Amuse-Bouche

February 480 I.C., Odin

Yang sat at his desk in the TA/PI unit offices, his feet up on his desk and his eyes closed, with his arms folded loosely behind his head. He had a huge amount of research open on his computer, but he wasn’t looking at it. He had already gone over it several times, and now was just thinking it over. Unfortunately for Yang, thinking looked a lot like sleeping to his boss.

Bronner came up to Yang’s desk and pulled Yang’s chair backwards abruptly enough that Yang’s legs fell off his desk and he flailed his arms, startled.

“Are you being paid to work, or are you being paid to sleep, Leigh?” Bronner asked.

“I’m working, sir,” Yang said, turning around in his chair.

“That’s not any kind of work that I’ve ever seen. Do you care to explain it?”

“I was thinking.”

“Sure.”

“Do you not believe that I am capable of thinking?”

“I believe that you are capable of sleeping on the job, and now you are being smart with me, Leigh. I don’t love it.”

“My apologies, sir,” Yang said. “Are you going to ask what I was thinking about?”

“Honestly, I shudder to know,” Bronner said flatly. “What were you thinking about, Leigh?”

“Iserlohn fortress.”

“So is everyone else. You’re not special.”

“I’ve been putting together some prospective scenarios,” Yang said. He leaned forward and pulled up what he had been working on on his computer. “This is most of the rebel fleet admiralty who I believe would be capable of leading an assault on Iserlohn. And this--” he clicked around to a different page-- “is a description of the tactics that I think that they would each use.”

“Thrilling.”

“I know that’s not infallible, but then I used the analysis you put together on Kleist and Wartenburg to predict which strategies would be winning ones.”

“And what conclusion did you come to?”

“There are many ways to take Iserlohn fortress,” Yang said with a shrug. “Overconfidence in it will lead to blind panic when it feels like it’s actually under threat, which will lead to a loss.”

“That sure is a story, Leigh. I actually came over here to ask you about what you were supposed to be working on, which is the analysis of Vice Admiral Kysserling’s last engagement.”

Yang sighed, leaned down, opened his desk drawer, and pulled out the binder he had prepared a while ago. “Here.”

“So you’ve been amusing yourself thinking about Iserlohn?”

“Is it better for me to sleep, or to amuse myself?” Yang asked.

Bronner shook his head. “What makes you think your analysis is so worthwhile?”

“I don’t claim to have any special thoughts about it, but it’s odd to me that we don’t spend more time preparing--”

“People are touchy about their precious fortress, Leigh. They’re not going to want to hear how one lieutenant working in the basement thinks that the whole thing can be brought down.”

Yang leaned back and closed his eyes again. “Well, fine. It’s not my problem.”

“What are these scenarios that you’re thinking about so strongly?” Bronner asked, leaning forward. “And how did you come up with them?”

“The same way we come up with any other analysis,” Yang said. “And then I just used that to sort of, you know, play out a game like we would in SW class at the IOA.”

“Against yourself?”

“I tried to make sure that I was being fair,” Yang said. “But really, the game is just a formalized way to step through decisions in a sequence.”

Bronner looked at him for a second. “You like playing games, Leigh?”

“Sir, you have seen every game I’ve played. If I said ‘no’, you wouldn’t believe me for a second.”

“I might.” He pushed his glasses up on his face. “I do recall that you were better at pretending to be your classmates than you had any right to be.”

“I do have a lot of practice at that kind of thinking.”

“You’re lucky that that’s the case. It makes me more likely to take whatever you have to say seriously.”

“Oh, thank you, sir.”

“But not quite yet. How about we play through your game?”

“Can’t you just trust what I have to say?”

“What’s that old adage? Trust but verify.”

Yang sighed. “Fine. You know I’m free whenever. Set up a time, and we can play.”

“I was thinking now.”

“Now, sir?”

“You shouldn’t need any extra time to prepare.”

Yang rubbed his eyes. Truthfully, he had been on the verge of sleeping when Bronner came over. “If you insist.” He stood and stretched. “Who will you get to GM?”

“Kent.”

“Fine.”

“And you can play your favorite attack scenario, and I’ll be Iserlohn.”

“Sir, you’ll need another player on your team.”

“What?”

“One person has to play the fortress, and one person has to play the stationed fleet.”

Bronner looked at him sideways as they walked down the hallway towards one of the conference rooms. “And why is that the case?”

“For realism, sir,” Yang lied. “One actor cannot play two roles.”

“That’s not true,” Bronner pointed out. “There have been a great many plays where-- well, nevermind. Gothe can play the fleet, and I’ll play the fortress.”

“Sounds good, sir,” Yang said. Bronner looked at him suspiciously.

“I have no idea why you’re thinking so hard about how the rebels might take Iserlohn.”

Yang scratched his head. “They keep trying to take it, so they must want it.”

“It’s below you to state the obvious.”

“I just don’t like what they want it for, sir. Iserlohn’s value is in its use as both a defensive wall and as a bridgehead to attack. If they simply wanted their own wall, they would build their own fortress at the mouth of the corridor.”

