Ambition (35 page)

When Yang’s words trailed off, Julian, looking pensive, asked him, “Does Chairman Trünicht feel that kind of responsibility and duty?”

“Well, I don’t know about him.”

Yang didn’t feel up to talking directly about the bizarre sense of terror he had felt toward the man. That would do nothing but worry the boy even more.
I’ll just lock this away in my own thoughts for a while.

Maybe Trünicht was to society what a cancer cell could be to the body—consuming the healthy cells’ nutrition so that it alone would multiply, grow stronger and bigger, and at last kill its host. Trünicht would agitate for war one day, insist on democracy the next, and steadily increase his power and influence while never taking responsibility for anything he said. Therefore, the stronger he got, the weaker society would become, until he would finally consume it. And then those Terraists who sheltered him would …

“Admiral … ?”

Julian was staring at him with a worried look on his face. “Is something wrong?”

Reflexively, Yang gave the answer that everybody did in such situations—the answer that never helped at all: “No, it’s nothing.”

Just then, the visiphone in the next room started ringing.

Julian got up and went to get it. Yang, watching him as he went, quickly drank down his second cup of now lukewarm tea and poured brandy all the way up to the brim of his teacup.

Just as he was setting the bottle back down on the table, Julian came running back into the living room.

“Admiral, come quick! It’s Rear Admiral Murai at Joint Operational Headquarters—”

As he brought the cup to his mouth, Yang said in an obsequious tone of voice, “What are you upset about? There’s not a thing in this world worth rushing around and shouting over.” The words sounded vaguely like something a philosopher might say. When Julian fired a “but” his way as vanguard to an objection, Yang quickly assumed the look of someone deep in thought.

“Excellency, do you know Admiral Merkatz?”

“He’s a famous admiral in the Imperial Navy. Not as elegant and grand as Marquis von Lohengramm, but he’s got age and experience, and no real weaknesses. And people like him. What about Admiral Merkatz?”

“Well, that famous Imperial Navy admiral”—Julian’s voice was starting to get shrill—“has come here to defect! He wants your help defecting from the empire! There’s been a communiqué from Admiral Caselnes saying he’s just arrived at Iserlohn.”

Yang had been instantly betrayed by his own philosophy. He stood up in a rush and banged his leg hard on the leg of the table.

When Admiral Merkatz arrived at Iserlohn Fortress, he was greeted by Caselnes, who was the acting commander while Yang was away. After Merkatz was asked to hand over any weapons he was carrying, his aide von Schneider shouted with undisguised anger, “What did you say?! That’s insulting! His Excellency Admiral Merkatz is not a prisoner of war. He’s defected of his own free will. Proper decorum demands he be treated as a guest. Or does
decorum
not exist in the Free Planets Alliance?”

Caselnes acknowledged that von Schneider was correct, apologized, and while he was entertaining Merkatz’s party as guests, had an FTL shot to Yang, who was staying on Heinessen.

Yang called a meeting of his advisors. Rear Admiral Murai, who had heard the story directly from Caselnes, said it was hard to believe.

“Tell me,” Yang said to Murai, “did Admiral Merkatz have his family with him?”

“No, I asked Admiral Caselnes about that myself, and he said his family is still in the empire …”

“Did he? That’s good to hear.”

“No, sir, it isn’t. Saying his family’s in the empire is the same as saying he’s left them as hostages, as it were. Isn’t the natural thing—the obvious thing—for us to assume he’s come here for nonpeaceful reasons?”

“No, no, it isn’t. First of all, if he really wanted to fool me, he’d never say his family was still in the empire. He’d probably show up with a fake family who would also have him under surveillance. Something like that.”

Yang turned to look at one of his staff officers. “Mr. Bagdash, that’s what intelligence would do if we were up to something, isn’t it?”

“Well, that or something similar,” said the man who had failed to kill Yang, had switched sides, and somewhere along the way had ended up as Yang’s subordinate. “Admiral Merkatz is a dyed-in-the-wool warrior. He has nothing to do with spying or sabotage. I think we can trust him—”

“Way more than we can you!”

Bagdash frowned. “That’s going beyond just a joke, Commodore von Schönkopf.”

“Who says I’m joking?” von Schönkopf said indifferently.

Bagdash scowled.

After taking in the opposing viewpoints, Yang made his decision. “I’m going to trust Admiral Merkatz. And to the degree that I’m able, I’m going to protect his rights. If an experienced and decorated admiral of the empire wants me to take care of him, I can’t very well disappoint.”

“You’re determined to go through with this?” asked Murai, looking rather displeased.

“I’m weak against flattery.”

So saying, Yang had a direct FTL channel opened between Heinessen and Iserlohn.

After he was done talking to Caselnes, a sturdy-looking man in late middle age appeared on the viewscreen. Yang stood up and gave him a polite salute. “Admiral Merkatz, I presume. My name is Yang Wen-li. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

Merkatz squinted as he stared at a dark-haired young man who didn’t look at all like a creature of the military. If he’d had a son, would he have been right about that age?

Merkatz spoke: “This survivor of defeat is under your power, Excellency. I leave everything related to my disposition in your hands. I only ask that you show leniency with my subordinates.”

“You have some good ones, it seems.”

Catching Yang’s glance, von Schneider sat up straight in the corner of the screen.

“In any case, I hereby agree to look after you. You’ve nothing to fear.”

Something about Yang’s way of speaking made Merkatz want to trust him. The defecting admiral realized that his aide’s advice had been right on the money.

At the same time that Yang was meeting Merkatz for the first time, several politicians were meeting at Trünicht’s residence on Heinessen: Negroponte, Capran, Bonet, Doumeck, and Islands—all of them leaders in Trünicht’s faction.

