Well-Meaning Teachers

November 482 I.C., Odin

Yang kept seeing Kircheis in class, and the two were cordial to each other, but for some time he didn’t get a direct answer about if Kircheis wanted to move more deeply into what Yang was beginning to understand as his sphere of influence. His answer came eventually from Hilde. Yang had come to her house on a beautiful but blisteringly cold Sunday afternoon, as was his custom, mostly just for the company. Yang was seated on the floor near the fireplace, grading papers. The omnipresent temptation was to chuck them into the fire. Hilde was sprawled across the couch, painstakingly picking her way through one of Yang’s history books that he had gotten from the kaiser, this one being all about Ale Heinessen. Hilde did not speak the Alliance language, but she was determined to learn how to read it. She asked Yang for a translation of every third word, which could have been annoying, but Yang was endlessly patient with her.

She had been silent for a few minutes now, though, which Yang didn’t notice, so intent was he on scowling at his students’ exam essays. Hilde was watching him. “Hank,” she said.

“Mmm?”

“Siegfried was asking me about you.”

“Oh? What did he say?” Yang turned to face her, grateful for any excuse to abandon his grading.

“He asked where you came from, and I said Phezzan, and he asked if that was really true.”

“And what did you say?”

“That I didn’t know any different.”

Yang smiled. “Good answer. What else did he ask?”

“Just what you believe in.”

“And what did you tell him was the answer to that?”

“That you’re a good person who believes in helping people.”

“You’re too generous to me, Fraulein Hilde.”

“He says he can’t figure you out.”

“I told him already that there’s nothing to figure out.” Yang smiled a little. “You can tell him, and it’s fine if he knows that I said this, that anything that he needs to know about me is a matter of public record.”

Hilde sat up straight. “You think he can figure out--”

Yang raised a finger to silence her, and pointed at the open door to the parlor that they were sitting in. Hilde’s father was not around, but the servants were. Hilde nodded and stayed silent.

“The way that one interprets the public record says as much about the interpreter as it does about the event. You know this.” He nodded at the book in Hilde’s hands, which she closed.

“Then why did you tell me to keep quiet?”

“Because there’s a big difference between things that anybody can see if they look closely enough, and things that are discussed for all to hear. Your father, for example, has not looked closely, and I don’t particularly want him to.”

Hilde nodded slowly. “Do you want him to figure it out?”

Yang looked into the fire for a second, thinking of Kircheis’s shockingly red hair. “Do you want him to figure it out?”

“Yes, of course,” Hilde said immediately, then corrected herself. “I think so, anyway.”

“Do you think he will?”

Hilde considered this. “Maybe. I don’t know what he thinks about, though. He’s quiet.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Yang said with a smile. “He’s a good student. I feel like he’s holding himself back.”

“Why do you say that?”

Yang just smiled and reached over to tousle Hilde’s hair. “I’m very aware of what that looks like in a person.”

The next Tuesday night, Hilde sent Yang a text message.

So, on Wednesday, Yang stopped by the one place he knew he would find Kircheis, the freshman SW practicum. He confidently wandered into the classroom and sidled up to Staden at the front. “How are all my freshmen doing?” he asked. They spoke in quiet voices, so that they wouldn’t disrupt the students playing the simulation game.

“I think most people would describe them as more mine than yours, but if you want to claim them as your problem, feel free,” Staden said. “They could be doing worse, I suppose.”

Yang smiled. “Any giving you any trouble?”

“Trouble? No. Headaches? Some. Did you need something, Leigh, or did you just come to increase my headache?”

“Are you breaking for lunch soon? I wanted to steal Cadet Kircheis.”

“Oh?”

“You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I’m not sure what you could want him for.”

“He asked me for some extra reading material.”

“Did he now?”

“Is there a reason he shouldn’t?”

“His post mortems are the most overworked things I’ve seen in years. He doesn’t need to drive himself crazy with more thinking.”

Yang laughed. “Do you want me to try to cure him of it?”

“Some bad habits that cadets come in with are incurable, I’m afraid.” Staden glanced at his watch. “We’re breaking for lunch in fifteen. Do you want to see the gamestate?”