“You think that they could do such a thing? The rebels seem to be allergic to the cost of fortress building, especially if they had to be under siege while constructing it.”

“They could, if they were truly committed to defense. And they’d put one at the mouth of the Phezzan corridor, too, while they were at it.”

“Their lack of defensive fortresses doesn’t necessarily speak to them not being committed to defense, it speaks to their politicians being unable to rule properly and think of anything beyond their next election cycle,” Bronner said, rather dismissively. “And Phezzan would balk at having a fortress on their doorstep. There’s a reason we don’t have one there, either.”

Yang frowned. “You know what I think of that.”

“You seem awfully worried about invasions. The Empire hasn’t been invaded in decades.”

“An acquaintance of mine told me once that I should keep in mind that as a member of the fleet, I am a servant to all the billions of people in the Empire. It is those people who would suffer the most under an invasion by the rebel fleet,” Yang said. “Forgive me for having heightened concern for their well-being.”

“Who was this acquaintance?”

“Commander Oberstein, of Iserlohn.”

“I should thank him for his wisdom.”

“I don’t know if he would appreciate that,” Yang said. They arrived at the conference room.

“You set up. I’ll find Gothe and Kent.” Yang did that as Bronner left, though it took him less time to set up than it did for Bronner to find the other two members of his staff whom he had selected to play the game, leaving Yang alone to kick up his feet on the desk and close his eyes again. When the three arrived, there were some amused chuckles from Gothe and Kent as Bronner shoved Yang’s legs off the desk. “Stop getting my furniture dirty,” Bronner said.

“Is it lese-majeste to claim that furniture belonging to the imperial government belongs to you?” Yang asked, but sat up.

“Someday, Leigh, your mouth will get on my nerves enough for me to have you reassigned to some frontier outpost.”

“I look forward to it,” he said.

Bronner handed Kent a binder, which he had presumably fetched from his office on the way back. “Leigh thinks he can single handedly take down Iserlohn fortress,” he said. “We can base our respective strengths on the fourth battle of Iserlohn. I doubt the rebels have the ability to mass more than their forces for that, nor the desire to work with less.” He sat down at one of the computers that Yang had set up. “What part did you say you were playing again?” he asked.

“Admiral Sidney Sithole,” Yang said, picturing his face in his mind: an older, brown-skinned man who wore a serious expression in every photograph that Yang had seen from him.

“Why him?” Bronner asked.

“I’ve looked through his past records,” Yang said, “and I believe he has a few favored tactics that would work especially well against Iserlohn. He’s also just been promoted to full admiral, and the rebel fleet seems to like testing their new admirals with large tasks fairly quickly.” He shrugged. “Plus I think that his record shows that he’s competent. I think he has a better chance than most of their other admirals right now.”

“All right,” Bronner said. “Shall we get started?”

After allowing the other two players to set up and get situated, they began.

Yang had eighty thousand ships at his disposal, which was far more than he thought he needed. Previous battles over Iserlohn had amounted to simply attempting to overwhelm the fortress and its fleet with sheer numbers, which was never going to be a tactic that worked, especially if they wanted to approach at faster-than-light speeds, and therefore had to cram themselves into the relatively tiny corridor entrance.

Yang began by splitting his force in half, leaving half of it as a reserve far behind the main battle. It might be good to have later, but he didn’t need it now. It was unfortunate that, due to the nature of this being a game, and Bronner knowing Yang’s strength before they started, he would realize that Yang had more ships and was keeping the rest of his force elsewhere for some reason, but if Bronner was as dedicated of an actor as Yang thought he was, he wouldn’t use that information to his advantage.

Yang brought the portion of the fleet that he was using right up to the outside of the range of the fortress’s main gun, the Thor Hammer. He spread out his ships in a wide, flat plane, to fill the entirety of the corridor’s space, and to maximize his own firing angles on the fortress. He began sending wave after wave of missiles towards the fortress. Although enough of them were shot down by Iserlohn’s weaker but more nimble floating gun turrets, enough got through to begin to do some damage to the fortress itself. The liquid metal layer of the fortress’s outer shell moved in waves with each impact, and Yang described to the GM how he was attempting to alternate missile strikes on each side of the fortress to make those waves constructively interfere with each other. The GM allowed it, which meant that the floating gun turrets became less and less effective as time went on, being swept up and down with the waves in the liquid metal layer.

Bronner must have known that Yang was attempting to bait him into allowing the stationed fleet to launch. The fleet, Yang saw, was a weak point. Both sides wanted to bait the other-- Bronner into having Yang move within the range of the powerful main gun, Yang into having the fleet come out. Bronner was the one who gave in first, or perhaps it was the other player, Gothe, who was actually in charge of the fleet, who decided to launch.

The Iserlohn stationed fleet charged out towards Yang’s fleet. Yang immediately began moving inwards towards the fortress, though he was always careful to keep the imperial fleet in between his ships and the fortress itself, pressing them backwards while continuing to attack the fortress with long range missiles. It was a delicate dance, and through occasional glances backwards across the room, Yang could tell that both of the other side’s commanders were getting frustrated. Bronner was drumming his fingers on the table, as he was unable to give any commands that would stop the attack on his fortress. The other player, Gothe, was sweating and cringing, occasionally glancing at Bronner, trying to judge if the commodore would be unhappy with him.

