Stratagem Page 3

  Annerose turned unconcernedly toward the fireplace, but her attention seemed far from the writhing flames.

  “When you say everyone, are you including yourself, fräulein?”

  “Yes, I won’t deny that. More importantly, there’s an even larger sphere of people out there. I doubt the tens of billions of citizens of the Galactic Empire wish to see their sovereign fall into ruin.”

  Annerose was speechless.

  “He has repeatedly assured me your life won’t be interrupted in any way. And so, I ask that you please grant Duke von Lohengramm—no, Lord Reinhard—this one wish. After all, everything he’s willed in his life has been for your sake.”

  For a few moments, time flowed silently around them.

  “I’m most grateful for your concern, fräulein, and for being so considerate of my younger brother.”

  Annerose looked at Hilda and smiled.

  “Fräulein von Mariendorf, I leave everything to your discretion. I’ve no intention of ever leaving my mountain villa, so please do whatever you feel is best.”

  “I’m eternally grateful, Countess von Grünewald,” said Hilda, with heart.

  Maybe Annerose just didn’t want any trouble, but she’d accepted nonetheless.

  “And please, from now on, call me Annerose.”

  “I will, and please call me Hilda.”

  Hilda and her driver lodged that night in Annerose’s villa. When Hilda entered the lavish upstairs bedroom, Konrad brought her a pitcher of water.

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “By all means, go ahead.”

  “Why won’t you leave Lady Annerose be, when all she wants is to live in peace? I’m the only one she needs to protect her. Anyone else would just get in the way.”

  Hilda met the boy’s eyes—brimming as they were with anger, doubt, and a certain air of valor—with kindness. His heart, as yet untainted by self-interest, had not yet experienced the ravages of time.

  “Then let this be my promise to you as well: Lady Annerose will not be disturbed in the slightest. The guards will never step foot inside this villa, nor will they ever compromise your duties. Understand that you’re not the only one who wishes to protect Lady Annerose.”

  Konrad bowed in silence and left, leaving Hilda scratching her head of short blond hair and scanning the room’s interior. Like the downstairs salon, it was confining but had a modest charm all its own. The cushions and the tablecloth were handmade, clearly the work of this house’s mistress. Hilda opened the window, taking in a view of the night sky, which to her was so narrow that all the stars seemed to touch one another.

  See how the light of the stronger stars overpowers the weaker, thought Hilda. Such are the ways of this world and the histories of those living in it. She couldn’t help but smile bitterly at her own foolish desire for peace. At least here, in this room, warmth and comfort were givens. Heeding the call of Hypnos, Hilda yawned and closed the window.

  III

  In contrast to Hilda’s sojourn in the Freuden Mountains, Reinhard’s work was decidedly prosaic. Business-related matters were practical by nature, and when they concerned a diplomatic battle with Landesherr Adrian Rubinsky, known widely as the formidable “Black Fox of Phezzan,” and his agents, sentiment was not an option. Since Reinhard put little stock in the politico-moral standards of Phezzan’s leaders, he anticipated that their negotiations would be nothing more than an exercise in self-interest on their part. Once a military man, always a military man; once a merchant, always a merchant; once a villain, always a villain; and he’d learned to treat each accordingly. The Phezzanese, in all their craftiness, were not to be underestimated, but feared for taking down anything that stood in their way.

  Commissioner Boltec received summons from Reinhard on the afternoon of June 20. Boltec had been grumbling over the spices in his Phezzanese Wiener schnitzel and was glad when Reinhard’s message interrupted his lunch by way of the military police. The neckline of the two-piece worn by his female secretary didn’t hurt his mood, either.

  As he approached the prime minister’s office, the muscles in his face redistributed themselves into the mask of a scrupulous man. As an aspiring actor, it pained Boltec to think that his talents in this exquisite art would go unrecognized.

  “First off, I’d like you to confirm something for me,” said Reinhard, offering Boltec a chair and taking a seat in his own, his tone intimidating yet refined.

  “Of course, Your Excellency. What is it?”

  “Are you here under Landesherr Rubinsky’s full authority, or are you just his lackey?”

  Boltec regarded the elegant prime minister with humility, only to be met with keen scrutiny.

  “Well?”

  “The latter, as a matter of course, Your Excellency.”

  “A matter of course, is it? I’ve never known the Phezzanese to value form over substance.”

  “May I take that as a compliment?”

  “Take it however you like.”

  “Okay.”

  Boltec shifted in his seat. Reinhard spread the corners of his mouth into a faint smile, casually lobbing his first shot.

  “What exactly does Phezzan want?”

  Boltec strained to maintain his discreet performance, watching through wide-open eyes.

  “With all due respect, Your Excellency, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, you don’t?”

  “I don’t. Whatever it is, I’m not in any sort of position to—”

  “That’s upsetting to hear. For a first-rate play to become a first-rate drama, a first-rate actor is required. But your performance is so transparent it takes out all the fun, don’t you think?”

  “That’s a bit harsh.” Boltec smiled ashamedly, but Reinhard knew he wasn’t about to take off his mask, or his gloves, anytime soon.

  “Then let me ask it this way: what does Phezzan stand to gain by abducting the emperor?”

