Dawn Read online

  What the stupid general had to be ashamed of was his lack of ability; the issue was utterly divorced from the concept of morality. This, however, was something Jessica was unlikely to understand even if Yang explained it, nor did Yang think it was something for which understanding should be sought.

  The spaceport’s boarding announcements pulled Jessica up from the sofa. The departure of the liner she was on was growing near.

  “Goodbye, Yang, and thank you for seeing me off.”

  “Take care.”

  “Go as far as you can in the service, all right? And as far as Jean Robert could have gone, too.”

  Yang watched intently as Jessica disappeared into the boarding gate.

  Go far, eh? Wonder if she realizes that’s the same as telling me, “Go kill even more people.” Probably—no, definitely—not. That would also be the same as telling me to do to the empire’s women the same thing that was done to her. And when that happens, who will the empire’s women take out their sadness and anger on … ?

  “Excuse me, but might you be Commodore Yang Wen-li?” said a voice. Yang slowly turned around, to find an elderly, refined-looking lady with a boy of five or six in tow.

  “Um, that’s right, er …”

  “Ah yes, I thought so. Here, Will, this man is the hero of Astarte. Say hello to him.”

  Shyly, the boy hid behind the old lady’s back.

  “I’m Mrs. Mayer. Both my husband and my son—my son was this boy’s father—were soldiers and died honorably in battle with the empire. I was very moved to hear of your exploits on the news, and to be able to meet you in a place like this is more than I could have hoped for.”

  Yang had no idea what to say.

  I wonder what in the world kind of look is on my face right now, he thought.

  “This child also says he wants to be a soldier. That he’s going to beat the empire and avenge his daddy … Commodore Yang, I know it’s an impudent thing to ask, but I wonder if you might let him shake the hand of a hero? I think that shaking hands with you would be an encouragement for him for the future.”

  Yang couldn’t look at the old lady straight on.

  Perhaps taking his lack of an answer for assent, the old woman tried to push her grandson to stand before the young admiral. The boy, however, clung tight to his grandmother’s dress and wouldn’t let go, although he was looking at Yang in the face.

  “What’s the matter, Will? You think you can become a brave soldier acting like that?”

  “Mrs. Mayer,” said Yang, mentally wiping away sweat. “When Will becomes an adult, it’s going to be peacetime. There’s not going to be any need to make himself become a soldier … Take care, kid.”

  With a slight bow, Yang turned on his heel and got out of that place, walking rapidly. In short, he fled. This was one retreat in which he saw no dishonor.

  III

  When Yang got back to his officer’s house on Block 24 Silver Bridge Street, his watch was showing 2000 Heinessen Standard Time. The whole area was a residential district for high-ranking officers who were either single or had small families, and the refreshing scent of natural chlorophyll drifted on the breeze.

  Even so, the buildings and facilities could not necessarily be called new or luxurious. There was plenty of land and an abundance of green plants, but that was owing to a chronic lack of funds needed for new construction, additions, and renovation.

  After getting off the low-speed sidewalk, Yang crossed a poorly kept common lawn. Creaking with complaints of overwork, the front gate, equipped with ID scanners, welcomed in the master of Officers’ Residence B-6.

  It’s about time to have this thing replaced, even if I have to pay for it out of my own pocket, Yang thought. Even if I negotiated with Accounting, it wouldn’t get me anywhere.

  “Welcome back, Commodore.” Young Julian Mintz came out to the porch to meet him. “I was wondering if you might not be coming back. Good thing you did, though. I’ve made that Irish stew you like.”

  “Makes it worth coming home on an empty stomach. But why’d you think I wasn’t coming back?”

  “Rear Admiral Caselnes contacted me,” the boy answered, taking Yang’s uniform beret. “ ‘That rascal ducked out in the middle of the ceremony hand in hand with a beautiful woman,’ he was saying.”

  Yang grimaced as he stepped into the foyer. “Why, that son of a …”

  Julian Mintz was fourteen years old and was Yang’s ward. He was of average height for his age, with flaxen hair, dark-brown eyes, and delicate features. Caselnes and others at times referred to him as “Yang’s page.”

  Two years prior, Julian had come to live under Yang’s protection in accordance with the Law for Special Regulations Concerning Children of Soldiers. Commonly, this was called Travers’s Law, after the name of the statesman who had proposed it.

  The Free Planets Alliance had been in a state of war with the Galactic Empire for a century and a half. This meant chronic generation of war dead and other victims of war. Travers’s Law had been conceived as one stone to kill the two birds of assisting war orphans with no next of kin and of procuring human resources.

  Orphans were raised in the homes of soldiers. A set sum of money for child-rearing expenses was lent to their guardians by the government, and the orphans attended regular schools until fifteen years of age. Then it was up to them to choose their future course; however, if they volunteered for the military and became child soldiers, or enrolled in Officers’ Academy or some technical or other school with military affiliation, repayment of the child support fees would be waived.

