Ambition Page 7

  “Surely not …”

  “Privilege is the worst of poisons. It rots the soul. The highborn have been steeped in it for dozens of generations. It’s become second nature for them to justify themselves and shift blame to someone else. I speak like this now, but I was born an aristocrat myself—at the bottom of the hierarchy, mind you—and I didn’t realize any of that until I started working with low-ranking soldiers in the navy. I just hope these nobles can come to understand before they find Marquis von Lohengramm’s sword hanging in the air above their heads.”

  After sending away the faithful young officer with the dull blond hair, Merkatz turned to his desk and, with clumsy motions, set to work at his word processor. He was writing a letter to his family.

  It was a letter of farewell.

  VII

  There were those among Duke von Braunschweig’s subordinates who sought to avert the clash between the pro- and anti-Reinhard factions. This was not because they held to a position of absolute pacifism but because they saw no hope of victory if they did fight with Reinhard.

  Commodore Arthur von Streit was the most prominent of these. He sought a meeting with Duke von Braunschweig and, accepting on himself a temporary notoriety, argued that Reinhard should be assassinated in order to avoid war.

  The duke swatted aside the proposal with a single word.

  “Ridiculous.”

  “But, Excellency …”

  “I’ve assembled an army of several million, and I intend to face that golden brat head-on and crush him. That’s what will show Marquis von Littenheim—and the whole of the empire—my justice and my abilities. Will you assassinate that? Do you wish to drag my honor through the mud so badly?”

  “Excellency, it pains me to say this, but Marquis von Lohengramm is a tactical genius. Even if we fight and win, the casualties will be astronomical, the flames of war will engulf the whole empire, and harm will come as well to the people. Please, I beg you to reconsider.”

  Von Streit’s earnest plea was rewarded with angry shouts. “ ‘Even if we win?’ What’s that supposed to mean! I’ve no need of men who lack faith in our certain victory—if your life means that much to you, go hunker down on some frontier world and grow vegetables or something!”

  After von Streit retreated in dismay, a captain by the name of Anton Ferner offered his opinion to Duke von Braunschweig. His argument as well was for a small-scale campaign of terrorism, and he held forth passionately as he tried to convince his lord.

  “There’s no need for a force of millions. Just lend me three hundred soldiers trained in covert operations, and you’ll be able to watch it yourself when Marquis von Lohengramm breathes his last.”

  “Silence. Do you also mean to tell me I can’t beat that golden brat?”

  “Excellency, what I want to say is that if this turns into a major war that splits the empire in half, the catastrophe will simply be too great, and the victor will without a doubt come out hurting as well. Marquis von Lohengramm aims to build anew in the wake of the destruction, so he is willing. But, Excellency, in your position, you have an obligation to preserve the system. For you, it isn’t enough to merely win.”

  “Do not speak to me with such insolence!”

  Showered with many angry roars, Ferner withdrew from before von Braunschweig, but that didn’t mean he had abandoned his beliefs. He despised his master’s obstinacy and roundabout ways, but like von Streit, he didn’t simply hunker down and leave it at that.

  “With things the way they are, I’ll just have to do it myself. Even if I can’t kill Marquis von Lohengramm, there’s still the option of taking his sister, the Countess von Grünewald, hostage.”

  He gathered firearms and a group of three hundred soldiers consisting mainly of his immediate subordinates, and then one night, unbeknownst to his master, he attempted to stage an assault on Reinhard’s residence.

  It ended in failure, however. The Schwarzen estate where Reinhard and Annerose lived was already under the careful guard of five thousand armed troops led by Kircheis himself. There was no opening for a surprise attack whatsoever.

  “I should’ve expected as much of Marquis von Lohengramm and that right-hand man of his. Guess they’re not the sort who’d fall for cheap tricks from the likes of me.”

  Having given up on the idea, Ferner disbanded his team on the spot and went into hiding himself. It was certain he had incurred the wrath of Duke von Braunschweig, having mobilized troops without permission.