“Sure.”

Staden led Yang over to the master computer, from which he could see all the logs of all of the games. Each game and participant was identified by a unique number, so Yang couldn’t immediately see which one was Kircheis. He glanced over the scenario enough to get a sense of what he was looking at, and then began paging through the game logs, examining each one to see if he could figure out which one belonged to Kircheis. He suspected Staden, as usual, was testing him.

The scenario was somewhat involved, and was a space battle, both of which were odd for the freshman class, since Staden liked to start off with simpler ground exercises. In this particular game, one team was attempting to hold a planet, while the other team was attempting to break through to rescue the planet under siege. Both sides had numerous ways to lose. If the rescuing team did not arrive quickly enough, the planet would suffer. If the planet was hurt, that would be a loss for the rescuers as well. The team holding the planet would lose if they didn’t manage to maintain order on the planet, or if they were defeated by the rescuers. It was a delicate balance that they all had to strike. The GMs were responsible for simulating the unruly populace.

“This is more realistic than you usually make it,” Yang said.

“I’ve been trying to incorporate some realism recently, though it tends to break some of their brains,” Staden said.

Most of the games had gone directly in to the meat of the battle, since most students understood the ‘point’ of SW class to be practicing battle tactics. There was one game, however, that appeared extremely strange. The defending force had split apart into a large group and a small group, with the large group leaving the planet to hide near the system’s star. The small group had then gone out to skirmish with the incoming ships, and feigned retreating towards the planet. It reminded Yang very much of the first battle he had led, the one where Merkatz, still a commodore then, had allowed him to take command of the battle group while on patrol.

“Kircheis is defending here, correct?” Yang asked.

“How did you know?”

“He’s taken inspiration from a public record that I directed him to,” Yang said. “Playing a little dangerously, though.”

“He’s undefeated so far,” Staden said. “I have no doubt that he’ll remain that way this time.” Yang nodded. He could see that Kircheis was making subtle improvements to the strategy that the Alliance forces had applied that time against him. For one thing, he had made sure that the small group he sent out to skirmish was not just a sacrificial lamb but bait, drawing the enemy in closer-- he was careful not to lose too many ships. And he also kept his main force far closer, and he was beginning to bring them in now, as soon as it was clear that the attacking force had committed to moving closer to the planet. It was a good strategy, and he could see why Kircheis had chosen it.

“I’m sure in his postmortem he’ll spend three pages describing different tactics with which someone could have beaten him,” Staden said, watching the display as the GMs moved the ships.

“It’s good to be aware of the flaws in a strategy,” Yang said quietly. “Stops you from getting overconfident.”

“Perspective is one thing, feeling like you’re against an omniscient enemy is another. It’s not overconfidence that’s the problem, but underconfidence.”

“Does he lack confidence, though?”

“He hedges his bets in his writing.”

“Not here, though. Not where it counts,” Yang said, feeling compelled to defend Kircheis. “He made a plan, and he’s following through on it. That requires confidence.”

“I hope that you’re right.”

Yang smiled. “I don’t know how I’m more optimistic about your students than you are.”

“It’s because teaching here and thinking about how, if I don’t impress the correct thoughts into their heads, they’re all going to go off and get themselves and thousands of other people killed has given me an ulcer the size of my stomach,” Staden said. “Speaking of. It’s time to break for lunch.” He hit the command on the master computer that would freeze everyone’s games.

“Thanks for letting me see the game. It was enlightening,” Yang said.

“I’m sure,” Staden said. “Go catch your cadet.” Then Staden was forced to walk away to yell at two cadets who had decided to talk about the ongoing game in front of him.

Yang went out into the hallway and waited for Kircheis to emerge from one of the other rooms. He didn’t see Yang, and he walked by himself, stretching his arms out over his head, fingertips easily grabbing on to the upper door frame as he passed under it.

“Kircheis,” Yang said. The redhead jumped, startled, and stopped walking, looking around for the source of his name. Yang waved and smiled.

“Oh, Lieutenant Commander, I didn’t see you there.”

“Join me for lunch, Cadet?”

Kircheis looked around at his classmates streaming past then said, “If you like, sir.”

