Another page of history is being written...

Chapter Seven

Aftermath to Victory

When Yang Wen-li returned to Heinessen, it was under the hurrahs of a grateful populace. Here, for the first time in far too many years, was a complete victory for the Alliance. For once, the Empire had been completely outwitted, routed, sent packing.

Yang was promoted. He was celebrated. And already people were planning for more.


May 30, Universal Calendar 796

Heinessenpolis, Council Arch

In the hierarchy of the Free Planets Alliance Government, the position of Chief Secretary of Defense was considered the second-highest position, even slightly above that of Chief Secretary of Finance. It hadn't always been the case. Before the war, it had been considered a middling position, mainly due to the fact that there had been no war to wage.

One hundred and fifty years had changed all of that, and now the position firmly stood first in the order of succession should anything happen to the High Council Chairman. The office of the Chief Secretary was a reflection of the power it had over the Alliance's military might.

It was a beige and blue-coloured room within the Twin Peaks, the main High Council building, so named because it looked like a mountain sundered in two, the main high way leading from outside the city up to the gigantic Heinessen Statue, depicting the first Exile leader and spiritual founder of the Alliance.

One entire side of the room was a window which offered a breathtaking view of Heinessenpolis and its main thoroughfare. Right next to that window was a long table of fine magohany wood surrounded by eight sturdy yet comfortable chairs. On the other side of the was the great desk of the Chief Secretary, a polished elm desk over seventy years old. While deep couches for guests and impromptu meetings were in front of the desk and a small bar was on the side, the wall on its back was largely taken by two large pictures.

The one on the left was that of Cornell Youngblood, the Twenty-First Chief Secretary who had been appointed to the post barely a year before the Battle of Dagon. He had thus been the first ' Chief Secretary of War', and had stayed at the post for a decade before being elected to the position of Chairman. To the right of Youngblood's picture was that of Job Truhnicht, the Fourty-Third and current office holder.

It had been a calculated move on the part of Trunicht's to hold this session in his office. It put him on his home ground and reminded the military men on one side of the table who exactly was in charge. It might have been heavy-handed, but the secretary had found that sometimes such things were very necessary.

Trunicht, of course, presided at one end of the table. On his right were four of the highest-ranking officers in the Alliance military, all in uniform: Joint Forces Commander Sitolet, Space Fleet Commander Lobos, Headquarters Chief of StafF Greenhill and Fleet Chief of Staff Onyango. On his left were Deputy Secretary Lepassant, Fleet Secretary Nardiello and Fleet Inspector-General Negroponty. Despite this being an informal meeting, it was a tense one. Nardiello was speaking at the moment. All of these in the best tailored suits. An amusing clash of styles to Trunicht's eyes.

"I think it would be a good idea to have a parade in admiral Yang's honor," she said empathically, "He was already a hero after El Facil, then Astarte. Now the Alliance public has nearly enshrined him as a near-messiah. We'll be questioned if we don't hold such a celebration."

"We should, however, be careful not to bring things out of proportions." Negroponty stated in an overly cautious tone. At that, Greenhill's serious face animated slightly.

"With respect," the admiral replied in a soft but serious tone, "The proportions here are enormous. Iserlohn taken with no fatality among Alliance personnel is a feat unheard of."

"There was a large amount of luck in that victory as well." The inspector-general retorted at once, slightly cringing as Greenhill turned his gaze towards him.

That much is quite true, Trunicht thought bitterly. What should have removed that man from the equation only made him more dangerous. Outwardly, however, he remained calm and pensive, letting the others brandish the arguments.

"Lucky or not," Nardiello said, frowning, "It doesn't change what happened. Morale-wise, we can't be seen to be unappreciative by the public." At that, Lepassant and a more reluctant Negroponty nodded.

"On the subject of giving Yang his dues, I would like to propose that, aside from his promotion to vice-admiral and the one-rank promotion to his command staff, we could enlarge the Thirteenth Fleet to the size of a full fleet." Greenhill motioned.

Lobos, a grey haired man who was utterly too fat in comparison to his military colleagues, crossed his arms. "Our losses have been too severe for that. We have to keep reserves in case of something happening, and what new ships we still have should go to restore the Eleventh Fleet. We can't afford to send more new ships Yang's way."