  Duke von Braunschweig, upon learning what had transpired directly from the mouths of soldiers returning empty-handed, was indeed furious and had his men search for the meddling subordinate’s whereabouts in order to punish him.

  He was nowhere to be found, however.

  “Humph. Ah, well, wherever he is, there’s no place of refuge in all the universe for him now. In the end, he’ll die in a gutter somewhere. Shall we just leave him be?”

  Things were moving forward quickly in the present, and getting off of Odin and back to his own domain took precedence over searching for the likes of Ferner. The evacuation plan was drawn up by a commodore named Ansbach. Word was spread around that Duke von Braunschweig would invite the emperor to a garden party at his villa. Invitations were even sent out, but on the night before it was to be held, the duke himself secretly escaped with only his family and a small number of subordinates.

  When Reinhard learned of this, he knew right away that the time had come to put his own long-gestating plan into action.

  On Reinhard’s orders, Wittenfeld, leading eight thousand armed troops, occupied all buildings belonging to the Ministry of Military Affairs, and with the arrest of Imperial Marshal Ehrenberg he took control of its ability to dispatch formal orders to the empire’s entire military.

  As for the anti-Reinhard faction, the greater part of their number had already departed from the capital of Odin, leaving almost no one to resist Wittenfeld aside from a sole captain who stood blocking his way before the door to the minister’s office. The captain suffered serious injury when Wittenfeld drew his personal sidearm and shot him.

  The white-haired marshal with his old-fashioned monocle showed no sign of distress even when he saw Wittenfeld stride in through his door. He assumed an attitude that was unperturbed to the point of arrogance.

  “And just who gave you permission, you greenhorn upstart, to come barging into my office? I don’t know what you want, but it’s plain to see you know nothing of proper decorum.”

  Flashing a cold smile with his eyes, Wittenfeld holstered his gun and saluted with mock respect.

  “Pardon my rudeness. What I want, Your Excellency, is for all people to recognize that the times are changing.”

  Between the two of them was an age difference of half a century. The old man belonged to a camp that bore its traditions on its back; the young man to one that was trying to upend those traditions.

  After the two men glared at one another for a long moment, the old marshal’s shoulders slumped.

  Next, Imperial Military Command Headquarters was occupied by force, and Marshal Steinhof, the secretary-general, was also arrested.

  By this time, outside Planet Odin’s atmosphere, satellite orbit was under the complete control of Kircheis’s fleet, and the Kempf and von Reuentahl fleets were positioned beyond him in outer space, on full alert.

  There were some among the nobles who, upon learning that Odin had been taken over by the Reinhard faction, made attempts to flee, but those who came charging into the spaceports were arrested by security guards under the command of Mittermeier. Even those who took off in private spacecraft found it impossible to slip through Kircheis’s surveillance network. Kircheis dealt courteously with these captured nobles, though that hardly lessened their sense of defeat.

  The several who ran to Count Franz von Mariendorf’s estate asking for protection and mediation with Reinhar
d were among the cleverest of the lot. These were received by Hilda, who won their trust with her lucid and confident tones. Taking care not to sound too pushy, she steadily and surely succeeded in putting them in her debt.

  Among those who had failed to evacuate was Commodore von Streit. He had been left behind when his lord and master had secretly departed Odin. The men and women of House Braunschweig had not abandoned him intentionally; from their standpoint, they had merely forgotten him.

  Von Streit, placed under arrest and bound with electromagnetic handcuffs, was dragged before Reinhard and interrogated.

  “There is a rumor that you advised Duke von Braunschweig to have me assassinated. Is it true?”

  “It’s true.” Perhaps he had resigned himself to his fate; Streit didn’t feel a trace of shame.

  “Why did you suggest such a thing?”