Yang glanced at the time. “If we’re fast, we can get Joseph’s.”

“I’m underage, sir.”

“They have excellent sandwiches there. Come on.” Yang led Kircheis out, and they braved the bitingly cold air and headed off campus to Joseph’s. The sky was thick and grey overhead, and a few flurries of snow were coming down, landing on their hair and melting immediately.

“Any plans for winter break, Kircheis?” Yang asked as they walked.

“Not really, sir. Mostly just going to go home.” He looked into the distance a little wistfully. “It will be nice to have time to really see my friend again.”

“The one who quotes classics?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Martin Bufholtz. What about you, sir?” Yang noticed the slight rise of tension in Kircheis’s voice, so didn’t mind that he switched the topic.

“Oh, I think I’ll try to get some work done. Maybe finally finish the edits to my book.”

“That’s exciting.”

“There’s no need to lie to me,” Yang said. “I live a very boring lifestyle, and it gives me great joy.” They made it to Joseph’s and ducked inside the dark bar, each shaking off their hair and brushing off their shoulders to clear the little bits of snow. Yang gestured to his favorite booth and they both sat, with Yang immediately contorting himself to bring his legs up on the chair. Kircheis sat much more politely.

The waitress came around to take their order. “Your usual, Hank?” she said.

“Yes, thank you, Maria. And what do you want, Kircheis?”

“Er, turkey club, and a water, thanks.”

After the waitress left, Kircheis asked, “Was there something you wanted me for, sir?”

“I see you did some digging,” Yang said. “And you’re ready to match up against Hilde.”

“How did you know?”

“Well, for one thing, Staden showed me your game that’s in progress.”

Kircheis blushed, his cheeks and ears matching his hair. Yang smiled a little. “You saw that, sir?”

“So, I was right about where you got your inspiration from. It’s not a bad strategy.”

“We shouldn’t talk about it-- it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Oh, right.” Yang leaned back against the wall and looked at Kircheis steadily. “Was that the only battle you looked up?”

“No, sir,” he said. “I looked at all the ones that you listed, that first day of class.”

“Do you have any opinions on what you saw?”

Kircheis looked away. He opened his mouth once, then closed it again. “How could I not have opinions, sir?”

“You look as though you want to say something.”

“I’m not sure how you survived, sir.”

“I was young and inexperienced. Sometimes people who are young and inexperienced are allowed to make mistakes.” Yang smiled, though.

“I know what you mean.”

“Do you?” Yang asked. Kircheis immediately closed his mouth, as though he had said too much. This was extremely interesting to Yang, who leaned forward a little bit. “You’re even younger and more inexperienced than I was.”

Kircheis’s eyes were wide, as though he realized that he had made a mistake and revealed too much. About what, Yang didn’t know, but he was suddenly more interested in Kircheis than he had been even before. He had the fleeting thought that he could ask Bronner to investigate his student, but then he shook his head and squashed it. “Well, nevermind, if you don’t want to say.”

Kircheis nodded. At this point, the waitress brought over their food, and Yang let the topic drop for a moment. He wanted to know what Kircheis’s real thoughts were, but the wall in between them, the obligation of secrets, was too high. But at least he knew that there was a wall.

“You should come with me to Count Mariendorf’s house this weekend. I would like to see you play an SW game against Hilde.”

“If everyone is sure that the count won’t mind.”

“He’s a very nice man,” Yang said. “The kind of person to honestly and gently scold me for making a mistake like I did.” He hoped that Kircheis would understand what he meant-- that the count had no idea of Yang’s ulterior motives.

“I see, sir.”

“Now, Hilde, she scolded me for completely different reasons.”

“She doesn’t seem like she would be unhappy…” Kircheis said. He was phrasing it very delicately. “She spoke very highly of… the things you’ve accomplished.”

Yang smiled. “She was unhappy that I could have died. I had to explain to her plainly the reality of being a soldier. She is still very young.”

Kircheis nodded. “She doesn’t act her age.”

“She never has. I would worry that I was taking her childhood away from her, by practicing all my teaching on her, but she has always been happiest when she’s got her fingers on the pulse of the world.”