You don't like Yang much, either, eh Lobos? The fat officer had always been once who thought about his own position before that of the Fleet, something Trunicht completely sympathized with and could use to manipulate the man when it suited him. Yang's rise was ruffling many feathers in the military as well, it seemed.

But Greenhill wasn't ready to surrender his point just yet. "Yes, sir, that's true. But we have another option."

Admiral Onyango snapped his fingers suddenly. "Of course, the Second Fleet!"

Greenhill nodded.

"But isn't the Second Fleet under vice admiral Paeta's command?" Lepassant questioned. "Are you saying we should ignore his seniority on this?"

"No, that's not quite it." Nardiello mused. Seeing questioning looks from her colleagues, she continued, "Admiral Greenhill seems to be in possession of the facts better than I am, but I remember that the status of the Second Fleet hasn't been quite decided yet. Isn't that true, admiral?"

"Yes, madam Secretary."

"Would you care to enlighten us, then, admiral?" Trunicht spoke up, his voice friendly. This Greenhill could also be a problem, it seemed. With a neutral look at the Chief Secretary, the Headquarters Chief of Staff began explaining.

"Admiral Paeta's wounds were mostly internal, but they were grave. He's out of danger now and recovering, but the healing process will take at least six more months, perhaps more. Because of that, Paeta relinquished command of the Second Fleet and his right now awaiting reassignment."

"Which won't be forthcoming until he's recovered." Sitolet rumbled. He, like Trunicht, had said little during the meeting. Trunicht knew the older officer was unhappy, but keeping it in check under a carefully crafted mask of impassivity. Who does he think he's fooling? I've had much more practice at this. You're pissed, Sitolet, and we both know why. Not that I give a damn.

"So?" Negroponty prompted, his mustached face questioning.

"Circumstances have left the Second Fleet without a posting, although a few ships have been sent to other formations." Greenhill continued, droning on as if he were a patient teacher who dearly wished his lesson to take hold. Trunicht vaguely remembered that the man had actual taught at the Academy for a few years. "Right now, it's not in the Active Roster or the Reserve Roster. It stands in Limbo, metaphorically speaking."

This disconcerted Lepassant considerably. "Thousands of our ships have been spending months without any affectation?" he growled, eyes flashing, "When they should have been used to help defend the nation? Absurd! How did this happen?"

Greenhill weathered that with a neutral expression much better than Sitolet's, he folded his hands together. "Originally, the plan was to take the ships from the Second, Fourth and Sixth Fleets, along with a small flotilla from the shipyards, reform the Second Fleet, and give its command to a new officer. However, there was a... rushed… timetable for the new operation against Iserlohn, and the transfer orders for the ships of the Second Fleet were never completed."

At the slight hesitation at the word rushed, Sitolet and Trunicht exchanged a short look, the former disapproving, the latter unapologetic.

You don't run the Fleet, Sitolet. You tend to forget that at times. I never do.

"So, now you wish to complete these orders." Nardiello mused.

"Yes madam Secretary. With the Department of Defense's approval, we would like to officially transfer the remaining ships and personnel of the Second Fleet to the Thirteenth under vice admiral Yang's command."

An awkward silence welcomed the last sentence. The assembled politicians couldn't quite say no, and yet were hesitant to just accept the decision.

Trunicht knew why. They think Yang is rising too fast. Not that anybody in their right mind can blame them.

Then Nadiello, unsurprisingly, seemed to be shaking off those doubts. It was at that moment that the Chief Secretary's honed charms came into play.

"This is a good idea. We need to strengthen our active forces. Ten full fleets should be helpful in ensuring national defense and possible future operations into Imperial space." He said pleasantly.

"Operations into Imperial Space?" Nardiello queried, clearly not thrilled. Her point of view clearly was shared by the military officers at the table, although Sitolet looked the most openly adverse to the idea.

"It won't be at my initiative, of course," Trunicht defended himself, "But if the government and the people ask for action, then action we will have to provide. "We can't show weakness at this point. And sometimes, lady and gentlemen, the old adage 'A good defense is a strong offense' rings true. We must do our best to protect this nation."