Since the Iserlohn stationed fleet was even less than half of the portion of Yang’s fleet that he had sent out, Yang was able to press them backwards easily, closer and closer to the fortress. He intentionally moved so that they weren’t just immediately wiped out-- he needed to keep them alive, because it was their presence in between the fortress and his fleet that prevented the Thor Hammer from firing.

Across the room, Bronner said aloud, “Sorry about this, Gothe.” Yang knew what was coming, then, and he winced internally.

Bronner went ahead and fired the Thor Hammer, obliterating his own fleet and a large part of Yang’s. Gothe swore aloud, then folded his arms and glared at Bronner.

“You’re out of the game,” Bronner said. “Feel free to exit stage left.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” Gothe said.

Bronner shrugged. “One does what one must.”

While Bronner and Gothe were having their argument, Yang was busy calling in his reinforcements, the other half of his fleet that had been safely hidden far outside the Thor Hammer’s range. Those ships, fresh and unharmed, resumed their missile attack at the fortress while his ships remaining inside the Thor Hammer’s range split up, spreading out as far as they could in order to pick off the remaining stationed fleet ships (which, lacking a commander and feeling betrayed by the fortress itself, were totally disorganized).

Bronner could do little except continue to fire the Thor Hammer, until Yang’s missiles from outside the range eventually overwhelmed the liquid metal of the fortress completely, and began ripping huge chunks in its side. From there, it was only a matter of time before the fortress was inoperable, and Yang’s ships were able to swarm it.

“We don’t have to play out the rest of this,” Bronner said. Kent stood up to leave, and then Yang and Bronner were alone in the conference room. “I suppose you’ve proven your point, Leigh.”

“I didn’t really have a point,” Yang said. “You were the one who wanted to play.”

Bronner turned in his chair towards Yang. “When you were playing your game with your friends, why didn’t you ever do this strategy?”

“Invading through Phezzan is far less costly, mostly in terms of lives, but it makes a lot of sense in other ways, too. If the Alliance ever decided to annex Phezzan, they’d also solve their debt problem…” Yang shrugged. “Anyway, the only reason people like to attack Iserlohn is because it looks like the thing that needs to be attacked. It’s a nice, shiny distraction.”

“You say you were playing as Admiral Sithole?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you think that this would be his strategy?”

“When he was a rear admiral, he had a major success one time guarding the retreat of the main force at Chandra starzone, by mixing his ships in with ours to prevent them from massing an attack on the rest of the retreating fleet. He’s not afraid to get too close for comfort, and he seems like an expert at positioning.” Yang shrugged.

“So, this was really a plan that you think he would do, and not what you personally would do, if you were trying to take Iserlohn.”

“For one thing, like I said, I wouldn’t try to take Iserlohn. But yes, I would do something completely different. I knew you would probably sacrifice your own fleet, but I wouldn’t want to risk that level of destruction,” Yang said.

“How did you know that I would sacrifice the fleet?” Bronner asked.

“Well… You weren’t in command of them. I believe if the fleet and the fortress were actually under the same commander, you would have been far more hesitant to make that call.”

“Interesting theory.”

“You don’t think so?”

“It depends on who the commanders are.”

“True. But I think having two commanders of equal rank there is a weakness that can be exploited. If there’s no real chain of command, decisions can get made that don’t benefit both groups equally. The fleet will think that they have the ability to run away, if they need to, and the fortress has the ability to destroy their own fleet to protect themselves, because they are, ultimately, more important. There’s a tension there.”

“I see. I’m curious now, Leigh, what would you do if you wanted to take Iserlohn?”

“Oh, I haven’t really thought about it,” Yang said.

Bronner looked at him with an expression that bordered on contempt. “Sure.”

“I don’t know,” Yang said, scratching his head. “I probably wouldn’t do anything that can be easily modeled by the game, so I don’t think it’s worth thinking out.”

“What?”

“I mean, tricks, sabotage, that sort of thing. Probably more effective than an outright assault. You can’t really play that through the game. Or maybe I’d send-- the Iserlohn corridor is only the required passage if you’re going faster than light-- so, maybe I could send sub-lightspeed ships out around the corridor and in from the back, in order to surround it. But at that point, I guess I could just go through into the Empire itself? I don’t know. Like I said, I haven’t put that much thought into it.”

“I’m glad you’re on our side, I suppose, Leigh.”

“Of course.”

“So, what are your takeaways from this?”

Yang leaned back in his chair. “You should suggest to high command that the stationed fleet and the fortress be unified under one commander. That’s the main takeaway. I don’t think there’s any way to pre-emptively deal with the other parts of the attack. Iserlohn is powerful, but anyone who says that it’s impenetrable is deluding themself.”

Bronner looked at him with a bit of an evil smile on his face. “You know what, Leigh, I think it is a good idea to present this idea to high command. You can come with me next time I talk to Fleet Admiral Muckenburger.”

