Upheaval

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  “We risked our lives in battle against the Gale Wolf and the Black Lancers. I think our responsibilities to Marshal von Reuentahl have been fulfilled. When I leave hospital, I hope to resume military duty under the kaiser—unless you think that enlisted men will be court-martialed too?”

  When he received that report, Mittermeier struck his subordinates as less angered than deeply shocked.

  “I see,” he said eventually. “His responsibilities have been fulfilled, have they? I see.”

  This was when Mittermeier knew the Reuentahl fleet was no more. The soldier’s words perfectly encapsulated the thinking of those who had served in this pointless civil war. In their minds, at least, the war was over. Only von Reuentahl could have led them even this far, but even von Reuentahl had limits, and it seemed that he had reached them. His troops were pledged to Kaiser Reinhard, not to him, and they recognized no duty to share von Reuentahl’s fate as he went from defeat to final downfall.

  “It’s over…”

  Mittermeier’s shoulders slumped as he muttered the words, as if he had lost the conflict himself.

  His insight proved correct. The Neue Land Security Force, once 5.5 million troops strong, continued its rapid disintegration from surrender and desertion.

  So many ships sought to surrender that they hampered the Mittermeier fleet’s advance. Authority to process them was delegated to Admiral Büro. Many of the troops surrendering were injured; conversely, some ships that were half destroyed continued to resist. Bringing the situation under control would be a surprisingly time-consuming task.

  Mittermeier chose one wounded captured officer for questioning.

  “What happened to your commander, von Reuentahl?”

  “He is escaping toward the planet Heinessen in the Baalat system, Your Excellency.”

  Mittermeier frowned. The word “escaping” seemed to have touched a nerve, but he did not pursue it.

  “He may seek to restart the conflict in the Baalat system. Prepare for immediate pursuit.”

  Death seemed likely for von Reuentahl. It was not the first time Mittermeier had made this inference. At the Second Battle of Rantemario—even before, in fact—von Reuentahl had surely viewed defeat as certain death, and fought with no intention of surviving it. This was not merely Mittermeier’s interpretation, but a gloomy understanding shared by all of his staff officers who had fought von Reuentahl.

  “Whatever page we turn to in the chronicles of our lives, we find it written in blood,” said a rather morose Wittenfeld to Wahlen. “We can dress it up with humanism, but the red stain can never be erased. Even so, there are some things I’d rather not experience. Like fighting to the death with a comrade…If the kaiser ordered you to take me down, would you obey?”

  “Ja,” Wahlen replied, after so brief a pause that Wittenfeld was somewhat put out.

  “You might at least pretend to be torn on a question like that.”

  “It’s a bad question. I urge whoever asked it to reconsider their behavior.”

  Wahlen was not in the mood for hypotheticals. Von Reuentahl was one of the Twin Ramparts of the Imperial Navy, an admiral among admirals, and look at the tragic fate he had called down on himself. Wahlen could not help feeling uneasy when he imagined how Reinhard’s faith in his admirals might change as a result. Who could say that Wittenfeld’s question would remain hypothetical forever?

  December 11. The fleet Mecklinger had brought through Iserlohn Corridor rendezvoused with Mittermeier’s main forces on the outskirts of the Gandharva system, which was home to the fateful planet Urvashi.

  Mecklinger had not participated directly in any combat, but after passing through the corridor he had maneuvered as if to cut off the Reuentahl fleet’s rear. By increasing the pressure on von Reuentahl to retreat, he had contributed to his side’s strategic victory.

  It was decided that Mittermeier, Wittenfeld, and Wahlen would push on to Heinessen without landing at the imperial base on Urvashi, but Mecklinger and his fleet would stay to ensure that order was reestablished and upheld. Grillparzer had stayed on Urvashi only briefly, and now that von Reuentahl’s fleet had been put to rout the base had once more become a small iron boat floating on a sea of uncertainty and unrest. Mecklinger’s ability and name, combined with the military might of his fleet, would be more than enough to bring stability. After a hurried but precise consultation on these matters, Mecklinger expressed to Mittermeier his wish to investigate the original plot against the kaiser immediately. “In my opinion,” he said, “it is unlikely that the attempt on His Majesty’s life here was directed by Marshal von Reuentahl.”