Lepassant nodded, his eyes alight with patriotic fervor, while Negroponty nodded because… because he would agree with anything Trunicht said. Both were pawns, the former simply more subtly, that was all. Only in Nardiello's eyes was there disagreement.

Plodding, straightforward Fabiola Nardiello. He was surprised she had lasted this long and risen this high in politics. But if she intended to be a problem, well, he couldn't have that. In the future, he'd have to make certain that she understood when and where she should make her stand.

And if that doesn't work… nobody is completely clean. Everyone has a button to push. I'll find something about her and make her dance to my tune. Willingly if possible, unwillingly if necessary.

A button to push. That was one of the reasons he had wanted Yang removed. The man not only had dared stand up to him, he had pushed Trunicht's button by calling the media to his house. That had been a completely unacceptable gesture from the little military man.

And so, he had tweaked things enough so that Yang had been both promoted for his efforts, and sent on a mission he should have failed at the very best.

It had been what Trunicht had once used against Sitolet. After the failure of the Fifth Battle of Iserlohn, he had greatly reduced the Joint Forces Commander's ability to act independently. Sitolet had somehow survived, but only as long as he did exactly what the Department of Defense told him to do.

But Yang had not only survived, he had won. And by that, he had thrived. He was now popular enough that people were starting to call him 'The Magician' and 'Miracle Yang'. He couldn't assault someone with that level of popularity.

For now, at least. If Trunicht had learned one thing over the years, it was that heroes eventually fell. He'd take care of the new military superstar in time.

For now, however, the man's fame could still be of use.

It was, however, time to bring things to a close.

"We'll hold a ticket parade for the commanders of the Thirteenth Fleet," he decided, "We can't appear as if we don't appreciate what they've done, because we do appreciate it. As for the transfer of the remaining Second Fleet ships, folding them into the Thirteenth's command… I guess it's our best solution. Let's get it done, people."

The meeting ended shortly after that. After paying their respects, Lobos, Greenhill and Onyango left quickly, as did Lepassant, Nardiello and Negroponty. Only Sitolet lingered, standing rigid and at attention. Nonchalantly, Trunicht looked at him.

"Yes, admiral, was there something else?"

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Of course."

"This mission should never have happened. Admiral Yang should never have been sent against Iserlohn Fortress with less than seven thousand ships." Sitolet said grimly.

"You gave the go-ahead for the secret mission, admiral. I trust I don't have to remind you that you made the appointments?"

"No, sir, I don't. But since the order came directly from the Department of Defense, I had no choice but to obey. I'm not trying to shift blame. I was part of the decision, and any deaths there would have been would have rested on me for giving the order, not on admiral Yang."

"Then what is the problem?"

Sitolet stiffened even more if that was possible. "I know there are… factions… who would prefer Yang to be removed for reasons that aren't the best for our national defense. Such actions are dangerous, sir."

"Accusations, admiral?"

"No, sir. Merely the fact that I will not allow harm to come to vice admiral Yang at this juncture. Things have changed, the stalemate has shifted. But I know we'll need him in the days ahead."

"Well, that's very commendable of you, admiral." Trunicht answered smoothly. And I get your underlying message, Sitolet. Not that your little threats matter much. "I hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting with the Chairman. If that is all?"

"Yes, sir, it is." He answered, saluting and leaving the room. Trunicht wondered which of them was more glad to be rid of the other's presence.

Ah, we live in interesting days not that it matters. Yang is a threat. One day I'll take care of him.

Heroes, after all, become all the more magnificient, not to mention useful after they vanish.


June 3, Universal Calendar 796

Heinessenpolis Suburbs, 24 Silverbridge Street

Frederica knocked on the door of admiral Yang's house. She noticed that the front window had been renovated recently, as parts of the grounds gave signs of a recent restoration. She supposed those were the tell-tale signs of Yang's run-in with the infamous Patriotic Knights Corp.

The door opened, and she wasn't surprised that it wasn't Yang. Ever since the return to Heinessen, she had become acutely aware that the person most in charge of the house wasn't the man who had taken Iserlohn Fortress, but the blonde-haired ward of that same man.

"Hello, lieutenant!" the teenager said brightly. He was already dressed in a blue, two-piece suit which fit him well.