The discussion that day had to do with an enemy that was threatening them. By “enemy,” they didn’t mean the Galactic Empire or the domestic forces of militarism; they referred instead to a young man by the name of Yang Wen-li.

Once upon a time, the objective of these young politicians had been to acquire political power with Trünicht as their leader. Nowadays, however, the goal had shifted to maintaining their hard-won political power. In order to do so, there was, of course, a need to eliminate others who might possibly take that power away from them. Up until now, they had been on guard against Jessica Edwards, the face of the antiwar movement, but she had been brutally murdered by the coup d’état faction at the stadium. Their enemy had done them the favor of killing their enemy.

Their boss set a glass of whiskey mixed with water on the table and said, “Being as it was an internecine conflict this time, we can give Admiral Yang a medal and be done with it. The next time he has a military success, though, we’ll have no choice but to promote him again.”

“A marshal, when he’s just turned thirty?” Capran’s lips twisted into a smirk.

“After which he retires from active duty and goes into politics. A famous, undefeated admiral, young, and on top of that, single. There’s no doubt he’d be elected by a wide margin.”

“He’d be elected, but the problem after that would be his political acumen. After all, a great general on the battlefield doesn’t necessarily translate to a thoroughbred in the political sphere.”

“Still, people will gather around him, attracted by his fame. People with no ideals, just a hunger for power. Once that happens, he’ll be a force to be reckoned with. In terms of quantity of support, if not quality.”

Their boss was by no means telling them this as a result of having reflected seriously on this group’s own governance. Those who listened didn’t find that in any way odd, either. To them, justice was that which protected their privilege, and that kind of thinking was the common point of departure for all of their ideas.

“You know what he said to all his officers and soldiers just before the Battle of Doria? That the survival of the state was insignificant compared to freedom and individual rights. I think that was inexcusable.”

“It’s a dangerous idea,” Doumeck agreed, leaning forward. “Follow that to its logical conclusion, and it means that as long as freedoms and individual rights are protected, he would be fine with the alliance crumbling and being replaced by the empire. I can’t help feeling a niggling little doubt about his loyalty to the fatherland.”

“And that is material we should make a point of remembering. As things unfold, more is bound to come out.”

Yang, who had heard this kind of conversation before, had no intention of becoming a politician himself; if he did retire from active duty, he’d live off his pension while becoming an amateur historian. But even if he were to tell them that clearly, he would not be believed; all they would do was smile at him sardonically. Since they used themselves as the standard, they didn’t believe there was any such thing as a person who didn’t crave power.

Trünicht himself spoke for the first time. “The alliance needs Admiral Yang’s abilities. After all, we do have another enemy—the Galactic Empire. Still, it does a man good to fail at something every once in a while, as long as it’s not something critical.” Both corners of Trünicht’s mouth turned upward, forming a masklike smile in the shape of a crescent moon. “Still, there’s no need to panic either way. Don’t let it get to you. Let’s just wait a bit and watch how things unfold.”

All of those present nodded, and the topic shifted to a pair of female singers who had lately divided the support of Heinessen’s music lovers.

As for Trünicht, he was thinking about Yang Wen-li, and the group’s chatter went in one ear and out the other. Once, when he had been giving a speech, that young man had been the only one in the crowd to keep his seat when it was time for the audience to stand. Even when he had shaken his hand at the victory ceremony, he had not opened up. In his talents, in his psychological makeup, in all kinds of ways, he was a man of hidden dangers. There was no need to panic, but eventually a decision would have to be made: make him fall in line or eliminate him? If it were up to Trünicht, he would choose the former. That way would provide him with a powerful ally—equal even to the Terraists who had helped him when he needed to lie low. Not like these lapdogs in front of him now …

In order to make that happen, he would have to use a small but … generous strategy.

Imperial year 488, October.

Reinhard von Lohengramm was made a duke in the aristocracy, whereupon he assumed the seat of imperial prime minister. The title he had won already of supreme commander of the Imperial Navy remained in his hands, unchanged. Thus did the golden-haired youth monopolize the two great powers of the civil government and the military.

It was here that the Lohengramm system of autocracy came to fruition. The six-year-old emperor, Erwin Josef II, was the marionette of a chief vassal who was holding the strings of real power—a state unchanged since the year prior. The only thing different was that the number of strings had been reduced from two to one.

Gerlach, who had served as vice prime minister under Lichtenlade, managed to save the lives of himself and his family by voluntarily surrendering his position and accepting house arrest. Those who had supported Duke Reinhard von Lohengramm also received new positions.

Von Reuentahl, Mittermeier, and von Oberstein were all promoted to senior admiral, while Kempf, Wittenfeld, Wahlen, Lutz, Mecklinger, Müller, Kessler, and Fahrenheit, who had surrendered, were made full admirals.

Bestowed upon the late Siegfried Kircheis was the rank of imperial marshal, which was added to the titles he had held over the course of his life: minister of Military Affairs, director of Command Headquarters, commander in chief of the Imperial Space Armada. Furthermore, he was given two other titles: acting supreme commander of the Imperial Military, and special advisor to the imperial prime minister. No matter how many worldly honors he might bestow upon him, Reinhard felt it impossible to reward his redheaded friend in full. However, the epitaph he chose for Kircheis’s grave was simplicity itself:

my friend

That was all.

Annerose moved to the mountain villa in Freuden where she and the boys had spent her vacation.

Yang Wen-li, on the other hand, remained an admiral. If the enemy he had defeated had been the Galactic Empire, and if other active-duty marshals had been in the service, Yang would surely have been given the rank of marshal himself. However, the director of Joint Operational Headquarters and the commander in chief of the space armada were both admirals, so it wouldn’t do to give a higher rank to a leader of combat forces who had to answer to them both—that was how the government explained it. To Yang, it didn’t matter at all.