  Boltec was speechless.

  “Or do you think Count von Lansberg is ill-suited for the task, I wonder?”

  “I’m impressed. Was it that obvious?”

  Although it was unclear if he was speaking from his heart or from a script, Boltec looked at Reinhard with admiration all the same, knowing when he was defeated.

  “Then, naturally, Your Excellency is aware it was a Phezzanese agent who tipped you off.”

  Seeing no reason to respond to this, Reinhard focused his ice-blue eyes on the commissioner with indifference. Boltec’s blood ran cold.

  “In that case, Your Excellency, you can be assured I’ve told you everything I know.” Boltec leaned forward. “On behalf of the Phezzanese government, I humbly offer our cooperation in Your Excellency’s designs on total rule.”

  “So that’s Rubinsky’s intention?”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet your overture to this professed cooperation is to aid relics of the high nobility in abducting the emperor. Care to explain?”

  Boltec hesitated but decided to play the card he’d been saving for the right moment. He lowered his shields and spoke frankly.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking. Count Alfred von Lansberg is rescuing his emperor, Erwin Josef II, from the hands of a traitorous retainer. At least that’s what he tells himself, while to all other eyes the emperor is defecting to the Free Planets Alliance by way of Phezzan to set up a government-in-exile. Of course, it’ll all be a sham, but I know that you, Duke von Lohengramm, would never tolerate such a state of affairs.”

  “Go on.”

  “Your Excellency, do I really need to spell out how this would give you irrefutably just cause to suppress the Free Planets Alliance?” Boltec smiled. He seemed to be pandering to his listener, but such was not the case.

  The seven-year-old emperor, Erwin Josef II, was beyond Reinhard’s control; that much was tru
e. That this boy, a temporary steward of the throne Reinhard would one day usurp, had been crowned emperor there was no doubt, but his age presented a major problem. Should his usurpation come with bloodshed, accusations of infanticide would inevitably spill from this age’s cup into the next.

  The emperor card was moot so long as Reinhard was the one holding it. Dealt into the alliance’s hand, however, it could be played like a malicious joker, destroying the alliance from within.

  If, as Boltec had suggested, the emperor submitted to the alliance’s guardianship, Reinhard would have conclusive and just cause to invade the alliance. He didn’t mind being accused of the emperor’s abduction, or, for that matter, of abetting the high nobility’s reactionary plot to staunch social revolution in the empire. Either way, the circumstances were in his favor. Public opinion was guaranteed to be divided over the emperor. Even this would be to Reinhard’s superlative advantage. Not only militarily, but also politically. Phezzan’s offer, assuming it was genuine, was a most welcome favor.

  “What, then, do you recommend? Am I expected to just bow my head in deference to Phezzan’s good will?”

  “I’m detecting some cynicism,” Boltec said.

  “Then tell me, in no uncertain terms, what you would have me do. Poking each other is all fun and games until we’re perforated with holes.”

  Even Boltec, crafty as he was, couldn’t parry Reinhard’s thrust.

  “I’ll get right to the point. Duke von Lohengramm, you must take secular authority, and all the political and military hegemony that goes with it, into your hands. Phezzan has every intention of monopolizing universal economic interests, inclusive of interstellar distribution channels and transport, so long as those interests are under Your Excellency’s control. Would this suit you?”

  “It’s not a bad plan, but you’ve left out one thing. What’s to become of Phezzan’s political status?”

  “We’re hoping Your Excellency might consider self-governance under suzerainty. The sets and props stay the same—only the director changes.”

  “I’ll give it some thought. Then again, if the alliance doesn’t accept the emperor’s defection, then no matter how superlative the drama, the plot will never advance,” Reinhard said. “What’s your sense on that front?”

  Boltec responded with a self-confidence bordering on insubordination.

  “On that point, rest assured that Phezzan will take care of things. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

  If only there were a single coolheaded diplomat in the alliance, they could use the emperor as their trump card of anti-imperial diplomacy. In defiance of all humane or sentimental criticism, the emperor would be delivered straight into Reinhard’s hands. Not only did Reinhard have no reason to refuse, but a useless joker would be forced on him if he wasn’t careful. Phezzan could protect him. The absurdity of not spreading the very fire he’d started wasn’t lost on Reinhard. It was time they upped their ante.

  “Commissioner, if Phezzan wishes to make a pact with me, there’s something else you must grant me.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “It should be obvious. You must grant the Imperial Navy free passage through the Phezzan Corridor.”

  Phezzan’s commissioner failed to conceal his surprise, having never expected the future to be so resolutely decided at that instant. He looked away, faltering momentarily for all the calculations and decisions running through his synapses. An unforeseen attack had revealed a weak spot in the commissioner’s protective barrier.

  “What else did you expect? Cat got your tongue?” Reinhard’s cold, magnificent laughter rained down on Boltec.

  The commissioner barely got ahold of himself. “I-I’m not at liberty to answer right away, Your Excellency.”

  “Didn’t you say you’d aid me in my quest for hegemony? You should be more than willing to comply with my demands. Seeing as I have any number of justifications to invade, it would be futile to close off that avenue.”