  “Because it was obvious that if we left you alone, things would end up the way they are today. If my lord had only been more decisive, it wouldn’t be me wearing these handcuffs—it would be you. It’s truly a shame that he wasn’t, not only for Duke von Braunschweig’s House, but for the Goldenbaum Dynasty as well.”

  Reinhard did not become angry. Rather, he looked like he was admiring the man’s bravery as he regarded him, and at last he ordered a guard to remove his handcuffs.

  As von Streit rubbed his aching wrists, he couldn’t help feeling surprised.

  “I’d hate to kill a man like you,” said Reinhard. “I’m going to give you a travel pass, so you can go to Duke von Braunschweig and fulfill your oath of loyalty.”

  This generous proposal was not greeted with unconditional gratitude.

  “If I may prevail on you to hear a selfish request, I would like your leave to remain here on Odin.”

  “Oh? Then you won’t return to your master?”

  “Yes, milord. My reason is this …”

  There was a shade of bitterness in von Streit’s voice. Even if he safely departed Odin and ran straight to Duke von Braunschweig, his master would not rejoice at his coming. Rather, he would suspect him and doubtless conclude that it was due to some secret bargain struck with Reinhard that he had been permitted to leave. Depending on how things went, there was even the possibility of his being imprisoned or executed. As when he was fleeing Odin, Duke von Braunschweig left many subordinates and vassals behind and tended to have little regard for his followers’ sense of loyalty.

  “That’s the sort of man he is. He’s certainly not a stupid person, but …”

  The commodore trailed off with a sigh.

  “I see. In that case, why not come work for me? I’ll make you a rear admiral.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t feel like making an enemy tomorrow of the lord I’ve served till today. Please forgive me.”

  Reinhard nodded, gave von Streit an ID card, and set him free.

  Captain Ferner had also been among those late in taking flight. Hiding out in the downtown area, he had managed to avoid arrest, but that had had no effect on the dilemma he was in. After careful consideration, he decided to turn himself in to the military police voluntarily, meet with Reinhard directly, and in so doing, carve out a way forward for himself.

  Ferner, a man far more practical than von Streit, told Reinhard, “I’ve given up on my lord, Duke von Braunschweig, so how about taking me on as your subordinate?” Nor did he try to hide the fact of his troop mobilization and what he had been planning.

  “In that case, answer me this: on what grounds has your sense of loyalty allowed you to abandon your lord of so many years?”

  “A loyal heart is something you only render to someone who can comprehend its worth. To devote oneself to a master who can’t recognize his servants’ qualities would be like throwing a jewel into the mud. Wouldn’t you agree that that would be a loss for society?”

  “Brazen fellow, aren’t you?”

  Reinhard shook his head in disbelief, but acknowledging that there was nothing sinister in Ferner’s words and deeds, he took him on as a staff officer. If the man had this much nerve, it was unlikely to atrophy even under von Oberstein, whose cool head people likened to ice.

  Von Oberstein wasn’t the type to intentionally bully his subordinates, but his demeanor was too severe and too calm, so there was a feeling among his young staff officers that they couldn’t even make a careless joke.

  When Ferner joined their ranks, he was at first the object of cold stares, but he rapidly established his footing. He knew very well his own position and role. He was there to work as antivenom. And should the need and will be there, he was also a man who could become a powerful, fast-acting antidote to the problem of von Oberstein.

  Reinhard added to his duties as commander in chief of the Imperial Space Armada those of minister of military affairs and commander in chief of Imperial Military Command Headquarters, thus attaining complete dictatorial powers, at least insofar as the military was concerned.

  Emperor Erwin Josef II gave Reinhard the title of Supreme Commander of the Imperial Military. Naturally, this was not the idea of the six-year-old child but that of the one receiving the title.

  At the same time, an imperial edict was handed down to Reinhard. It read, “Bring into subjection Duke von Braunschweig and his cohorts, who, having joined in private confederacy to plot rebellion against the emperor, have become traitors to the nation.”