“She understands a lot, then?”

“Not everything,” Yang said. “Not yet.”

“Is there something more to understand?” Kircheis asked.

Yang tilted his head. “There is a nearly infinite supply of things to understand about this world.”

“I suppose.”

Yang took a drink of his beer and studied Kircheis in silence. Kircheis didn’t flinch under his gaze, but was certainly aware of it, lifting his eyes to study Yang in return, though carefully avoiding eye contact. “Why do you have such an interest in me, sir?” Kircheis asked.

“I wasn’t aware that I was, more than usual,” Yang said. “It was you who spoke to me on the day of the hunt. Does it bother you?”

“No, sir,” Kircheis said.

“It’s funny,” Yang said. “I feel like I’ve been in your position, asking that same question, so many times in my life. Maybe that’s part of growing older. You become the interested rather than the interesting.”

“I don’t think you’re uninteresting, sir,” Kircheis said, but looked away.

“Kind of you to say that,” Yang said, keeping his voice intentionally dry. “Being interesting, though, can be a bit of a curse.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t aware that you were deaf, Kircheis.”

“Sir?” Yang had been teasing him, but Kircheis seemed genuinely startled.

“Don’t pretend not to have heard the way your classmates talk about me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, about them, sir.”

“It’s hardly your fault.” Yang waved his hand. “That is one curse of being interesting, anyway.”

“I don’t think I share it,” Kircheis said.

“Not that particular one,” Yang agreed. He changed the topic, just a little. “You’re holding yourself back, aren’t you?”

“No, sir.”

Yang picked up a french fry from his plate and gestured with it. “You are. You hedge your bets, Staden says. And you don’t speak up to lead the other students. That will cause you trouble when Staden puts you on teams.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I just see-- Well, what kind of ambitions do you have, Kircheis?” He felt rather like Reuenthal.

“None, sir.”

“No ambitions? You could at least say ‘to retire with a nice pension’ or ‘to remain top of the class.’ There isn’t a wrong answer.” He was amused, though Kircheis wouldn’t possibly be able to understand why.

Kircheis seemed very uncomfortable. “I don’t know, sir. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Think about it,” Yang said. “It’s well and good to be first through talent alone, but if you don’t put that talent towards something intentionally, you’re liable to get lost.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I just mean that life will start pushing you in one direction or another, and you’ll never have a reason to choose one path…” He shrugged. “People will be able to take advantage of your talent if you don’t have your own motivations. Even if they’re simple ones, you should still have them.”

“Do you have ambitions, sir?”

“Of course I do.” When Kircheis didn’t say anything, as though he was waiting for Yang to continue, Yang said, “I want to do more good than harm. And after that, I want to live an easy and happy life. Drink hot tea and good beer.” He knocked his knuckle on the rim of his beer glass.

“I think we have something in common, then,” Kircheis said.

Yang was frozen for a second, then grinned broadly. “I certainly hope so, Kircheis.” He raised his beer. “To leaving the universe a better place than we found it.”

Yang wasn’t sure he had seen Kircheis smile yet, but when he did, the expression was beatific. His eyes crinkled up so much that they practically closed. Kircheis raised his glass of water towards him. “Yes, sir.”

February 483 I.C., Odin

From that point, on, Kircheis was quite friendly towards Yang. They didn’t have much occasion to speak socially during the week-- for all that the age difference between them was relatively small, Yang was still Kircheis’s teacher, so he would have felt strange inviting him out drinking. But Kircheis came to Yang’s office hours fairly often, mostly just to talk. They also ended up meeting at the Mariendorf house several times, due to Hilde inviting them both at once.

After the third time this happened, Count Mariendorf pulled Yang aside. They stepped into the hallway, still able to see through the glass door into the parlor where Kircheis and Hilde were comparing notes on the battle that they had just simulated. Kircheis was smiling, but Hilde was leaning forward, very intensely scribbling something on a piece of paper. They could hear their muted tones, but couldn’t make out the exact words they were saying.

“Hilde likes that game you play with her, doesn’t she?” the count asked, speaking softly.

“She’s very good at it,” Yang said.