Yang blanched a little. “Really?”

“You’ll just have to pretend to be a person who doesn’t run their mouth at every possible opportunity. I’d say it shouldn’t be hard for you, but that might be a lie.”

February 480 I.C., Odin

Neue Sanssouci looked about the same as Yang remembered from his few visits during his time at the IOA. The grounds were covered in the odd pile of mostly-melted snow, and the roads were slushy and disgusting. A chill layer of grey clouds hung over the sky, and the place seemed dour to the extreme. Commodore Bronner seemed relaxed next to him in the carriage, not minding that they were on their way to speak with the chief commander of the space fleet. Yang was tense in the seat next to him, opening and closing repeatedly the thick folder he was holding on his lap, as though compulsively checking that all the papers he had prepared were still there.

“Will you stop that?” Bronner asked after about the fifteenth time.

“Sorry, sir,” Yang said.

“Is there a particular reason you’re acting like a fourth grader afraid to go on stage in front of everybody’s parents?”

“Did you know that I almost died here once?”

Bronner snorted. “No. What happened?”

Yang described the incident that had happened his freshman year. Bronner couldn’t contain the smirk on his face. “Well, I can’t say I blame them for trying,” Bronner said when Yang had finished.

“Thanks,” Yang said. “I’ll make a note that I should avoid going hunting with you, just in case.”

“You do that.”

“Is there a reason we’re meeting Muckenburger in Neue Sanssouci rather than at the Ministry?”

“It was more convenient for him,” Bronner said. “I do not exactly get to dictate our meeting times or places. He keeps an office here as well, though.”

They made it to the palace proper, and Bronner led them inside. He seemed familiar with the protocol and where to go, and Yang tried to remember the twisting path through the palace. The pace was huge, though, and all of the hallways started to look the same after a while.

Eventually, they made it to Muckenburger’s office. There was a guard at the door, and Bronner announced who he was and what his business was. The guard confiscated their sidearms, then let them in.

Muckenburger was sitting at his desk, drinking a cup of coffee. He looked up when Bronner and Yang entered, and for a moment a brief flicker of distaste crossed his face. Yang had no idea which one of them it was directed at, and he didn’t particularly want to find out. He quickly shuffled his folder into the other hand, then saluted as sharply as he could.

“Good morning, Commodore,” Muckenburger said.

“Good morning, Fleet Admiral,” Bronner said. “Thank you for clearing some time for us to speak.”

“Of course. I would hate to miss our little chats, when they provide such valuable insight.” Muckenburger didn’t sound very thrilled. Perhaps it was Bronner that he had found distasteful when they walked into the room. It was an odd feeling. “Well, have a seat.” He waved his hands at the chairs on the other side of his desk, and Bronner and Yang sat.

Bronner got right to business. “So, I wanted to go over first my personnel recommendations, if that’s all right with you.” Bronner said. Muckenburger gestured for him to go ahead quickly. Bronner had a long list of topics go over, ranging from which members of the Alliance fleet would likely be sent to lead the next engagements to which members of the imperial command would be better suited in different postings. Muckenburger listened to all of this, not quite patiently. He asked the occasional astute question, and Yang could see him mentally accepting or rejecting each one of Bronner’s suggestions. For his part, Bronner cut the theatrics and was direct and to the point, running through his list efficiently. Yang sat there and mostly listened, occasionally handing Bronner the required pieces of paper from their folder.

Unfortunately, though, when Bronner got to the end of his list, he said, “Now, that’s all I have, but Lieutenant von Leigh has brought up a very valuable suggestion that I think is worth listening to.”

Muckenburger turned his attention to Yang, who tried and failed not to tense. “Von Leigh…” Muckenburger said, looking at him with a more open expression of distaste now. Perhaps it had been Yang who had been the problem when they walked in the door. Perhaps it was both of them. “Aren’t you the one who caused such a problem at El Facil?”

The blood rushed out of Yang’s face. He stammered, “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Merkatz asked to bear the full responsibility for that disaster.” Muckenburger’s voice was odd-- somewhere between angry and contemplative. “He shouldn’t have.”

“I--” Yang said, then stopped. He didn’t know what to say.

“And now you’re here with some kind of suggestion.”

“Yes, sir,” Yang managed to get out. He wanted to say that he had no desire to be here, that it was Bronner’s idea, really, but he glanced over at Bronner, and saw the tiny smirk on his face, and shut up.

“Before you get to that, I would like to hear exactly what you were thinking at El Facil. I heard what Merkatz was thinking, to put someone so inexperienced in command, and I really did not understand it. So, tell me why exactly you failed to live up to Merkatz’s high expectations of you.”

“I was trying to ensure that I didn’t lose any of the men under my command, sir,” Yang said. “I thought it was safer to stay as a cohesive unit, rather than split up. I recognize that… sometimes you have to make choices that could lead to loss of life, but I thought the situation wasn’t urgent enough to call for it. So I ordered everyone to stay together, and to prioritize military targets.”