  (Strictly speaking, von Reuentahl had already been stripped of his title, but even the admirals who had been forced to fight against him seemed unwilling to refer to him without a title at all. The only exception was Mittermeier, who had long been accustomed to doing so and had never been reprimanded by the kaiser for it.)

  “Why do you think so, Admiral Mecklinger?”

  “First, it does not comport with his personality. Second, it is not commensurate with his ability.”

  “Hmm.” Mittermeier frowned. A troubled shadow descended on his youthful features.

  Mecklinger’s arguments were undeniably correct. Had von Reuentahl decided to raise the flag of revolt in order to surpass the kaiser, he would have advanced his forces directly and openly for a stand-up fight. To do otherwise would be inconsistent with his motive for rebelling in the first place. On the other hand, if his sole aim was to seize power by any means necessary, he could have simply waited for the kaiser to reach Heinessen before imprisoning or murdering him. Risking an attack while Reinhard was on Urvashi made no sense. Furthermore, after Reinhard’s flagship Brünhild had lifted off, von Reuentahl had simply sat on his hands and allowed it to leave. Had he been serious, he would surely have stationed ships in orbit to prevent the kaiser and his retinue from escaping.

  The sense of wrongness that Mittermeier had felt regarding this “revolt” from its earliest stages may have been rooted in these inconsistencies and disparities. However, at this point, his position required him to focus on the situation’s outcome rather than its causes. Given his position, he had to pay more attention to the result of the situation than its causes. Leaving Mecklinger to seek the truth on Urvashi, he pushed on toward Heinessen.

  After Mecklinger stationed his troops at key locations on Urvashi’s surface, he began his investigation even as he set about retaking the base, with Vice Admiral Wünsche as his lieutenant. Wünsche had the look of a simple farmer, but he was the staff officer Mecklinger trusted most.

  “If Marshal von Reuentahl was not behind the attack on the kaiser, why did he not loudly protest his innocence?” he asked.

  “As you know, Marshal von Reuentahl is a man of great pride. To admit that unknown conspirators had placed him atop a sacrificial altar would be quite impossible for him.”

  In all likelihood, Mecklinger thought, von Reuentahl wanted them to believe that his revolt was driven by his own will and ambition. By nature, he would rather stand and fight than protest that he had been wrongly accused and beg for the kaiser’s mercy.

  “It seems that the galaxy is too small for two people of ambition to share the same age…”

  Despite this lament, what Mecklinger found difficult to accept was von Reuentahl’s apparent failure to identify and hold to account those who had been behind the Urvashi Incident.

  “Even if he was not behind the disturbance, why did he make no attempt to punish those who were?” Mecklinger said. “This is what baffles me. Your thoughts?”

  “The situation developed at a rapid pace, after all. Perhaps the marshal simply had no time for a close investigation.”

  This seemed possible to Mecklinger, too, but he was not completely convinced. He continued to seek answers from captured officers from von Reuentahl’s fleet and when interrogating soldiers stationed at Urvashi base. Eventually, he learned that Grillparzer had come to Urvashi on von Reuentahl’s
orders to suppress the disturbance and investigate its cause, but had not delivered a full and accurate report of his findings. He had intentionally concealed several pieces of evidence that suggested the involvement of Church of Terra die-hards, instead claiming that the responsible parties remained unclear. This discovery revealed to Mecklinger the common thread that ran through all of Grillparzer’s thoughts and deeds.

  When Grillparzer was summoned to appear before Mecklinger, his expression was equal parts unease, disgruntlement, and expectation. The unease and disgruntlement were because he had received no praise from senior officers for his services as a turncoat, and the anticipation was because he believed that Mecklinger recognized that he was more than just a warrior.

  However, Mecklinger had nothing but the sharpest criticism for him, denouncing him as a criminal who had used the Terraist intrigue to goad von Reuentahl into rebellion with the aim of profiting from it personally.