“It’s rare that I get to see her so engaged.” Franz was rather melancholy. “You can see the gears turning in her brain.”

“Kircheis is the number one student in the freshman class, and undefeated in school,” Yang said. “But I give it two or three more matches before she beats him.”

“Really?” Franz asked. “You’ve taught her well.”

“She’s not my student.”

Franz chuckled and put his hand on Yang’s shoulder. “No, she was your guinea pig for when you became a teacher. I think you have a natural way with it.”

“Only with certain types of students,” Yang said. “Others…” He shrugged helplessly.

“Everyone has their strengths.” He sighed a little. “I don’t know what to think about this being Hilde’s.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I am not sure that I should be glad or not that Hilde was not born a boy. She could go far if she was.”

“You think she can’t be successful as a woman?”

“Am I doing her a disservice?” Franz asked. “To let her pretend that she won’t become a woman eventually?”

“I don’t have any idea what you mean, sir.”

He gestured through the window at her. Hilde was typing something onto the computer, then dragging simulated ships forward and backward through space. Kircheis pointed at the screen and said something to her, which caused her to sit back on her haunches and frown, then type something else. “When I die, and she’s my heir, will she be able to dress like a boy forever? She skips her finishing classes, and I give her permission because I would be bored out of my mind by them too. She sneaks into the top military academy to attend lectures, because you and I help her along. But somebody is going to stop her, eventually. And when she’s a few years older and wants to attend a university… She won’t be allowed to go to the IOA, even though I think she secretly dreams of it.”

“I don’t think she’s as ignorant of that as you worry she is.” Yang rubbed the back of his head. “I never hear her talk about the future. Do you?”

“No.”

Yang nodded. “I would put money on that being because she doesn’t want to think about what you were just saying. She might not think it in those terms, but…” Yang shrugged.

“Is it wrong? For me to indulge her?”

“No, sir,” Yang said. “Why would it be wrong?”

“Because it will hurt all the more when it’s taken away.”

“Let her be happy,” Yang said. “She’ll figure out the best way to live for herself when she needs to.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“If there’s one thing I am sure of, it’s that Hilde is very capable. I don’t think you need to worry.”

“It’s my job as a father.” He rubbed his chin. “What would Amelie think of her? That’s another thing I have to wonder.”

“She would be very proud of her talented and open-hearted daughter,” Yang said firmly. “Everything else is secondary.”

“And I see that I’m leaning on you once again. I apologize.”

Yang shook his head. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Franz was silent for half a second, then said, “That cadet. What are his intentions?”

“Intentions, sir?”

“With Hilde.”

“I think they’re just friends. He was concerned that you would think he was taking advantage.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Yang said. “I have no reason to believe Kircheis is anything but honest.” He paused for a second. “I’m glad that they’re friends. I don’t believe he has any at the IOA.”

“Really?”

Yang shrugged. “Perhaps the kind of friendship that I had while I was there is rarer than I thought.”

The count made a noncommittal noise. “He seems like a nice young man.”

Yang smiled. “He is.”

“Well, I hope he’s not getting his hopes up about anything.”

Yang looked at him. “Will you forbid him from seeing her?”

“Oh, no,” Franz said. “I just don’t think Hilde has any interest.”

“What makes you say that? They seem to be getting along.”

“Maybe I’m wrong,” Franz said, closing the topic, though he hadn’t even said anything. “She’s young, anyway.”

“That is very true. Who can say what the future will hold?”

May 483 I.C., Odin

The atmosphere around campus on the first Friday in May was odd. Yang couldn’t figure out what it was, and he didn’t try to. Tuesdays and Fridays were his busiest days, since he taught two sections of Military History and one of Ancient Earth. That was six hours of lecturing, and he barely had time to breathe, let alone figure out what the gossip was. He could hear it, though, when students trooped into class, before they got settled down. When Kircheis came in with Hilde, Yang, who had already been sitting on his customary table up front, hopped down to talk to him.

“Any clue what all the fuss is about, Cadet Kircheis?” Yang asked.

“Not really, sir,” Kircheis said. “I heard Staden didn’t hold his two SW classes for the engineering cohort today, though.”