"Hello, Julian." She smiled, "We've come to get you and the admiral. Is he ready?"

He gave a wry smile at that. "You don't quite know him yet if you're asking that question."

"So, not ready."

"Really not ready. Admiral Yang is still in the bathroom." The young man explained.

One thing that she had come to learn as well was that Yang, outside of his active battlefield duties, loved nothing but to procrastinate. The more official the duty, the more time he tended to waste. There was a rumour that he had barely made it to his own fleet's inauguration ceremony. At the time, she hadn't believed it. Now, of course, she wondered how she hadn't.

However, this time, she couldn't let Yang set his own pace. She had brigadier general Schenkopp waiting in the car, and was supposed to get her commanding officer as well. And she intended to do it. It should have grated her to be doing this, but for some reason, all she derived from the exercise was genuine amusement.

She came to the bathroom door, but didn't check if it was locked or not. Given her luck, it wouldn't be, and if it happened that her superior officer was in a very unready state… she wanted to spare them both the embarrassment. So she went about it the way she would have any other interaction with Yang in her capacity as adjutant.

"Admiral Yang?"

A somewhat grumpy voice came back from the other side of the closed bathroom. "Lieutenant Greenhill, is that you?"

"Yes, sir." She checked her watch. "Admiral, we have only an hour to get to the parade grounds."

Silence on the other side. She waited patiently. After all, she wasn't the one being feted, so her personal embarrassment if something came up would be minimal at best.

Finally, an answer came. "Lieutenant, this might surprise you, but I hate formal things like that." Yang finally said, as if he was imparting something profound. She shook her head in amusement, a grin breaking her composure.

In the weeks since she had started working for Yang directly, she'd come to lose some of her illusions about the young man from El Facil. This was a man who had flaws like everybody else. He drank a little too much. He also tended to complain about work on a rather regular basis. He could also be difficult when it came to occasions like these. He was far from the perfect soldier.

On the other hand, his drinking never became a problem. While he complained about work, he always did it nearly as meticulously as Greenhill did hers when he finally went and did it. And although Yang seemed to abhor moments in the spotlight, he had been perfectly dignified and proper when the men of the Rosen Ritters had been honoured in a smaller ceremony.

So while she had found a man with flaws, she had also found one whose qualities easily surpassed them. While her admiration had changed to realistic respect, her liking for Yang hadn't diminished.

"Sir, respectfully, we've talked about this. You even gave me strict orders about this situation."

There was a soft grunt from the other side. "And those were?"

"'Lieutenant Greenhill, I'm probably going to be difficult, so I'm going to give you orders to nag me until I go to this thing. Just to be on the safe side, I can't belay those orders in any way.' I believe that this was the exact wording, sir.'"

Another, clearly unhappy grunt. "I can sure be an ass to myself sometimes."

Julian, who had come to the door since, rolled his eyes in impatience. "Admiral, you're starting to sound like a little kid now. Could you please hurry up?"

"Now you two are ganging up on me, are you? Okay, hold on." There was the sound of the toilet flushing. As this happened, general Schenkopp, who had decided to be on the vehicle that would come to get Yang, came in and walked to them. He seemed totally at ease. Then again, Frederica had yet to see him uneasy about anything.

No, that's not right. I saw it once, the unease. When we used Thor's Hammer. But then, everybody had been left with a bad aftertaste from the firing. Weapons like that simply shouldn't exist in her mind.

Yang came out then, dressed in his casual, green with beige pants uniform, shaved and clean. He spotted Schenkopp and he encompassed at all three for a moment with a bemused expression.

"Is this an intervention of some sort?" he asked, with a hint of mirth and clear, although exaggerated, exasperation. "Were you going to break down the door or something?"

"If it's because I'm here, I just got bored waiting in the car." Schenkopp noted. Unlike Yang, there was no hiding that he found the whole thing rather funny. "But breaking down the door might have been fun just to see your expression."

"We should get going." Frederica reminded them. Julian nodded, and they left without more fanfare.

Schenkopp took a place beside the driver, and Yang, Frederica and Julian took a place at the back. Quickly, the car drove on. They were getting a bit tight tome-wise, but she figured that they had safely avoided disaster. After a moment of staring out the window, the fleet commander turned to her.