  “Grillparzer, great things were expected of you, both as a military man and a scholar. Betrayal and deception were unnecessary; you would surely have attained high position and great authority in the fullness of time. Regrettably, you were so infatuated with your own ingenuity that you brought shame on the last phase of your life.”

  At this ominous intimation, Grillparzer’s body temperature dropped. Cold sweat dampened his shirt from the inside.

  “You have committed a double sin,” Mecklinger continued. “The first was turning away from the kaiser’s friendship. The second was betraying Marshal von Reuentahl’s trust. Had you reported the true findings of your investigation on Urvashi to him, this revolt would have ended before it began. But, driven by your own petty calculations, you drove your superior officer to dishonor his name with rebellion.”

  The young admiral attempted a defense. He had only done what he thought best for the kaiser, he said. Marshal von Reuentahl had, in fact, risen in revolt—and had not he, Grillparzer, contributed to the marshal’s defeat?

  “Do you believe that victory through betrayal pleases the kaiser?” Mecklinger asked, his voice growing even calmer. “Yes, I suppose you do, which is exactly why you betrayed Marshal von Reuentahl. A mouse’s intellect cannot comprehend a lion’s heart. In the end, you simply were not fit to be that lion’s friend.”

  Grillparzer opened his mouth, but his lips only trembled and twitched, and not a word came out. His shoulders fell; he hung his head. He had realized, it seemed, that he had lost both past and future. After he was taken away, soldiers guarding him on both sides, Mecklinger sighed wearily. He felt no small regret over the waste of Grillparzer’s talent and potential. Beyond that, he was not sure how he could explain the truth to Kaiser Reinhard and Marshal Mittermeier—that the Reuentahl Revolt had been set in motion by the remnants of the Church of Terra, and then pushed beyond the point of turning back by Grillparzer’s ambition.

  IV

  The Reuentahl fleet returned to Heinessen just over one-tenth the size it had been when it set out: 4,580 ships and 658,900 soldiers. Roughly half of those who did not return had died in battle, while the other half had surrendered or been captured. There also appeared to be a small number who simply went missing.

  It was a devastating defeat. Nevertheless, the order and discipline of the returning units and their maneuvering was testament to von Reuentahl’s powers of command—even if it was like the last rays of the setting sun, when only enough light remained to set the edges of the cliffs agleam.

  Tristan was still heavily damaged, and shook so violently when it entered warp that the wound in von Reuentahl’s chest was torn back open. Once more the hemorrhaging was severe, and he even lost consciousness for a moment. But after an emergency transfusion, he came to and smoothly reassumed command of the defeated fleet. Bergengrün urged him to transfer to a hospital ship, or at least a vessel flying without damage, but von Reuentahl laughed.

  “Müller won praise even after abandoning his flagship, but only because he remained in the chaos of battle to lead his forces. If I abandoned ship while fleeing in abject defeat, the name ‘Oskar von Reuentahl’ would become a byword for cowardice.” He remained in the commander’s seat until the end.

  An ordinary man would already be sliding down the slopes of coma toward the abyss of death, but von Reuentahl’s mind remained clear. He appears to have retained his coolheaded reason and steely self-control even in his final hours. On one point, all the direct testimony agrees: Marshal von Reuentahl remained Marshal von Reuentahl until the moment of his death.

  When he stepped out of the landcar before the front entrance of the governorate’s offices, he was still impeccably dressed. Only his pallor gave any indication of death’s embrace.

  Of von Reuentahl’s senior staff officers, Bergengrün and Sonnenfels were still with him. Barthauser and Schüler had died in battle, and Dittersdorf had been wounded and surrendered. At the governorate, more than four thousand officers and enlisted men had gathered, fully armed, determined to do their duty right up until the governor-general’s death.

  “I see,” von Reuentahl said. “There are more fools in the world than I thought.”

  And you are the greatest among them, said the coldly sneering face looking back at him from the mirror. Even as he sneered, his deep, wide-ranging reason, one of the two wheels that supported the chariot of his psyche, understood that he could not martyr these loyal subordinates to his own idiocy. Once he had dragged himself behind the desk in his office, his first act was to call in Julius Elsheimer, Lutz’s protégé and the director-general of civil affairs, who was still under house arrest.