  It was April 6. Reports had already reached Reinhard regarding the unusual series of happenings that were breaking out one by one within the Free Planets Alliance.

  All the pieces were in place. Reinhard and Kircheis shook hands on the occasion of their temporary separation. Kircheis was leading one-third of the whole military as a separate force.

  “Very soon, Kircheis. Very soon the universe will be ours.”

  Reinhard’s expression was one of utter fearlessness. How precious had Kircheis esteemed that look, those eyes, since his days of boyhood!

  The first blow against the Free Planets Alliance was struck on March 30. Not many days had passed since Yang Wen-li had departed the capital of Heinessen.

  As such, there had been little time for Admiral Bucock, commander in chief of the space armada, to make much progress in his investigation of a possible coup d’état scheme. There was also the fact that the command of vast fleets had always been where the old admiral’s heart was; he had never enjoyed the sort of work that military police do. Nevertheless, he had by this point already handpicked a team of investigators and had personally taken the first step in turning up the military’s dark underside.

  What Yang had unveiled before Bucock had been a work of art in logical thinking, but that didn’t mean it came with clear-cut physical evidence. It was because Yang himself had been very much aware of this that he had taken his concerns to Bucock and no one else.

  “I’m the only one that young man trusts to not get involved in that kind of foolishness. Which for me means I’ve got to make sure his confidence is rewarded.”

  The old admiral had lost his son in battle during the course of the long war and, having no grandchildren, lived only with his wife. The flavor of the simple food-stall fare he had shared with Yang and Julian was a fond memory for him—not that he would have ever admitted that to anyone.

  March was almost over.

  It was Admiral Cubresly who met with the unexpected misfortune.

  Cubresly, director of the Free Planets Alliance Military Joint Operational Headquarters, had assumed that seat at the end of last year. The position had been held by Marshal Sitolet for the five years prior; however, he had resigned from the post last year in acceptance of blame for the alliance’s historic defeat in the Amritsar Stellar Region.

  Sitolet himself had been against that reckless invasion, but as the number one officer in uniform, liability had been inescapable. He was presently away from Heinessen, running an orchard on his h
omeworld of Cassina.

  On the day that it happened, Director Cubresly, having completed an inspection tour of military facilities in the star district nearest Heinessen, had just returned from the military spaceport to Joint Operational Headquarters. He arrived flanked by his top aide and five guards.

  When they entered the lobby, a figure rose from a seat in the visitors’ waiting area and approached them with slightly unbalanced steps. The guards stiffened, but then a smile—or really just the shape of one—rose up on the bloodless face of the man, not yet thirty, and he called out to the director.

  “Admiral Cubresly, it’s me, sir—Andrew Fork.”

  After a moment’s pause, recognition dawned on Cubresly’s face. “Oh, I thought you were still in rehab,” he said.

  Commodore Fork, the man directly responsible for the reckless planning of the Battle of Amritsar, had suffered an attack of conversion hysteria just before the battle, had temporarily lost his sight, and after the defeat had been ordered off to reserve duty and mandatory hospitalization. It had been a hard setback for the young elite who had graduated at the top of his class from Officers’ Academy.

  “I’ve been released from the hospital already. And I’ve come before Your Excellency today to request my return to active-duty service.”

  “Active duty?” Cubresly tilted his head slightly in surprise. Ordinarily, it would have been a breach of decorum to stop the director in the lobby and attempt to speak with him on the spot, but Cubresly did know Fork personally and, not being the sort to take an arrogant attitude toward a subordinate, he decided on the spot to hear Fork out.

  “Well, what does your doctor have to say?”

  “That I’ve made a full recovery, of course. No objections to my returning to active duty.”

  “Is that so? In that case, you need to go through the formal procedure. Get a medical certificate and statement of guarantee from your doctor, and turn those in to the Defense Committee’s HR division along with your Request for Return to Active Duty form. Then, if it’s formally accepted, your request will be granted.”