Dawn

Legend of the Galactic Heroes, Vol.1: Dawn
GINGA EIYU DENSETSU Vol.1
© 1982 by Yoshiki TANAKA
Cover Illustration © 2007 Yukinobu Hoshino.
All rights reserved.

Cover and interior design by Fawn Lau

HAIKASORU
Published by VIZ Media, LLC
P.O. Box 77010
San Francisco, CA 94107

www.haikasoru.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Tanaka, Yoshiki, 1952– author. | Huddleston, Daniel, translator.

Title: Legend of the galactic heroes / written by Yoshiki Tanaka ; translated
by Daniel Huddleston.

Other titles: Ginga eiyu densetsu

Description: San Francisco : Haikasoru, [2016]

Identifiers: LCCN 2015044444 | ISBN 9781421584942 (v. 1 : paperback) |
ISBN 9781421584959 (v. 2 : paperback)

Subjects: LCSH: Science fiction. | War stories. | BISAC: FICTION / Science
Fiction / Space Opera. | FICTION / Science Fiction / Military. | FICTION /
Science Fiction / Adventure.

Classification: LCC PL862.A5343 G5513 2016 | DDC 895.63 /5—dc23

LC record available at
http://lccn.loc.gov/2015044444

Printed in the U.S.A.
First printing, March 2016

Haikasoru eBook edition

ISBN: 978-1-4215-8763-9

Major Characters

Prologue:

An Outline of the History of the Galaxy

Chapter 1:

In Eternal Night

Chapter 2:

The Battle of Astarte

Chapter 3:

The Empire’s Fading Glow

Chapter 4:

The Birth of the Thirteenth Fleet

Chapter 7:

A Farce Between the Acts

Chapter 8:

Lines of Death

Chapter 9:

Amritsar

Chapter 10:

A New Prologue

About the Author

It was in AD 2801
that humanity declared the formation of the Galactic Federation and relocated the crux of its political authority from Terra (the third planet of the solar system) to Teoria (the second planet of the Aldebaran system). In this same year, humanity reset its calendar to Space Era 1 and began to expand inexorably into the inner reaches and frontiers of the galaxy. After the wars and the chaos that had been so starkly characteristic of the 2700s—which had brought development of space to a standstill—the energy that came bursting forth was all the more explosive.

Subspace jump theory, gravitational control, and inertial control technology—these were the Three Graces that made interstellar flight possible, and they were refined day by day as humankind spurred its starships toward unknown horizons and set sail upon oceans brimming with stars.

“Onward! And onward still!”

These were familiar words to the people of those days. It was plain to see that the consciousness of the human race itself had entered a period of exuberance.

And so with a resolute will and a dazzling passion, humanity grappled with every difficulty that came its way.

Even in the face of great hardships, it didn’t indulge in the consolations of pessimism; instead it overcame obstacles with good cheer. Humanity in that age was what might perhaps have been called a legion of hopeless optimists.

“A golden age! Overflowing with enterprise and renewal!”

Perhaps. But although that period may well have been described in such terms, it does not mean that its veneer was without a number of scratches. Foremost among these was the existence of interstellar pirates. These were the malformed progeny of privateers that had once been employed by Terra and Sirius when they battled for dominance in the 2700s. Among these pirates were a number of individuals who stole from the rich, gave to the poor, and sang the praises of freedom. They, and their battles with the federal navy that pursued them, provided endless fodder for 3-D solivision programs.

The facts, however, were more prosaic. The majority of these pirates were nothing more than criminal syndicates, colluding with corrupt politicians and businessmen in order to collect and consume ill-gotten gains. For the people who lived on the frontier worlds in particular, they were nothing less than a Pandora’s box of troubles. Naturally, they often haunted the shipping lanes connecting the outlying systems. Starships just put into service were destroyed, deliveries of supplies were delayed, and what goods did make it to their destinations were exorbitantly priced since the cost of protection money was being piled onto the original prices. The seriousness of this problem cannot be underestimated. As the dissatisfaction and uncertainty mounted, confidence in the federation’s ability to govern was eroded, and the result was an eroding of the people’s enthusiasm for developing the frontier.

In SE 106, the government finally put forth a serious effort to eliminate the pirates, and thanks to the efforts of admirals M. Chuffrin and C. Wood, this objective had been all but achieved two years later. It was by no means easy. As Admiral Wood, known for his sharp tongue, later wrote in his memoirs,

I had competent enemies in front of me, incompetent allies behind me, and had to fight with both of them at once. Hell, I wasn’t even entirely sure I could count on myself!

After Admiral Wood moved into the world of politics, he was known as “that insensitive, stubborn old geezer” who waged a tireless, tenacious war against corrupt politicians and businesspeople.

These societal diseases continued to flare up without interruption. However, they were—if we consider the whole of humanity as a single individual—really nothing more than the equivalent of minor skin irritations. There is no way to prevent them completely, just as it is impossible to fully eliminate abrasions to one’s skin. But as long as proper treatment is applied, there is no reason at all for such ailments to lead to a patient’s death. And so it was that without ascending the operating table, humanity continued on in mostly good health for the next two centuries.

Left behind by this prosperity and development was Terra, once the suzerain of all humanity. This planet had already been scoured for every last bit of its resources, suffering the loss of both its real and potential political and economic power. Its population had plummeted, leaving it nothing more than a used-up and useless old state relying on faded traditions—its sovereignty still recognized, just barely, thanks to its harmlessness.

The interstellar colonies that Terra had wrested from Sirius and others, the accumulated wealth it had possessed during the days when it still dominated the galaxy—all had been lost somewhere along the way.