  When he arrived, Elsheimer was visibly rattled by von Reuentahl’s cadaverous appearance. Von Reuentahl smiled wanly. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he said. “I know I have no right to show my face here again, but, well, here I am.”

  “Fortune was against Your Excellency, I gather.”

  “No, I think the result would be the same if I tried it again. It appears that this is the limit of my abilities.”

  If there were no Kaiser Reinhard… But von Reuentahl knew more than anyone how meaningless this hypothetical was.

  “Director-general, I have a request to make of you.”

  “By all means.”

  “I want you to take control of all governmental and administrative affairs for the governorate. It pains me to force on you the task of cleaning up the mess I made, but, whoever the work falls to, the responsibility is not one to be taken lightly.”

  Once Elsheimer had solemnly agreed and left the office, von Reuentahl called to his aide, Lieutenant Commander von Reckendorf.

  “Call in Trünicht. It’s always unpleasant to see him, but it’ll be good practice for the unpleasantness of death.”

  Von Reckendorf appeared to have objections to this astonishing order, but, presumably thinking it wrong to argue with a superior officer on the verge of death, obeyed at once and went to fetch Job Trünicht.

  The high counselor made a startling contrast to the man who had summoned him. Von Reuentahl was near death, black and blue eyes glittering in an unnaturally pale face with a light that was as sharp as ever, if not as powerful. Trünicht was unapologetically vigorous, healthy of complexion, and overflowing with the ambition and potential of a political animal in his prime. He was more than ten years older than von Reuentahl, but in terms of proximity to death their positions were clearly reversed.

  “A pleasure to see you in such fine health, high counselor,” said von Reuentahl.

  “I owe it all to Your Excellency’s favor.”

  This venomous exchange was followed by a short silence. Trünicht’s voice had been far stronger than von Reuentahl’s, both in volume and in intonation.

  “Well, you can see what has become of me,” von Reuentahl said. “I fell into the pitfall of autocracy, launched a fruitless revolt, and am on the verge of a death that will be lauded by no one. I suppose democracy, the system you served, is immune to tragicomedies like this?”

  Von Reuentahl
’s point was far from clear, but Trünicht apparently concluded that this was due to the confusion of approaching death. A faint smile flickered across his lips.

  “Oh, democracy is not so grand either,” he said. “Just look at me, marshal. Imagine—a man like me, seizing the reins of power, deciding who lives and who dies as he pleases. If this is not a flaw in the democratic republican system, what is?”

  His words were flowing freely by the end of this speech. The stink of self-intoxication rose, overpowering his cologne.

  “Odd,” said von Reuentahl. “It sounds as though you despise democracy. Isn’t that the system you exploited to the utmost to attain the power you craved? Doesn’t that make democracy itself your benefactor? Surely there’s no call to be so disrespectful of it.”

  “If autocracy will grant me power, then let my next benefactor be autocracy. I will serve it even more sincerely than I have praised democracy in the past, I assure you.”

  “Am I to gather that you intend to seize control within the Lohengramm Dynasty, too, as chancellor?”

  “If the kaiser so desires.”

  “And, just as you drained the Free Planets Alliance dry, you will do the same to the empire.”

  He is a monster, thought von Reuentahl, between pulses of pain. Not in the way von Oberstein was a monster—Trünicht was a monster of egoism. He had only fed on democracy because he happened to be attached to its camp. Had he been born in the empire, he would have used a different approach to feed on autocracy instead. Around its egoistic core, Trünicht’s psyche was amorphous as an amoeba, greedily devouring anything within reach.

  “Which is why you continue to knowingly allow the Church of Terra to use you.”

  “No. I am the one using them. I use anything and everything. Religion, politics, even the kaiser. Yes, even the kaiser you rebelled against—the one who, for all his gifts, is far from a perfect human being—is, indeed, an immature little boy. I am sure that Your Excellency, too, saw something ludicrous in the golden-haired little fellow playing the arrogant genius.”