“Really…” Yang rubbed his neck. “He never misses class.”

“A bunch of the senior professors are out today.”

“I wonder what happened.”

“Something big, I guess,” Kircheis said.

“Want me to ask my dad?” Hilde asked. “He’s at Neue Sanssouci.”

“I’m sure I’ll find out eventually,” Yang replied. “No point in worrying about it now.” He glanced the clock. “I should get started, or I’ll be just as guilty of not holding class as Staden is.”

His students were clearly in a state of anxiety, with many of them taking out their phones, or leaning towards their peers to whisper while Yang lectured. He couldn’t really blame them: as the weird atmosphere continued, he was tempted to take out his phone and see what the news was. But then he remembered that he kept his phone in his office desk for precisely that reason, so he couldn’t. He tried not to let it get to him, and just continued speaking his way through the intricacies of Rudolph von Goldenbaum’s success against the Main Street Pirates, a topic that he didn’t care for in the least, but was obligated to cover.

He was half sprawled out across the table at the front, with one leg stretched far out in front of him, the other up, with his arm resting on his knee and his chin on his arm, when the door at the back of the classroom opened. He paid it no mind at first.

“Recall that Rudolph’s strategy involved small, mobile fleets placed in defensive positions around key planets. When word was received that pirates were in the area, they were able to quickly deploy--”

His students at the rear of the room were standing. Yang couldn’t see what the fuss was, because the standing students had now blocked his view. He stopped speaking, though, and craned his neck to see. Coming down the stairs was von Steger, the head of the IOA, followed by a group of fleet soldiers, all visibly armed. Yang didn’t get up. If he was going to be shot to death in the front of his classroom, he was at least going to do it while sitting comfortably.

“Is there something I can do for you, Rear Admiral?” Yang asked as von Steger approached.

Steger looked rather affronted by Yang’s posture, but he didn’t make a comment on that. “Fleet Admiral Muckenburger has requested your presence at the Ministry of War,” Steger said. “You’re to be escorted.”

Yang raised an eyebrow. “Any idea what this is about?”

“No,” Steger said.

“Well, if that’s all it is,” Yang said, and hopped off the table. As soon as his feet were on the floor, the soldiers surrounded him. They didn’t touch him, but they made it clear with their body language that they wanted him to walk forward.

Yang pushed through to the front of them for a second. “Er, class dismissed,” he said to the watching students. Some were horrified, some were amused, but most were confused. “Make sure you finish your essays for next class.” Nobody moved, waiting for Yang to be escorted out.

“Hank!” Hilde said, trying to get to him. Yang glanced at Kircheis, whose face was white as a sheet, and nodded at him. He grabbed Hilde’s shoulder and restrained her. The whole incident had taken less than five seconds, but it made Steger aware of Hilde’s presence, and he frowned deeply at first Hilde, then Yang.

Yang was escorted out of the building, where a car was parked along one of the driveable paths through campus. He was allowed to get into it under his own power which probably meant that he wasn’t being arrested. Steger didn’t get into the car, and none of the soldiers who had been sent to get him spoke at all, so the ride off campus was eerily silent.

Of all of the people he knew, Yang had the worst sense of direction, but he had made the trip between the IOA and the Ministry of War enough times to know that that was indeed the path that the car was going on. It was some relief, to know that he hadn’t been lied to about that. He wondered if he really was going to see Fleet Admiral Muckenburger.

He stared out the window at the grey afternoon and hoped that Kircheis would stop Hilde from being too alarmed. He wondered if he should have written a will, or something of the sort. It was far too late for all of that, now.

The car pulled up in front of the Ministry of War building. Yang’s instinct was to walk around towards the back entrance, which was the closest one to where his old office in the PI unit had been, but he was shuffled out of the car and up the huge front steps, escorted through the huge marble lobby, and up the main staircase. So, they were going to Fleet Admiral Muckenburger. Yang was aware of the vague location of his office, though mainly to avoid it, since he had been ordered strictly to stay out of Muckenburger’s sight. He guessed that was out the window now.