Muckenburger was drumming his fingers on his desk. There was a long moment in the office where that was the only sound. He stared at Yang so intensely that Yang thought he might take out his own sidearm and shoot him on the spot. But then Muckenburger just nodded once. “Well, what is it that you have to tell me, Lieutenant?”

“Oh, er.” Yang scrambled in the folder and to recreate his train of thought. “I believe the command structure at Iserlohn fortress needs to be clarified,” Yang said. He placed several documents on the desk and slid them towards Muckenburger, who picked them up and glanced through them. “I’ve prepared several different scenarios that I think are likely, or at least possible, where I believe the rebel fleet could take advantage of the, uh, tension that exists between the fortress commander and the commander of the fleet. They have equal rank but almost contradictory roles.”

Muckenburger looked at Bronner out of the corner of his eye. “And you agree with this assessment?”

“The scenarios that Leigh has invented are very plausible.”

Muckenburger took a long minute to read through the scenario on the top of the pile, which was the one that Yang and Bronner had played out. Yang was very tense through the whole thing, watching Muckenburger’s eyes flick back and forth quickly across the paper. When he turned the page, he slowly put the paper down.

“You really believe that the fortress commander might fire on his own fleet?”

“It’s not his fleet,” Yang clarified. “That’s the problem.”

He realized he had spoken up a little too much when Bronner glanced sideways at him, clearly annoyed. Muckenburger saw that, and Yang noticed his eyes twitch slightly with amusement. Muckenburger might not like Yang, but he seemed to like the idea of someone bothering Bronner more.

“I see,” Muckenburger said. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

“But you won’t actually do anything about it,” Bronner said with a sigh. “Well, it was worth a try.”

Yang realized that he had been an unwitting pawn in what was clearly an ongoing fight between the commodore and the fleet admiral. Yang clenched his hands on the folder in his lap, knuckles white.

“I said I would consider it,” Muckenburger said. He glanced at Yang, who winced. “At the very least, you’ve given me several interesting scenarios to think about. You came up with these?”

“Yes, sir,” Yang said, not sure what Muckenburger’s angle was.

“Interesting,” Muckenburger said, and that was all he had to say. Yang hoped that he was not considering the string of contradictions inherent in the El Facil story too closely, but the way that Muckenburger studied him made him think that he probably was.

“That’s all I have for you, sir,” Bronner said after a second of this. Yang was grateful for his rescue, but not that grateful, since Bronner had clearly been setting him up for failure to begin with. “Did you have any particular questions, or points of action?”

“I’ll get back to you,” Muckenburger said, and stood. It was clearly a dismissal, so Bronner and Yang stood as well. Muckenburger headed to the door, the other two awkwardly trailing behind him. “I’m sure I’ll see you sooner, rather than later, Commodore.”

“I’m sure.”

“And you, Lieutenant,” Muckenburger said, turning to Yang. “I don’t want to see you for a long time. Or even hear your name. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Yang said.

“Excellent. I’m glad we understand each other.” Muckenburger pulled the door open. Yang and Bronner saluted, and he nodded and headed off down the hallway. They retrieved their sidearms from the guard without speaking.

When Yang and Bronner had made it far enough down an unoccupied corridor that Yang felt they weren’t likely to be overheard, Yang said, “You really are just trying to get me killed, aren’t you, sir?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Bronner said, but he was smiling.

“What were you trying to get out of having me present a plan to Muckenburger that he’s clearly already heard from you a hundred times?”

“I thought the hundred and first might change his mind, especially if it’s such an obvious thing as to come from the mouth of a disgraced lieutenant.”

“I should have known you would do something like this.”

“See, the difference between us, Leigh,” Bronner said, “is that I am a first class actor. You had no idea that whole time.”

Yang scowled at the ground.

“You, unfortunately, are a second class actor working from a fourth class script. Amateur work, but people keep you around out of the hopes that you’ll get better, or at least be entertaining when you finally get booed off stage.”

“Look, I’m trying, sir. The least you could do is not set me up to fail.”

“I don’t think I was setting you up to fail,” Bronner said. “I think that you actually came out of that looking rather good. Muckenburger will see that you have an eye for strategy, at the very least.”

“I would be better off if Muckeburger were not thinking about me at all,” Yang said. “I--”

Their conversation was interrupted when they heard the sound of running feet coming from around the corner. Both of them tensed up.

If Yang could have made a list of people he least wanted to see at that moment, the person running towards them would have definitely made the list. Magdalena von Westpfale turned the corner and then practically skidded to a stop in front of the two officers, moving far more nimbly in her dress than Yang would have thought possible.

“I thought I heard your voice, Hank von Leigh!” Magdalena said.

“Er, hi, Baroness Westpfale.”

Bronner glanced between the two of them, looking extremely amused. “Have we met?” he asked.

Magdalena glanced at him with a kind of disdain. “You were at Georg Feldmann’s wedding. So was I.”

“Oh, quite right,” Bronner said. “And how do you know my favorite lieutenant?”

“He came to my winter solstice party with the young Fraulein Mariendorf,” Magdalena said. “He’s a wonderful dancer.”

