Imperial Navy captain Siegfried Kircheis froze for a moment when he stepped onto the bridge, standing riveted in place in spite of himself. The depths of space were before him, scattered with countless points of light—overwhelmingly massive, seeming to envelop his entire body.
For a moment, he stood there silent, but an instant later, the illusion that he was floating in an infinity of blackness disappeared. The bridge of the battleship Brünhild, Kircheis knew, was designed in the form of a gigantic hemisphere, the upper half of which was a single display screen. Dragging his senses away from the sky and back down to the ground, Kircheis took another look around the bridge.
The illumination in the vast chamber was extremely muted, creating a crepuscular dimness. Crew were moving to and fro amid countless screens, consoles, meters, computers, and communication devices of all sizes. The movements of their heads and limbs brought to mind schools of migratory fish swimming in the currents.
Kircheis’s nostrils detected the faint tang of an almost imperceptible odor. It was one with which soldiers in space were well acquainted, produced by the blending of recycled oxygen, ozone given off by machinery, and adrenaline secreted by tense soldiers who would soon be facing combat.
The young red-haired man turned to face the center of the bridge and walked toward it with long strides. Although he held the rank of captain, Kircheis was not yet twenty-one. When he was out of uniform, he was “nothing but a handsome, redheaded beanpole,” as the female officers in the rear service whispered. From time to time, it bothered him that his age and his rank were so out of proportion to one another. He wasn’t able to accept his circumstances in the cool, calm way that his commanding officer did.
Count Reinhard von Lohengramm had his command chair tilted backward and was staring intently into the sea of stars that flooded over the display screen above. Kircheis felt a soft resistance from the air as he drew near. A soundproof force screen was up. Conversations taking place within a five-meter radius of Reinhard would be inaudible to anyone on the outside.
“Stargazing, Excellency?” he asked.
A moment after hearing Kircheis’s voice, Reinhard shifted his line of sight and returned his chair to an upright position. Although he was still sitting down, his uniform—functional and black, with silver highlights here and there—made clear the tight masculinity of his slender, well-balanced limbs.
Reinhard was a handsome young man. One might even say that his good looks were without peer. His white, oval face was adorned on three sides with slightly curling golden hair, and his lips and the bridge of his nose had an elegance that brought to mind a sculpture carved by the hands of some ancient master craftsman.
But what could never be captured in lifeless sculpture were his eyes—ice-blue eyes that shone with light like the blade of a keenly polished sword, or the gleam of some frozen star. “Beautiful ambitious eyes,” gossiped the ladies at court. “Dangerous ambitious eyes,” whispered the men. Either way, it was certain that those eyes possessed something other than the inorganic perfection of sculpture.
Looking up at his faithful subordinate, Reinhard answered, “Yes, I love the stars.” Then he added, “Have you gotten taller again?”
“I’m the same 190 centimeters that I was two months ago, Excellency. I don’t think I’m going to grow any taller.”
“Seven centimeters taller than me is certainly plenty,” Reinhard replied. In the sound of his voice was the ring of an overcompetitive schoolboy. Kircheis smiled faintly. Until about six years ago, there had been virtually no difference in their heights. But when Kircheis’s growth spurt had begun to put a distance between himself and Reinhard, the blond-haired lad had been genuinely frustrated. “Are you going to leave your friend behind and just grow up by yourself?” he had sometimes complained. That was the childish side of Reinhard, of which only Kircheis—and one other—knew.
“I see,” Reinhard replied. “So, what business brings you up here?”
“Yes, sir. It’s the battle formation of the rebel military. According to reports from three of our surveillance craft, they are closing in on our forces from three directions at uniform velocity. May I use your console’s display?”
The young senior admiral nodded assent, and Kircheis moved his hands rhythmically over the console. On the display screen occupying the left half of Reinhard’s command console, four arrows floated into existence, positioned at the top, bottom, left, and right sides of the screen, and all were advancing toward the center. Only the arrow at the bottom of the screen was colored red. The other three were green.
“The enemy’s Fourth Fleet lies directly ahead of us, and we estimate that its force numbers twelve thousand vessels. Its distance from us is 2,200 light-seconds. At our current velocities, we will make contact in about six hours.”
Kircheis moved his finger around the screen. On the left side was the alliance’s Second Fleet, with a force of fifteen thousand vessels, approaching from a distance of 2,400 light-seconds. On the right side was the Sixth Fleet, numbering thirteen thousand vessels, advancing from a distance of 2,050 light-seconds.
With the development of the antigravity field system—along with all manner of radar-permeability devices, ECM waves, and materials that rendered radar useless in determining the position and strength of enemy forces centuries ago, the militaries of the galaxy had turned back to reliance on classical methods such as manned surveillance craft and observation satellites. After calculating the time differences and factoring in the element of distance, intelligence gathered in this manner could then be used to learn the enemy’s position. Add to this the estimated levels of heat emission and mass, and a usable—if imperfect—calculation of force size could also be obtained.
“So in total forty thousand ships, eh? Twice the size of our fleet.”
“They’re attempting to envelop us by coming in from three directions.”
“And I suppose our senile old generals have all gone pale in their faces … or red, perhaps.” Reinhard allowed a spiteful smile to flash across his fair-skinned face. Though he had just been told that he was being surrounded by a force twice the size of his own, not a hint of panic was visible in Reinhard’s expression.
“Pale, without a doubt,” replied Kircheis. “The five admirals have come here in haste to request a meeting with Your Excellency.”
“Oh? After they shot off their mouths saying they didn’t even want to see my face?”
“Do you decline to meet with them?”
“No, I’ll see them. In order to enlighten them.”
The five men who appeared before Reinhard were Admiral Merkatz, vice admirals Staden and Fogel, and rear admirals Fahrenheit and Erlach. These were the “senile old generals” of whom Reinhard had spoken, though perhaps that term was too harsh. Merkatz—the eldest of them—was not yet sixty, and the youngest—Fahrenheit—was only thirty-one. It was not that they were too old, but that Reinhard and Kircheis were too young.
“Our thanks, Your Excellency,” Merkatz said, speaking for all of them, “for permitting us to offer our opinions.” Merkatz had joined the service long before Reinhard had been born, and was rich in knowledge and experience of both combat and military administration. His medium-height, thick-boned build and sleepy-looking eyes gave him the appearance of an unremarkable middle-aged man, but his record and reputation were far greater than those of the likes of Reinhard.