The whole atmosphere of the Ministry of War was similar in its tension to what the students at the Academy had been feeling, though everyone here rushed about much more purposefully, clearly knowing what was going on. All the IOA students must have just been hearing vague rumors from their fathers or older brothers or cousins or former upperclassmen about what was going on here. Information tended to trickle like that. Yang was curious, and he tried to use that curiosity rather than fear.

They stopped short of the office that Yang suspected was Muckenburger’s, and instead ended up in front of a conference room, guarded by another soldier. “Sidearm?” the soldier said, intending to take his.

“Er, don’t carry one. I teach at the IOA.”

The guard looked to the soldiers next to Yang for confirmation, the leader of them nodded, and then the guard knocked on the door and allowed Yang into the room.

He saluted immediately, as neatly as he could. There was Fleet Admiral Muckenburger, a good number of the upper admiralty, what seemed like a few people he recognized from around the Ministry of War-- maybe from the Strategic Planning department, he thought-- and, to his surprise, Commodore Bronner.

Yang hastily sat down in the chair next to Bronner when Bronner pulled it out for him. Muckenburger shot him a look, but someone was at the front of the room going over slides on the projector, so he didn’t interrupt that.

Yang took a good look at what was being shown on the slides, and when he did, he felt odd, his hearing seeming to go as all the blood rushed from his head. There was Iserlohn fortress, surrounded by a glittering cloud of debris that was probably in the thousands of kilometers wide. The surface of the fortress, which was normally a smooth metal sphere, looking like nothing so much as a perfect glittering soap bubble in space, was horribly marred, with the liquid metal cover being completely gone in places, and huge gouges torn into where the floating gun platforms must have once traveled. He felt ill. His hands gathered up the fabric of his pants, nails digging into his skin.

Bronner must have noticed his tension, because on the tablet in front of him he typed, “We kept it,” and showed the message to Yang. He didn’t completely relax, but he was at least momentarily spared the worry that they were about to be invaded, having lost the only obstacle between the Free Planets’ Alliance and the Empire.

Yang hadn’t quite recovered his senses when the presenter sat back down at his seat, and Muckenburger took the meeting back over.

“So, our guest of dubious honor has arrived,” Muckenburger said and looked across the table at Yang. Yang flinched, startled.

“I apologize if you were waiting on me, sir,” Yang managed to get out.

“No. I called you here because you appear to be the lynchpin of a little mystery.”

“Sir?”

“Do you know this man? Emmerling, bring up the photograph.” Yang turned to look at the projector again, grateful for the excuse to escape Muckenburger’s fierce stare. The man who had been giving the presentation flipped back through the slide deck rapidly, before landing on a picture of a dour looking man, with brown hair streaked with grey, and flat, artificial eyes above a pinched mouth.

“Yes, I do,” Yang said, startled. “That’s Commander Oberstein. He’s with the Iserlohn Stationed Fleet, I believe.”

Muckenbburger raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know Commander Oberstein?”

“We had a mutual acquaintance, and he introduced himself to me several years ago.” He looked around the table. “Is there some trouble…?”

This was apparently the wrong question to ask, because the table devolved into a controlled form of chaos, with everyone beginning to argue with their neighbor. Muckenburger held up his hand and the table fell silent again.

“Commander Oberstein provided Admiral Kleist with information that allowed his fleet to escape total destruction. One might argue that he saved Iserlohn and the majority of the Iserlohn Fleet.” Mukenburger paused for effect, which Bronner seemed to appreciate. “One might argue, as well, that since that information was provided while holding Admiral Kleist at gunpoint, he should be court martialed and shot.”

“Oh,” Yang said. He had his suspicions, but he had to ask. “Is there a reason you needed me, in particular, sir? Commander Oberstein is my friend, but we’re not exactly close.”

“I don’t have the patience for you to be smart with me, Leigh,” Muckenburger said. “Oberstein said that you were the one who provided the information that allowed him to act.”

Yang blanched a little. “I would not have told him to threaten a superior officer, sir.”

“But you did provide him with this.” Muckenburger slid a thick binder across the table. Yang caught it, hesitantly opened it, and found exactly what he had been expecting to find: his own plans for the Alliance attempt to capture Iserlohn, a copy of the same thing that he had provided to both Oberstein and Muckenburger, several years ago. He had almost forgotten about them.