Yang wanted Bronner to rescue him from this conversation, but Bronner was enjoying watching Yang be on the spot too much to save him. “Is he indeed?”

“Baroness Westpfale has a different and kinder memory of my dancing than I do,” Yang said. “I appreciate the sentiment, though.”

“Are you busy?” Magdalena asked.

“No, we just finished our business with Fleet Admiral Muckenburger,” Bronner said.

“Oh, excellent. Hank, would you like to join me for lunch?”

“I should get back to--”

“Oh, go ahead, Lieutenant,” Bronner said, an evil grin on his face. “You’ve earned a nice lunch out. And if the baroness is paying, that just means I don’t have to.”

“You are not invited,” Magdalena said dismissively.

Bronner laughed. “Ah, I see how it is.”

“No, you don’t,” Yang said. Magdalena put her hand on Yang’s arm.

“Thank you for loaning me your lieutenant, though,” Magdalena said to Bronner. “I’m sure I’ll get good use out of him.”

“Better than I, I’m sure,” Bronner said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Leigh.”

“Tomorrow?” Yang asked.

“Take the rest of the day off. Pleasure seeing you again, Baroness.” He gave a slight bow, then departed down the hallway. Yang watched him go, feeling that he would rather be back in Muckenburger’s office than with Magdalena.

“I was just heading to lunch with Susanna and Amarie and my mother,” Magdalena said. “Susanna is such a good friend of mine. I’m sure they will both be glad for some other company.”

“Who?” Yang asked as Magdalena practically dragged him through the hallways. He had no choice but to follow her, since he didn’t know his way around Neue Sanssouci and had no desire to wander, lest he find himself wandering into something he didn’t want to be involved with.

“Susanna and I went to school together,” Magdalena said as she continued to lead Yang along. “Well, she was several years ahead of me, but we knew each other well.” There was an edge in Magdalena’s voice that made Yang think that while yes, the two women knew each other well, there was no love lost between them. “My mother likes that I keep in touch with my school friends.”

Yang looked sideways at her.

“And Amarie?”

“Hmph,” Magdalena said. “She’s fine, I guess.”

This probably meant that Magdalena had no actual harsh feelings towards her. Still, Yang had no idea who these people were.

“And what are you doing wandering around separated from this group of people?” Yang asked. “It seems like if you’re here to have lunch with your mother, you’d be staying with her.”

“You don’t need to have any concerns about that, Hank,” Magdalena said. “How is Hildegarde doing, by the way?”

“Oh, good,” Yang said.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Did you say something to upset her at your party? She was upset on the ride out.”

Magdalena raised her eyebrows at him. “Of course not. Why would I purposefully try to hurt the feelings of such a sweet little child?”

“Do you think she’s some kind of rival for my affection?” Yang asked.

Magdalena snorted. “I’m under no illusions about anyone’s affections. And I hope you’re under no illusions about mine.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Shut up and look weird and pretty,” Magdalena said. “That’s all I need you to do.”

“If you’re going to insult me, I can leave.”

She kept clinging to his arm. “You won’t.”

“I have more of a spine than you think I do.”

She laughed at him, then. “Herr von Leigh, haven’t you ever heard the phrase, ‘never turn down a free lunch’?”

“I don’t think--”

Magdalena pushed open a final set of double doors, and Yang found himself stepping into a completely different world. They were in a greenhouse of some sort, and the air was thick and warm, with a heady floral scent. He stumbled a little in the unexpected change, blinking in the sunlight. The whole place was filled with flowers, growing high enough to block the lines of sight; Yang had no idea how big the place was. The ground was a pebbled little path, and there were sounds of birdsong and running water. A butterfly flitted past, one with a coloring that Yang had never seen before.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” Magdalena said, sounding genuine for the first time. But then she tugged Yang forward through the greenery, giving him no chance to stop and smell the flowers, as it were.

“There you are, Maggie,” Frau Westpfale said as Magdalena turned the corner. “We were just-- Oh.” Her voice fell as Yang appeared.

The three other women were already sitting around a table, laid out with cups of tea and sandwiches. Yang recognized Frau Westpfale right away, and then his glance moved over the other two. He realized that the second woman at the table, who was probably about thirty years old, was Princess Amarie von Goldenbaum, the daughter of the Kaiser. Yang hurried to bow.

“Mother, Amarie, Susanna, this is a good friend of mine, Lieutenant Hank von Leigh,” Magdalena said. “Would you be opposed to him joining us for lunch?”

The princess seemed mostly bored of Magdalena’s antics. “Of course not,” she said. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Yang was frozen for a second, but managed to get out his own, “Honored to meet you, Princess.”

Magdalena had found an extra chair and squeezed it up to the table in between her own place and Susanna’s. Yang hadn’t really regarded the other woman, since his attention had been focused on those he recognized, but now he got a chance to look at her. She was beautiful, about his age, and had long, braided black hair and piercing grey eyes. Her mouth was twisted into a tiny pout, and she looked at Yang with distaste as he sat down next to her.