  For the military, even women were an indispensable human resource in the Rear Service, vital in resupply, accounting, transport, communications, space traffic control, intelligence processing, and facilities management.

  “In short, you can think of it like the apprentice system that’s been around since the Middle Ages. More vicious maybe, since it uses money to try and restrict people’s futures.”

  Caselnes, who at the time was assigned to Rear Service Headquarters, had explained it to Yang like that, with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

  “In any case, people can’t live without being fed. That’s a fact, right? Which means we need a feeder. So come on—you can take in one at least.”

  “I don’t even have a family of my own.”

  “Exactly, which means you’re not fulfilling your societal obligation to support a wife and child. Look, the government even pays child support—it’d be a shame if we can’t even get you to take on this much. Right, you swinging bachelor, you?”

  “Understood. But only one.”

  “If you like, you can have two.”

  “One is plenty.”

  “Really? Well, in that case I’ll have to find you one who eats enough for two.”

  Four days after that exchange had passed between them, the boy named Julian had appeared standing in the foyer of Yang’s home.

  That very day, Julian had secured for himself his station in the Yang household. Given that the household’s erstwhile sole member was hardly what could be called a capable and industrious manager in the home, things were in a rather horrid state. Although Yang did own a handheld domcom, he always neglected to input the data needed to control his various household appliances; not only had it ended up a useless piece of junk, all his home tech had acquired a layer of dust as well.

  For his own sake too, apparently, Julian had made up his mind to get the home’s physical environment into shape. Two days after becoming a resident of the Yang home, its young master had left on a short business trip. When he returned a week later, he found his home under occupation by a federated force of neatness and efficiency.

  “I’ve arranged the data on your domcom into six categories,” the twelve-year-old commander of this occupying force had reported to the head of the house, who had stood there frozen with a
stunned look on his face. “Let’s see, 1 is home management, 2 is appliance control, 3 is security, 4 is data collection, 5 is home study, and 6 is entertainment. Household accounting and daily menu selection are under 1; air-conditioning, cleaning devices, and the washing machine are under 2; the burglar alarm and fire extinguisher are under 3; and news, weather, and shopping information are under 4 … Please remember these, Captain.”

  Yang had been a captain at the time. Wordlessly, he had sat down on the sofa in what doubled as his living room and dining room, wondering what he was going to say to this innocently smiling little invader.

  “I went ahead and cleaned that, too. And the bedsheets are also washed. I, ah, think I’ve managed to get things shipshape indoors, but if there’s anything you’re not happy with, please tell me. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Can you get me a cup of tea?”

  Yang had asked this because he was thinking, I’ll wet my whistle with my favorite tea, and then I’ll start with the griping, but the boy had hurried off to the kitchen and come back carrying a tea set that was now so clean it looked practically brand-new. Then, before his very eyes, Julian had brewed Shillong-grown tea with a startling dexterity.

  Yang had taken one sip of the tea set out before him, and then he had decided to surrender to the young boy. That’s how good the aroma and flavor were. Julian said that his late father had been a lieutenant in the space armada. Being even more of a tea-ceremony aficionado than Yang, he had taught his son all about tea varieties and brewing.

  Six months after Yang had accepted Julian-style housekeeping, Caselnes, who had come over for a game of 3-D chess, had looked around the room and thus opined: “This is the first time in recorded history that your place is clean, isn’t it? I guess it’s true what they say, that a child is as mature as his parents are incompetent.”

  Yang had made no argument.

  Another two years had gone by. Julian had grown more than ten centimeters taller and was starting to look just a little bit like a grown-up. His grades were apparently fine. “Apparently,” because his guardian had always said that as long as he wasn’t failing, he didn’t need to report every little thing, and also because his ward would from time to time come home with awards, medals, and the like. In Caselnes’s words, he was a “student who had surpassed his teacher.”

  “Today at school, they asked me what I’d be doing from next year on.”

  It was unusual for Julian to say something like that while Yang was eating. Yang’s spoon stopped moving in the midst of scooping up some stew, and he glanced at the boy.

  “Graduation’s in June of next year, isn’t it?”

  “There’s a system where you can gain credits and graduate six months early.”

  “There is?” said his irresponsible guardian, impressed. “So, you plan on becoming a soldier?”

  “Yes, I’m a soldier’s child, after all.”

  “There isn’t any law saying a child has to continue in his parent’s career. Actually, my dad was a trader.”

  “If there’s some other kind of work you want to do, you should do it,” Yang told him. He remembered the ingenuous face of Will, the boy he had met in the spaceport.

  “But if I don’t enter the military, you’ll have to pay back all that child support …”

  “So I’ll pay it back.”

  “You’ll what?”

  “Don’t sell your legal guardian short here. I’ve got enough saved to cover that. Now, first of all, there’s no need for you to be graduating early. How about having a little fun instead?”

  The young boy’s smooth cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I couldn’t possibly leave you with such a burden.”

  “Don’t talk back to me, kid. The thing about children is this: sponging off adults is how they grow.”