  “But…”

  “You’re sweating, Commissioner. Is it possible your true intention is to mark a trail along the Iserlohn Corridor with imperial corpses, leaving Phezzan to reap the benefits while the rest of us are busy duking it out? I wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “Now you’re overthinking the matter, Your Excellency.”

  The commissioner’s feeble protest registered nowhere on Lohengramm’s radar. Reinhard’s laughter struck Boltec’s eardrum like a plucked harp string, sharper than a needle.

  “Very well, then. Phezzan has its own interests and opinions. But so do the empire and the alliance. If two of these three powers were to combine forces, it would only be in Phezzan’s best interest to be one of them, would it not?”

  With those words, Reinhard had won Boltec over. The young blond dictator held the empire and the alliance in the palm of his hand and had hinted at the possibility of annihilating Phezzan. Boltec knew, with every fiber of his being, that Reinhard would surrender his leadership to no one.

  I

  After entering the prime minister’s office in good spirits, Boltec returned to his own in poor spirits. His legs felt like they were knee-deep in mud.

  Among his subordinates, those predisposed to optimism anticipated the change of season, bracing themselves for another winter. Although one might think even the most adamant pessimists were aware of this, they couldn’t afford to boast of their foresight, and like turtles retracted their necks instead, to guage their surroundings from within their shells.

  As a leader of men, Boltec had never been one for despotism, but like any diplomat, he wore different masks inside and outside the office.

  “That golden brat has dealt us an outrageous hand,” said his secretary.

  “Which is?”

  “He threatens to join the alliance and overtake Phezzan militarily. We can’t think for a moment that Phezzan is the only one that stands to gain.”

  The commissioner didn’t need to look at the man’s face to know he was holding back his anger.

  “But how could he do such a thing? Duke von Lohengramm would never join forces with the alliance. That’s a groundless hypothesis if I’ve ever heard one.”

  The commissioner laughed at his subordinate’s logic. If such thinking was what passed for probable truth these days, not only would the present leaders of the alliance be ignorant when the curtains rose on the empire and Phezzan’s collaborative production, The Emperor’s Flight, but the possibility wouldn’t even cross their minds. Reinhard had somehow been made aware of this by the alliance. Assuming he played his cards right, his combined military forces would be enough to annihilate Phezzan, and then some. Had not that golden brat brought about a coup d’état between alliance diehards last year?

  The alliance was much in debt to Phezzan, as it continued to strengthen Phezzan’s semicolonial states. But if Phezzan were destroyed, so too would be that debt along with it. There was no guarantee the alliance’s unprincipled leaders wouldn’t let greed get the better of them.

  They might also deal a fatal blow. Boltec gnashed his teeth over the new developments brought about by his conversation with Reinhard. By the time he became aware of where and how his calculations had gone awry, his king had been driven into a corner of the chessboard, helpless and alone. To avoid unilateral defeat, he would concede to the opponent who had him in check. He sneered at the arrogance of this joint alliance.

  It wasn’t supposed to have gone this way. At all. Perhaps Phezzan had taken the initiative, more than happy to join the alliance. Using an agent to secretly inform on Count von Lansberg’s infiltration, they’d courted Reinhard’s anxiety and suspicion as a double doorway to negotiation. It seemed like a good idea, but he couldn’t take his opponent seriously. It was a childish mistake for someone who had always acknowledged the expertise of Phezzan diplomats and political strategists.

  “What’s your plan
, Commissioner?” the secretary asked, mustering a sense of duty and bravery as best he could.

  Boltec turned to his subordinate, wearing his most authoritative mask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Regarding Count von Lansberg and Captain Schumacher. Would you rather we destroy our plans, get rid of those two, and feign ignorance?”

  Boltec had no answer.

  “Far from ideal, I know, but there’s always the future.”

  The secretary ducked his head, expecting an angry rebuttal, but Boltec remained deep in thought.

  He had his own status to think about. He’d gone from landesherr’s aide to imperial commissioner—a perfectly respectable position by Phezzan’s political standards. Among the Phezzanese, obligations to duty ran weak. Petty officials were treated as nobodies lacking in mettle and were considered to have little aptitude for business. A position as high as Boltec’s warranted suitable respect, but if he failed in a major imperial diplomacy effort and betrayed the landesherr’s trust, he would be scorned as unworthy of his position and banished as a common official.

  And if he yielded to Reinhard von Lohengramm’s intimidation and opened the Phezzan corridor to the Imperial Navy? Regardless of their military preparedness, monopolization of trade routes would extinguish Phezzan’s independence and prosperity in one stroke.

  Phezzan was no totalitarian state. The trade routes were an efficient cooperative system they’d voluntarily created to shield their own freedom and profit from conflict. At least, that was how they would be remembered.

  Then there were the proud independent traders, who would never hand over their precious Phezzan Corridor to the Imperial Navy. A violent rebellion was inevitable, one that would harm Phezzan’s independence and neutrality as a trading nation. Dominion was nominally permanent, but an elder council sixty members strong would be convened in response to demands from more than 20 percent of the electorate. If a two-thirds majority approved, they could oust the landesherr from his political seat.