“Pleasure to meet you as well, Fraulein…?”

“Benemunde,” she said. “How do you happen to know Magdalena?”

“I was the young Fraulein Mariendorf’s escort to the baroness’ winter solstice party,” Yang said.

“And what a wonderful party it was,” Magdalena said, leaning heavily on Yang’s arm. “You should have come, Susanna.”

“Regretfully, I was busy,” she said. “The Kaiser and I were attending a play that night.”

“Always busy, always busy,” Magdalena said. “It’s like you don’t know how to have fun anymore.”

“Maggie,” Frau Westpfale said, a warning tone in her voice. “Not all people live as unburdened of a life as you.”

“I would hardly say I’m burdened, Frau Westpfale,” Benemunde said, and ran a hand over the side of her face, as though she were brushing away a stray hair that wasn’t there. “I don’t care very much for busy parties at the best of times.”

“Next time, I shall have to extend an invitation to the Kaiser,” Magdalena said. “Then you would be obliged to attend with him.”

“My father doesn’t much like parties either,” the princess said. “He didn’t attend Elizabeth’s ninth birthday.”

“That may be less due to the fact that he didn’t like the idea of a party, and more to do with him not liking the other attendees,” Magdalena said dryly.

“Maggie!” Frau Westpfale said again, this time more sharply.

The princess sighed and just took a sip of her tea, giving a look to Frau Westpfale that indicated that she didn’t particularly care if Magdalena spoke out of turn. Still, Frau Westpfale was stiff in her seat, trying not to upset the social atmosphere with ugly looks at her daughter, who was hanging onto Yang’s arm.

There was a brief and awkward pause in the conversation. “Have you been keeping up with your piano practice, Susanna?” Frau Westpfale asked.

“Oh, yes, I have. In my limited spare time.”

“You were always better than I was,” Magdalena said. “The one advantage you had over me.”

“I believe I have several advantages over you, my dear,” Benemunde said.

“Oh, my dear , I like that,” Magdalena said with a laugh. “What do you think, mother, am I dear to Susanna?”

Frau Westpfale’s face twisted for a fraction of a second. “I think that you should be grateful for the Marquise’s continued patronage.”

“I’m very grateful, aren’t I?” Magdalena smiled coyly. “Ever so grateful for you looking out for me.”

Yang was utterly stymied by this conversation. There were dynamics at play that he could not possibly grasp, and he wanted nothing more than to escape. All the women were ignoring him, except for Magdalena, who was stroking his arm in a very distracting way. He sat there stiffly, taking her advice to shut up and look pretty, since he figured it was the best way to get out of this social situation without offending anyone. The last thing he wanted was to get on the bad side of what felt like every noble woman on Odin as well as the entire fleet. There was only so long he could survive if both of those groups took offense to him.

The talk continued, moving on to slightly more normal gossip about the other women of the court, then the health of Princess Amarie’s husband, Duke Braunschweig, and her daughter’s success in school, which Magdalena seemed to take a genuine interest in. Of the four women, Magdalena was the only one who ate the sandwiches and other lunch food vigorously-- the other three merely nibbled their sandwiches occasionally and then put them down, in between delicate phrases and pointed words. This made Yang feel very awkward indeed about eating any of the food, even though he was hungry. He drank his tea, which was delicious but did little to calm his nerves.

Everything was going smoothly, with Frau Westpfale and Princess Amarie discussing charitable work that they were engaged in, when there was the distant sound of the door opening into the greenhouse and then several approaching sets of footsteps. Being otherwise completely uninvolved in the conversation, Yang couldn’t resist craning his neck to see who was approaching, so he was the first to see the Kaiser and hurry to his feet, almost knocking his chair over in his haste. The women stood as well, Magdalena seeming very amused by Yang’s half-frantic movements. Yang bowed as the Kaiser and his entourage of a few servants approached.

The Kaiser looked about the same as Yang remembered him, same white hair, same dull voice but sharp eyes. “Susanna, Amarie, I didn’t expect to find you both here,” the Kaiser said.

“We were just enjoying some lunch with the Westpfales,” Amarie said. “Which one of us were you looking for?”

“Susanna, mostly, but I’m always happy to see you, my dear.”

Benemunde smiled at the princess, nodded at Frau Westpfale, and went over to the Kaiser’s side without a second glance at Magdalena. The Kaiser offered her his arm, and she took it.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you as well, Baroness Westpfale,” the Kaiser said. “Are you and your mother doing well?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Magdalena said, leaning on Yang’s arm slightly.

“And there’s the Baroness’ latest amusement,” Benemunde seemed to be unable to stop herself from saying.

“Indeed,” the Kaiser said. He looked at Yang. “You’re von Leigh, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Yang said. Magdalena twitched back in surprise, clearly not expecting the Kaiser to have any idea who he was.

“I’m gratified to see that you survived your school days as instructed.”

“I did my best, Your Majesty.”

“And where are you working now?”

“Under Commodore Bronner, in the Personnel Intelligence unit.”

The Kaiser nodded. “Does it suit you?”