"So they have a reception after this?"

"Yes, admiral. A the Grand Capricorn Hotel. Several of the other fleet commanders will attend, such as admirals Borodin, Bucock and Hogwood. There will also be Joint Forces Commander Sitolet and Space Fleet Commander Lobos."

He raised an eyebrow. "And admiral Greenhill too I hope?"

She smiled, inwardly glad that Yang had but emphasis on her father's presence. Just like she had come to see Yang as her saviour and hero, Dwight Greenhill saw him as a protégé. He had been truly happy when news of their triumphant return had come to him.

"My fath-, I mean admiral Greenhill…"

"Calling your father your father is fine, lieutenant."

"Yes, sir, thank you sir. As I was saying, my father is very busy with a major operation, but he's promised to come for a while to congratulate you again."

"That's great. I can't wait to see him again."

The drive continued for a good thirty minutes, down the main roads of Heinessenpolis. The large metropolis had always been about being a hub of finance and industry. Consequently, its buildings were modern but lacked personality. Even the added parks and trees didn't truly liven up the place. It was no wonder many more people preferred the more pleasant-looking suburbs to the admittedly drab place. Although the oldest city in the Alliance, it certainly was far from its prettiest.

But today, it was lively with colours. It seems that the Heinessenpolis had all gone down to line the main street through which the convoy would go. For the first time ever, the people could celebrate a victory in which there was no dead to mourn. It gave the place the air of a festival. Flags waved, entertainers flocked the streets, vendors sold food and candy to kids and adults alike.

It almost made Frederica forget the Imperial ships suddenly disappearing into nothingness. Almost.

They took one of the lesser streets, one cleared by the military for the use of VIPs, and quickly saw admiral Alex Cazerne waiting for them with his family. That was where they dropped Julian. He'd go and watch the parade with them. Yang had refused that he get into the glare of tv crews and reporters.

"Remember to wave, admiral!" Julian admonished him before leaving.

"Or at least try not to look like you ate something bad." Cazerne quipped before turning to his wife and daughters. Yang muttered for a few moments after this. Frederica, however, could swear that he didn't look nearly as miffed as he sounded.

They came close to the Twin Peaks, home of the High Council, and the car came to rest close to one of its side doors. Two enlisted men guarded the door. As did at least forty reporters.

"So much for secrecy." Yang grunted.

"On with the circus!" Schenkopp said more jovially. Soldiers came to open the doors, and they stepped out. The moment he came into view, Yang was swarmed by men and women with mikes, even as cameras rolled and flashes seemed to come from everywhere.

"Admiral Yang, admiral Yang! How does it feel to have surpassed the likes of admirals Lin Pao and Bruce Ashbey?

"Will Iserlohn be used as a stepping-stone for raids into Imperial Territory?"

"What plans do you have for future military operations in the future?"

"Admiral Yang, there are rumours that say that you'll be the next Space Fleet Commander once admiral Lobos retires? What do you say to that?"

"Will the Thirteenth Fleet be assigned as Iserlohn's garrison?"

With the help of soldiers who had gotten out once they had arrived, they pushed through the throng. Through it all, Yang smiled almost sheepishly and kept silent. Schenkopp was asked a few questions as well, but the large, imposing field officer also kept silent. Nobody asked Frederica a question, which didn't surprise her in the least, and in fact left her feeling rather relieved to be out of the spotlight. It had been much like this ever since they had come back.

Yang immediately looked at her when the doors had closed behind them and they were being ushered to the place where the convoy was waiting. "I'll never get used to that part."

"It's all part of a democratic society." Schenkopp pointed out sardonically.

"Free speech, freedom of the press, sir." Frederica shrugged. Yang looked at them one after the other in mock anger.

"Is everyone going to gang up on me today?!" he said, then sighed, "You're right, of course. Doesn't mean I have to enjoy any of this if I don't want to. That, too, is part of living in a democracy." He pointed out. Nobody answered that.

"Speaking of speeches, sir…" she noted. He looked at her guardedly.

"What about them?" he enquired as if something dreadful was going to happen.

"Well, I should remind you that you will need to make a speech at the Academy, in Turneisen."

