy to this male bonding session, Mrs. Mittermeier put down the dish and left with the name “Trünicht” riding her ear.

  “A man like Job Trünicht is sure to go down in history as an extraordinary salesman,” said von Reuentahl with disdain.

  “Salesman, you say?”

  “Yes. First, he sold the Free Planets Alliance and his democracy over to the empire. And now, the Church of Terra. Every time he rolls out a new product, history changes. He’s right up there with the Phezzanese merchants.”

  “I suppose you’re right. He is a top-notch salesman. But as a buyer,

  he leaves a lot to be desired. He buys only contempt and vigilance.

  Who would respect him? All he does is sell off his own character by the piece.”

  The secretary-general of Supreme Command Headquarters gave an unpleasant smile.

  “You speak correctly, Mittermeier.
He doesn’t need the respect or love of others to live. His stalks may be thick, but his roots run deep. He’s like a parasitic plant.”

  “A parasite indeed.”

  The two famed generals fell into silence for no apparent reason.

  Onetime commander of the Alliance Armed Forces’ Iserlohn Fortress, Admiral Yang Wen-li, had been keenly aware of Trünicht’s enslavement to a fear and hatred that went beyond the limits of common sense. Although not quite so serious, von Reuentahl and Mittermeier came to the same conclusion.

  “We can’t just write him off as a mean bastard, either. He’s far from a common man, in the worst sense. We’ll just have to keep an eye on him, either way.”

  At this point, while making not insignificant contributions to the development of the Lohengramm Dynasty, when it came to lack of respect and goodwill, there was no one quite like Trünicht. Even Marshal von Oberstein, although not particularly well liked, had at least become an object of reverence. But Trünicht was utterly lacking in popularity. Echoes of his tainted legacy were still being felt throughout the Free Planets Alliance, and likely would be for a long time to come.

  After suppressing the alliance capital of Heinessen and facing Trünicht for the first time, Oskar von Reuentahl’s attitude was one of extreme indifference, while Wolfgang Mittermeier’s eyes danced with conspicuous animosity. Of course, Hilda had no choice but to deal with Trünicht in the two admirals’ stead, but it was entirely impossible to look with favor upon any politician who would sell his own country and people in exchange for something so petty and fleeting as personal security.

  Evangeline brought in some of her homemade chicken aspic, announcing that Mittermeier’s subordinate Karl Eduard Bayerlein had come to visit. The brave young general appeared in the doorway, his usual enthusiastic self.

  “Your Excellency, I had some business nearby, so I hope you don’t mind my stopping by. Plus, I caught wind of an odd rumor.”