And so at last the cancerous cells began to multiply, and the shadow of a so-called medieval stagnation fell across the face of human society.

The hearts and minds of the people came to be ruled not by hope and ambition, but by exhaustion and weariness. Activity, optimism, and initiative gave way to passivity, pessimism, and protectionism. In the fields of science and technology, new discoveries and inventions ground to a halt. The democratically elected government of the republic lost its ability to maintain self-discipline and declined into an oligarchy interested in nothing but concessions and political infighting.

Plans for the development of the frontier regions were scrapped. The potential bounty of countless habitable worlds was foresaken, along with half-constructed facilities that were left abandoned. Social lifestyles and culture steadily decayed. People lost sight of their proper values and gave themselves over to drug abuse, alcoholism, promiscuity, and mysticism. Crime rates skyrocketed, while arrest rates fell in inverse proportion. The tendency to make little of human life and to ridicule morality grew increasingly pronounced.

Of course, there were many who lamented these phenomena, who could not stand to sit idly by while humanity in its decadence marched toward the same miserable fate that had awaited the dinosaurs.

They believed that drastic treatment of humanity’s collective illness was needed, and in this they were not mistaken. But when they selected their favored form of medication, the majority opted not for the kind of long-term therapy that requires endurance and perseverance—instead, they quaffed a fast-acting elixir that came with many side effects.

This was the powerful drug called “dictatorship.”

And so the stage was set for the ascent of Rudolf von Goldenbaum.

Rudolf von Goldenbaum was born into a military family in SE 268, and just as one would expect, he entered the military service as well.

While at the Space Force’s officer school, he was the very picture of a top-ranked student. With a powerful body 196 centimeters in height and weighing in at ninety-nine kilograms, people who saw him often had the feeling that they were gazing up at a steel tower.

Von Goldenbaum’s towering form contained not a trace of fat, nor the slightest hint of vulnerability. He received his commission as an ensign at age twenty, and was attached to a guard unit patrolling the Rigel shipping lanes as its legal affairs officer. There he applied himself to the enforcement of military discipline, driving out the “four evils” of alcohol, gambling, drugs, and homosexuality. Even when these problems entangled his superior officers, he showed no mercy, pursuing them with unassailable logic and regulations brandished high. His embarrassed senior officers responded by promoting him to lieutenant junior grade, then transferring him out toward Betelgeuse.

This was a dangerous region often called the “Space Pirate’s Main Street,” but Rudolf von Goldenbaum went into it in high spirits. In time, the pirate syndicate there was driven to destruction by his ingenious and unsparing attacks, bearing witness to the shrewd ways of he who came to be called “the second coming of Admiral Wood.”

Von Goldenbaum’s enthusiasm for ferocity—even those who wished to surrender and face trial were incinerated along with their ships—was, naturally, a target of some criticism, but the voices praising his escapades were far louder.

The citizens of the Galactic Federation knew well the suffocating feeling of life as part of a generation that was going nowhere, and they joyfully welcomed this young and spirited new hero. Rudolf’s appearance came like a shining supernova to a world that had been enshrouded in thick fog.

In SE 296, Rudolf von Goldenbaum, who had made rear admiral at age twenty-eight, resigned from the military and entered the political arena, winning a seat in parliament. When he became leader of a political party called the National Reformation Alliance, he brought in many young politicians by virtue of his popularity.

By the time a few more election cycles had passed, von Goldenbaum’s power had grown by leaps and bounds, and amid a complex brew of fervent support, uncertainty, opposition, and decadent unconcern, he succeeded in building a firm political foundation.

He was elected prime minister by popular vote, and then—by exploiting vague wording in the constitutional article that banned holding multiple offices simultaneously—was also appointed head of state by parliament. It had been an unwritten rule that no individual should hold more than one office at a time. These two positions possessed only limited powers alone. But when both were united in the person of a single individual, a fearsome chemical reaction took place. Now there was essentially no one left who could stand in the way of Rudolf von Goldenbaum’s political power. As historian D. Sinclair would write a generation later:

Von Goldenbaum’s ascension was striking historical evidence that, fundamentally, people do not prefer independent thought and the accompanying responsibility, but rather orders, subordination, and the accompanying exemption from responsibility. In a popular democracy, the masses who elect unfit rulers are to blame for bad government, but that is not the case in a monarchy. Rather than reflecting upon their own mistakes, the people are free to enjoy speaking ill of leaders who are even more irresponsible than they.

Regardless of his theory’s validity or lack thereof, it is certain that the people of von Goldenbaum’s generation were on his side.

“Strong government! Powerful leaders! Order and revitalization!”

Somewhere along the way, the young, powerful leader who had cried out these slogans came to be a dictator called “Administrator for Life,” and he did not permit the existence of any criticism. By SE 310, when he attained the title of “Sacred and Inviolable Emperor of the Galactic Empire,” not a few citizens found themselves cursing their stupidity for failing to learn the lessons of history. As for those who had been consistently critical all along, no one could blame them for feeling deeply resentful. But the numbers shouting for joy had been so much greater.

Hassan el-Sayyid—one of the politicians of the republican faction of that time—wrote the following in his diary on the day of the coronation: “Here in my room, I can hear the crowds outside shouting ‘Hail, Rudolf!’ I wonder how many days they’ll need to realize that they’re cheering their own hangman.”

The publication of the diary was later suppressed by the imperial authorities. It was also on this day that the SE calendar was abolished, and the first year of the imperial calendar was begun. Here the Galactic Federation collapsed, and the Galactic Empire—and the Goldenbaum Dynasty—were born.