He groaned. "I should have simply surveyed the systems like the official mission said, but no, I had to try taking that fortress." His tone, however, took out any bite his words might have. "Thank you for reminding me, lieutenant." That last part was definitely friendlier.

She nodded. "Happy to be of service, admiral."

They continued down to the lower levels, where the main highway, cordoned off by the military and the police for the festivities, passed underneath the governmental hub. There the convoy was ready, with several groups of officers and soldiers from the Thirteenth talking, along with several member of the Fleet Office, with Fleet Secretary Nardiello discussing with rear admirals Murai, Fischer and Nilssen. Her green eyes brightened when she saw Yang. She quickly went to shake his hand firmly.

"Glad you could make it, admiral." She said.

"As am I, madam Secretary." He replied. A blatant lie if there ever was one, but even Yang seemed to have limits to how frank he could be about his opinions.

Nardiello waved her hand, dismissing the lie. "No, you're not. Most of those who went on those parades weren't happy. But that's the price of fame, isn't it?"

"I can't say, ma'am."

"Ah, a politically-correct, neutral answer. You're learning admiral. You might have a politician within you!" she replied with a smile.

Yang said nothing to that. Only shrugged and scratched his head. Frederica wondered how much self-control keeping quiet on that had taken. Quickly, the leading politician left the officers in the hands of the organizers, who told them on which car they'd be and how things were supposed to go. They all listened to the instructions, until Yang spoke up.

"I'd like to make a last-minute change, if it is possible."

They tried hard not to show it, but they didn't like the 'last-minute change' part. Frederica wondered how many feathers had just been ruffled. But they remained polite and amenable. This was, after all, Miracle Yang himself.

"I'd like officers Linz and Blumehart to be with us on the first vehicle with the rest of the commanders. They were crucial in taking Iserlohn, and they deserve the spotlight…"

Frederica nodded. That made perfect sense.

"…furthermore, lieutenant Greenhill will also come on that vehicle with me. She helped me with the planning, so it's only fair."

That didn't. She found herself gaping for a moment as Yang's request – a very simple shuffling of three people who hadn't even gone on the platforms – was quickly approved with something resembling relief. They had probably thought he was going to ask for something more timetable-altering, and were eager to please him before he changed his mind. She approached her commanding officer, counter-arguments in mind.

"Sir…" She started.

"I'm not gonna budge on this one, lieutenant. Might as well accept it." He cut her off with a grin. "I am your commanding officer, you know."

Beside Yang, Schenkopp grinned a bit more teasingly. "Don't worry about it, lieutenant, it'll be fun. If you'll excuse me, I've got two subordinates to drag here." With that, the regimental commander was off.

She still wanted to protest the sudden move, touching thought it might have been on some level. But Yang was now deep in conversation with Murai and Patorichev, and neither Nilsen nor Fischer would be of any help. With an inner sigh, she accepted the command and hoped it would actually be less nerve-wracking than she feared the parade would be.

Schenkopp quickly came back with Blumehart and Linz – who both seemed to take the shift of vehicles in stride – and they got into the platform. She noted that many pennants had been installed around it, proudly showing the Alliance flag, as well as the one of the Defense Forces and the Thirteenth Fleet's. It was a colourful, patriotic display to impress the masses. Frederica felt out of place.

As the car went underway, Yang gave her one last comment.

"I'm just hoping the trip to the Academy won't be this dreadful."

"One can only hope, sir." At least I won't be there, so he won't have me participate in the speech. He's capable of doing it, too, she thought wryly. She grinned as the convoy sped and any further conversation was rendered impossible as they came into bright daylight, with an euphoric crowd and loud music.

Letting future concerns rest at the back of her mind, Frederica Greenhill started waving to the massed people along with the others.


"I hope this call isn't a waste of time. Things are hectic enough as they are."

"I assure you, you'll like this. To make it short: we've found Balder's little revenge instrument."

"If true, that is good news. And how was that person found?"

"A simple miscalculation. She took old files from a library on planet Santuario. Normally, I suppose nobody should have been there. But an overzealous high school student was still present and sent an invoice which we intercepted."

"The files in question?"

"Varied, but filed on the same date. One of the files came a legal document of some importance written by one Tsurugi Miwako."

