V
“A star just fell, Karin.”
Julian Mintz’s voice trembled as if he were gazing into the stellar abyss. Karin took his arm without a word. She felt as if the abyss had opened beneath her very feet, a hundred billion stars threatening to swallow her up. Julian’s hair and uniform were still damp, but this did not bother her.
Before them stood the kaiser’s emissary Neidhart Müller, who had moments earlier made his report to the representatives of the empire’s erstwhile enemy.
His Majesty Kaiser Reinhard has just passed away. His Majesty’s oldest son, Prinz Alec, will accede to the throne after the state funeral.
The words had come with an almost uncontrollable grief. Julian felt it deeply. He had known similar grief one year earlier.
“Heinessen and the rest of the Baalat system’s right to self-governance will be recognized, on the honor of His Majesty and the imperial administration. As for the return of Iserlohn Fortress to the Imperial Navy…”
“Please, don’t be concerned. In the name of democracy, the Iserlohn Republic will keep the promises it made to the kaiser.”
Julian held his voice steady, looking directly into Müller’s sand-colored eyes, then continued:
“Despite our philosophical and professional differences, as a fellow survivor of this age, please accept my sincere condolences on your loss, too. I am sure Yang Wen-li would feel the same.”
“Thank you. I will convey your kind words to Her Majesty.”
Müller bowed deeply, requested Julian’s presence at the funeral, and then turned and left.
When the door to the drawing room closed, Karin heaved a deep sigh and ran her hand through her hair. Die, kaiser! she had cried when in battle against Kaiser Reinhard’s forces. The rallying cry for democracy drew its power precisely from how brightly the kaiser’s vitality had shined. As of now, it was useless.
Karin glanced at Julian. “So, the Baalat system will remain in democratic hands, at least,” she said.
“Yes.”
“It isn’t much, when you think about it.”
“No,” Julian said with the hint of a smile. “It isn’t much at all.”
It had taken over five hundred years and hundreds of billions of lives to achieve that “not much.” If the citizenry had not grown tired of politics in the last days of the Galactic Federation—if they had realized how dangerous it was to grant one human being unlimited power—if they had learned from history how many would suffer under a political system that prioritized the authority of the state over the rights of its citizens—then, perhaps, humanity could have realized a more balanced and harmonious system more quickly, with fewer sacrificed in the process. “What’re politics to us?”—The very question proclaimed that its askers would be deprived of their rights. Politics always gets its revenge on those who scorn it. Anyone with the slightest imagination should understand as much.
“Julian, are you really not going to become a political leader? Not even a representative of the interim government on Heinessen?”
“It wasn’t on my to-do list, no.”
“What was, then?”
“Join the military. Battle the autocratic empire. After that…”
“After that?”
Julian didn’t reply to Karin’s question directly.
I want to become a historian, record the deeds of Yang Wen-li, and one day leave my memories of these white-hot past few years to future generations. This was certainly Yang Wen-li’s influence, but at the same time, it may have been the awakening of his own consciousness, as an individual who had lived through this age and known so many key figures in its history. Julian had come to believe that it was the responsibility and duty of the living to give those yet unborn more opportunities for judgment and reflection.
Olivier Poplin approached the two, walking as if his legs were too long for him.
“Julian, when will you be leaving Phezzan?”
“I’m not sure yet, but with all that I have to get done, I suppose about two weeks from now.”
“That’ll be when we say goodbye, then.”
“Commander Poplin!”
“I’m staying on Phezzan. No, don’t say a word, Julian, I’ve made my decision. And I doubt I’ll stay here forever, in any case.”
Julian said nothing. Neither did Karin. The two of them understood. In body and soul, Poplin wanted to part from their organization, and walk the lonely path of freedom. They could not hold him back. They must not. For Poplin, this was perhaps the only way he could part ways with this age.
Finally, Julian replied, with all the goodwill he could muster, “All right. We’ll hold the biggest farewell party we can.”
At this, Poplin reached out with both arms and hugged the two of them at once. The dancing sunlight in his green eyes illuminated their present and their future.
“No dying early, all right? Let’s meet up again a few decades from now when we’re old, to badmouth everyone who abandoned us by dying first.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Julian said, meaning it sincerely. What fine companions I’ve shared my life with so far, he thought. Poplin released the two of them, winked, and then strolled off with his hands in his pockets. As they watched him go, Karin tightened her grip on Julian’s arm. I’ll be with you forever—the promise was conveyed not via waves of sound but through his body and into his heart.
After attending the kaiser’s funeral, he would go back to Heinessen and return Iserlohn Fortress to the Imperial Navy. Then he would rendezvous with Frederica, the Caselnes family, Captain Bagdash and others, and head for Heinessen again to bury Yang Wen-li and everyone else. And then…
And then would begin a long, long era of building and conservation. They would continue to negotiate with the mighty Galactic Empire outside the Baalat system, and cultivate a system of self-governance and self-determination within it. The winter would be long, and there was no guarantee that spring would ever come.
And yet Julian and his companions chose democracy anyway. Refusing to grant absolute power even to a genius like Reinhard von Lohengramm, the kind seen only once every few centuries, a group of unremarkable individuals would feel their way forward through trial and error, searching for better ways to produce better outcomes. That was the Long March that Ahle Heinessen had chosen, and Yang Wen-li had inherited.
“Well, I’d better talk to Admiral Attenborough. We have a lot to plan,” Julian said, speaking aloud the name of one of the priceless friends still remaining to him.