“I serve at the pleasure of the crown,” Yang said. “But yes, I am well suited to the work.”

“That’s good. I look forward to seeing your career develop.”

Yang wasn’t sure if he was supposed to respond to that. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Frau Westpfale,” the Kaiser said with a nod, then turned with Benemunde and headed off down the path. Everyone remaining around the table waited until the greenhouse door opened and shut again before they sat back down. The princess didn’t sit.

“Thank you for coming to lunch,” Princess Amarie said. “I should get back to my husband.”

“Of course,” Frau Westpfale said.

“Come to our manor next Friday?” she asked Frau Wesptfale.

“I’d be delighted,” Frau Westpfale said. “Please have someone let me know the time.”

“I will.” The princess smiled graciously at Magdalena. “You’re welcome, of course, as well, Baroness, but I suspect you have better things to be doing on your Friday nights.”

“Better might be a strong word for it, Princess,” Magdalena said with a smile. “I’m sure my mother will let you know if I’m coming or not.”

“Of course. Pleasure seeing you again, and pleasure meeting you, Lieutenant.”

Yang, who had not been expecting to be addressed, was startled and said, “Oh, thank you, yes. Pleasure to meet you as well.”

She laughed. “I’m not sure if you should be glad to have my father’s attention, but it will make it less awkward should one see you around at social events.”

Yang rubbed the back of his head, unable to contain that nervous habit even in polite company. “The Kaiser has a good memory.”

“Indeed he does. Well, I should go. Until then,” the princess said, nodded, and departed, leaving only the Westpfales at the table.

“I’m going to walk Lieutenant von Leigh out,” Magdalena said before her mother could get a word in edgewise. “I’ll meet you at the carriage.”

“Lieutenant,” Frau Westpfale said, clearly resigned to her daughter’s antics. “It was a surprise to meet you again.”

“Likewise,” Yang said. “I hope I didn’t trouble your lunch.”

“No, and it wouldn’t have been your fault if you had,” Westpfale said. “You seem like enough of a gentleman. I hope that does not change.”

Magdalena frowned and dragged Yang away before he could say anything else to her mother.

“What was that all about?” Yang asked, when they were back inside the hallways of Neue Sanssouci.

“What?”

“What do you want from me?” Yang asked.

“Literally nothing, Hank. I suppose you did a fine job shutting up.”

“I’m glad I could be of service.”

Magdalena sighed. “Look, do you want me to apologize to you?”

“I don’t know,” Yang said. “You’ve been nothing but confusing.”

“Well, sorry about that.” She crossed her arms as they stood facing each other in the hallway. “If my mother likes you, I can’t have you around.”

“I don’t think she likes me,” Yang said. “I think she was trying to warn me about behaving around you.”

“Sure. But the Kaiser came in and made you look important. That really ruins the novelty.”

“I’m sorry my foreign face couldn’t be more unpleasant to everyone,” Yang said, bitter for the first time.

“Oh, shut up,” Magdalena said. “Isn’t that the least of your problems?”

“And you would know anything about that because…?”

She squinted at him. “You’ll only get your uniform twisted if I make insinuations,” she said. “Let’s just say that I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t assume you were.”

“Good, then we understand each other.”

“Do we?”

“I told you I understand more than you might think, Hank.”

“I can’t say I understand you at all, though.”

“What is there to understand?” Magdalena asked. “I’m just a stupid rich girl who no one can outright say no to, and you’re just a stupid young lieutenant I’m stringing along for my own amusement until I eventually get bored of you. I’ll leave you heartbroken in a few months, and then I’ll find somebody else to amuse myself with. Isn’t that it?”

Yang was silent for a long second. “And that’s the game you want to play?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see why.”

“It beats the alternative,” she said finally, waving her hand and signalling an end to the conversation.

“Could you at least give me fair warning before you drag me into something next time?”

“You still assume there will be a next time.” She pulled on a curl of her own hair. “Perhaps.”

“I suppose when we next run into each other, I’ll be prepared for you to lunge at me.”

She chuckled at that. “We don’t exactly run in the same social circles.”

“I don’t have much of a social circle.”

“You shouldn’t say that type of thing around women whose only job is to amuse themselves. My birthday is early next month. I might invite you.”

“Er. Okay.”

When Yang returned to his apartment, he was so mentally exhausted by the events of the day that he flopped onto his bed and fell asleep, despite it only being around two in the afternoon. When he woke, the muted winter daylight had changed to an even murkier winter twilight, and his room was freezing cold. He stumbled out of bed, feeling the kind of nausea that comes from sleeping at the wrong time, and struggled to light a fire in his hearth. When he had done that, and rinsed out his mouth in the sink, and eaten about ten cookies from a dry package he kept for late night consumption, he was feeling alive enough to consider the fact that he was now awake and should do something with his evening.

He sat down in his armchair in front of the fire, stretching out his toes towards it until they became almost unpleasantly hot, then searched in his pockets for his phone.

He discovered that he had one message waiting for him, one that he hadn’t been expecting at all.

> I find myself back on Odin earlier than expected. Are you free this evening?