"I've heard that name before."

"She was a well-respected lawyer who rose to be a member of the Alliance Supreme Court. A prosperous life, no doubt. But what's important is that she was married to a man who nearly shut us down for good."

"Interesting. Admiral Oersted's wife. I suppose the code used to get in was one of Balder's.

"Yes. As I said, if not for that student's zeal…"

"We would still be chasing shadows. I'd like to thank him, but we can't indulge in such things. Unfortunately, he's become a loose end in this affair."

"I agree. We intend to take care of him after some time has passed, so as to attract as little attention as possible."

"However, this must not be the case for this latest annoyance. Remove and clear the House of this worry."

"Of course, Loki. It will be done."


June 10, Universal Calendar 796

Turneisen, Brightfield Hotel

Yang could have thrown something at the screen in disgust. Sitting in the hotel room that the military had gracefully taken for him while he was in Turneisen – a trip with all expenses paid for, which he supposed was a blessing – he watched a man without shame call the Free Planets Alliance to arms against the Empire.

"We musn't forget the blood shed for our glorious nation! We can't let the heroes who died having died in vain! Now that we finally have the upper hand against the evil Galactic Empire, we must use it to put an end to this conflict on our terms!"

Just a bunch of generic nonsense. When has that man shed any blood for the country? Does he even know what he's saying, what he's asking for? Yang doubted it.

The man's name was Togliatti, a member of the Democratic Union Party. It was the political group that dominated Alliance politics presently, and which had taken a majority six years ago. The current High Council came from that very party. Yang had listened to their rhetoric, and had always found himself appalled at how pro-war the group was. He didn't mind if a group was right-winged as long as there was moderation and a certain openness of mind. He found very little of that anytime he listened to a D.U.P speech or read one in the newspaper.

It appeared that Togliatti's party were under the delusion – fabricated or genuine, it was impossible to tell – that the Free Planets Alliance now had an edge over their enemy, the Empire. That much he knew was plain nonsense. The Alliance's economy was barely holding together, and its military might had been decreasing these past four years.

As far as Yang was concerned, Iserlohn hadn't given the country an edge. It had simply levelled the playing field, as long as the Alliance kept to the defensive strategy that it had mostly taken for the past fifteen decades. If they played their cards right, they might force a better stalemate and peace talks.

But this man was using Iserlohn as a rallying cry for future attacks, all with his hands on the shoulders of a little girl whose parent had died in Astarte. While the man's eyes glowed with fervour for renewed war that only someone who'd never been in combat could summon, the little girl's eyes only spoke of the grief of losing a loved one.

She had looked at Yang with forlorn, somewhat resentful eyes. She didn't see a hero when she looked at him. She only saw a man who should have made sure her father returned alive, but who hadn't done so.

He couldn't blame her at all.

"Damn, I got sloppy. I should have known there'd be something like this."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, admiral." Julian, who was sitting on a chair nearby as he lay on his room's bed, noted. He, too, looked at the news report and the speech with some disgust.

"There's nobody else to blame, Julian. I didn't think. Just because I didn't want a full military escort…"

The fact remained that he had never wanted to be doing any of these things for the military. After Iserlohn, he had in fact given a letter of resignation. Fleet Admiral Sitolet, however, had told him that it wasn't an option, if only because the new Thirteenth Fleet would be broken up again without him to lead it. He had then agreed to stay, albeit reluctantly and not without protesting.

The military celebrations which had followed, especially the parade, conspired to heighten his disgust of the spotlight. And so, when offered to come to Turneisen with a military shuttle and a military escort, he had refused, opting to make this an outing with Julian, through civilian channels. He'd go and make the speech in front of the cadets, but nothing more.

In hindsight, he wasn't sure if he'd been right, given things might not quite have been so bad through military channels.

Upon his arrival at the airport, reporters had been there to pester him with the same questions he'd been hearing since he'd arrived from Iserlohn Fortress. That had been expected, and he would have handled that by staying silent.

But then Togliatti had arrived, asked for a handshake, and then had literally pulled him into an embrace. One which probably made it look as if he was on the politician's side. And then there had been that little girl with the flowers, a child who really didn't want to be there and didn't want to thank 'Miracle' Yang at all.