  “Thank you very much, but still …”

  “But what? You want to be a soldier that badly?”

  Julian looked at Yang’s face suspiciously. “Somehow, you sound like you don’t like soldiers.”

  “I don’t.”

  Yang’s clear, concise reply bewildered the young man. “But, if that’s true, why did you become one?”

  “Very simple. I had no talent for anything else.”

  Yang finished his stew and wiped his mouth with his napkin. Julian cleared the table and used the domcom to turn on the dishwasher in the kitchen. Then he brought in the tea set and began brewing reddish tea from Shillong leaves.

  “Anyway, think it over a little more before you decide. There’s nothing at all to be in a hurry over.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do that. But, Commodore, they were saying on the news that Count von Lohengramm joined the military when he was fifteen.”

  “That’s true, apparently.”

  “They showed his face, and he was incredibly handsome. Did you know that?”

  Yang had seen the face of Count Reinhard von Lohengramm any number of times—not directly, but in holograms and such. He had even heard rumors that the man was more popular than any officer in the Alliance Armed Forces among the female officers at Rear Service HQ. It seemed likely enough. Yang had never seen a young man with as handsome a face, either.

  “But even I can’t be all that bad-looking. Isn’t that right, Julian?”

  “Would you like milk with your tea, or would you prefer brandy?”

  “Brandy.”

  That was when the security system’s lamp began to flash and make a nervous sound. Julian flipped on the monitor. Many human forms were displayed on its infrared-enhanced screen. All of them wore white hoods over their heads, with only their eyes exposed.

  “Julian.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Is there some kind of fad these days where clowns like that make home welfare visits en masse?”

  “They’re the Patriotic Knight Corps.”

  “I don’t know any circus by that name.”

  “It’s an extremist group of nationalists. They do all kinds of things to harass people who say or do things against the country or the war. They’re pretty well-known lately … But this makes no sense—why would they come barging in here? You’ve even been praised by them. There’s no reason they should criticize you, is there?”

  “How many are there?” asked Yang casually.

  Julian read out a number in the corner of the screen. “Forty-two have come onto the premises. Ah, forty-three … and now forty-four.”

  “Commodore Yang!” A loud voice blaring from a megaphone caused a wall of reinforced glass to vibrate slightly.

  “Yeah, yeah, I heard ya …” Yang mumbled, though there was no way he could have been heard outside.

  “We are the Patriotic Knight Corps—a band of people who truly love their country. We condemn you! You have displayed actions both disruptive to the unity of the military’s aims and harmful to its fighting spirit. Perhaps your military accomplishments have made you arrogant. I’m sure you know what we’re talking about.”

  Yang could nearly feel the gaze of a surprised Julian landing on his cheek.

  “Commodore Yang, you showed contempt for a sacred memorial service. When everyone in attendance answered the defense committee chairman’s passionate speech by vowing to bring down the empire, did not you, and you alone, by remaining seated assume an attitude of ridicule toward the determination of the entire nation? We condemn your arrogance! If you have anything to say for yourself, come out here and say it in front of us. I should mention that calling for security is useless. We have a way of disabling your communication system.”

  I see, Yang acknowledged. Looks like that enchanting temptress of patriotism, His Excellency Trünicht, is lurking behind these Patriotic Knights or whatever it is they’re called. Both of their speeches are thinner than cheap consommé—and remarkably similar in their exaggerations alone.

  �
�Did you really do that, Commodore?” asked Julian.

  “Er, yeah, kinda.”

  “Not again! Why do you—! Even if you’re against it in your mind, things like this wouldn’t happen if you’d just let them see you stand and clap! Strangers can only see the surface, you know.”

  “You sound like Caselnes, kid.”

  “You don’t have to bring Admiral Caselnes into this—even children have that much common sense.”

  “What’s the matter?” called the voice from outside. “Not coming out? Still have a little shame left in your heart? But even if you do repent, we can’t acknowledge your sincerity unless you say so definitively in front of us.”

  Yang clucked his tongue and was about to stand up when Julian pulled on his sleeve.

  “Commodore, no matter how angry you are, you mustn’t use any weapons.”

  “Stop jumping to conclusions like that, kid. First of all, what makes you think I don’t intend to have a talk with them?”

  “But … you don’t.”

  Yang didn’t have an answer for that.

  At that moment, the window of reinforced glass cracked with a loud noise. This wasn’t the kind of glass that could be broken by throwing rocks at it. A moment later, a metal ball the size of a person’s head came flying into the room and slammed into a display shelf on the opposite wall, where it shattered several ceramic vessels lined up on it. The ball rolled off the shelf and fell to the floor with a heavy thump.

  “Take cover! It’s still dangerous!”

  As Yang cried out and Julian leapt lightly behind the sofa with the domcom in his hand, the metal sphere blew apart into shrapnel. Discordant sounds rang out simultaneously from every corner of the room as lighting fixtures, plates, and chairs were shattered.