It had been a long time since he had actually wanted to hit someone. He stayed purely because his job demanded it of him. Yet if he saw the man again, he decided that he would ignore him, no matter what the fallout might be.

One thing was certain: he was never going to vote for the Democratic Union after something like this. If anything, he'd vote either for the People's Alliance Party, or for the emerging Peace Party. The former was a more moderate version of the Union, while the Peace Party was a new player, one that he had read was rallying a lot of support throughout the Alliance, and which seemed poised to win at the partial elections being held in the following days.

He wasn't sure if he thought that the Peace Party's goals were naïve, since a peace treaty with the Empire was far from becoming reality according to the polls. But as far as Yang knew, it remained the best way for the Alliance to survive. A peace treaty, even for a decade or two, would allow the nation to repair its economy and stop the drain of talent that the military establishment forced upon the civilian population.

He shut off the wall television. "One more second of this and I'll throw up."

Julian nodded. "That was a horrible way to do things."

"Well, that's politics for you." Yang mused, "Nothing we can do but drink it and live with the bad aftertaste. This reeks of Truhnit, trying to make me look like I'm on his party's side."

Julian was disbelieving. "The head of the Department of Defense would go that far?"

"I was a pretty average student and some of my subjects were always on the verge on failing. I'm hardly what you'd call someone to emulate over there. And still I'm invited to the Academy's Anniversary Celebration. As I said, drink it even if it tastes bad."

Julian sighed, then shrugged with a grin. There was nothing to be done. "Do you want me to make some tea, admiral?"

Yang couldn't quite make himself relax, but the comment helped to alleviate the dark clouds in his mind, if not dissipate them. "Right. And if there's brandy in it, it'll be even better."

Julian promised to see if there was any, and at that moment the door rang insistently. As Julian went to answer it, Yang rested himself on the chair his ward had occupied less than a minute before. He was closing his eyes when he heard a commotion. More clearly, he heard voices, including Julian's. Julian's tone was a mix of anger and fear, while the others were clearly hostile. Yang rose to see what was the matter.

Then a man with a decidedly angry impression and a markedly more fit physique than Yang's own entered the room. The moment he saw Yang, the man snarled something and swung his fist at him.

At the Academy, one of the subjects that Yang was systematically on the verge of failing was hand-to-hand combat. He had neither the stamina nor the will to hit hard enough to hurt others. When he had graduated, it was something he had almost gleefully let deteriorate.

Another unwise decision, he decided as a few remnants of that training reflexively allowed him to dodge. He managed to spare himself a hit from the front, but his legs got caught up in the chair, and he fell backward, hitting the back of his skull on the wall. For a moment, he truly saw stars in front of his eyes, and fell down. The first attacker immediately loomed over him as two cronies looked on from nearby with the same level of hostility.

This is a bad day, he thought to himself. His mind had a taste for understatement.

"The great Miracle Yang my ass!" his first attacker growled. "You're nothing but a tool for the warmongers!"

So that's what this is about. Figures. Another part of Yang's mind also noted that the men attacking him weren't exactly pacifists themselves. And then the attacker hit him. Hard. Pain exploded on the side of his face. It wasn't anything unbearable, he remembered having been hit worse during that Academy training he hated, but it'd leave a mark for a while.

As the angry man lifted his fist to hit again, Julian's voice, equally angry, rang out.

"That's enough! Let him go!"

Yang, eyes blurry from the pain from both sides of his head, felt the men hesitate as they looked behind them. He then saw Julian holding Yang's personal firearm level at them, and his heart sank. That was one of the few things he never wanted to see: Julian pointing a lethal weapon at someone in anger.

This was completely unacceptable, what these men had forced the boy to do. Completely. Unacceptable.

"Stop this!" Came another voice. A female voice, which Yang knew well. He looked at the doorway to look at a pretty blonde-haired woman who had been the fiancée of his oldest friend, Jean Robert Lapp, dead at Astarte.

"Hey, Jessica." He told her, and even as Julian put the gun back where it had been, he leaned back and closed his eyes to deal with the pain.


"Ah, the one you found. What is his name?"

"Her name, actually. And it's of very little consequence."

"Oh?"

"She'll be dead by tomorrow."