“Let me ask you this outright,” Muckenburger said. “Are you a spy, Lieutenant Commander?”

“What? No, sir!” Yang was startled by this line of questioning, even more than he had been by the revelation that Oberstein had taken the fate of Iserlohn fortress into his own hands.

“Then explain to me how it is that you came to be in possession of an almost to-the letter account of how the rebel fleet would attempt to capture Iserlohn fortress.”

Yang rubbed the back of his neck. “I just thought about it, sir.” He looked at Bronner for help, but Bronner was too amused watching Yang suffer. “You know there are plans in there that didn’t get used.” He hesitantly pushed the binder back across the table. And then he couldn’t help himself. “Besides, sir, if I were a spy, why would I just give you all of this?”

“It’s true that he did seem to spontaneously generate this while working under me,” Bronner said, finally speaking up on Yang’s behalf.

“Commander Oberstein did say that you did not tell him what to do with the information you provided, which is one of the only reasons you are not currently joining him in a holding cell, and instead are having a friendly talk here,” Muckenburger said. Friendly was not the term that Yang would have used. The hostility towards him in the room was palpable.

“I’m grateful that you believed him,” Yang said cautiously.

“Would you be able to walk us through how exactly you ‘spontaneously generated’ these plans?”

“Which one, sir? I, er, still don’t know exactly what happened to Iserlohn.”

“The parallel pursuit strategy.” Muckenburger said. “With the missiles.”

“Oh, yeah, I did think that one had the best shot at succeeding,” Yang said. He rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, I can explain it.” He was forced to lean across the table to grab the binder that he had discarded, and he flipped through it towards the front page. “Er, do you mind?” he asked, gesturing to the projector.

“Be our guest,” Muckenburger said, his voice as dry as sand.

Yang very awkwardly stood and went to the front of the room. He fumbled with the binder, sliding it under the document camera. He stared at it blankly for a second, trying to recall what his thought process had been while writing it, then gave up on that and just tried to bring to mind what information he had on Admiral Sithole, working to recreate it from what he knew. Yang tried to relax, tried to forget about the fact that he was giving this presentation to one of the highest ranking officials in the Empire, and instead just began to deliver it as though he were speaking to his classes at the IOA, walking them through.

“So, I made the assumption that Admiral Sithole would be the next logical choice to lead an assault on Iserlohn-- which already requires a little unpacking. First: Iserlohn. Why is it necessary for the rebel fleet to attack through Iserlohn?”

Yang was a good off-the-cuff lecturer, but he could see several people at the table begin to go cross-eyed the further he got into it, and Bronner was not amused almost immediately by Yang beginning with a digression. Muckenburger was patient, though, steepling his fingers and just listening to what Yang had to say as he walked through his whole assessment of the possible battle, which had become real.

A fake battle making its way into the real world-- the thought gave Yang a strange sensation in the lower part of his spine, like he had somehow crossed a divide. Things were not so academic anymore, and he could no longer pretend that he was not, in at least this way, a loyal soldier of the Empire. He had helped them win. He had provided information that changed the course of the battle, for the better. What an odd thought. Was that a betrayal? A betrayal of what?

Yang managed to keep all those thoughts off his face and out of his voice as he delivered his lecture. He made sure to go into detail about why he thought that the fortress commander might be forced to use the Thor Hammer against their own fleet.

He interrupted himself. “Can I ask-- was that what Commander Oberstein was trying to stop?”

“Yes,” Muckenburger said.

“And did he?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good,” Yang said. That was a relief. His original plan would have ended there, with the pyrrhic victory or loss, but he was glad that the stationed fleet soldiers hadn’t simply been sacrificial lambs. “I assume that Commander Oberstein told Admiral Kleist to scatter the fleet, and then Admiral Wartenburg fired the Thor Hammer on the rebel fleet?”

“Yes, that’s what happened.”

“Okay. Then that would pretty much be the end of things. Er, does anyone have any questions?” He stood rubbing his head very awkwardly.

“Do you expect that they could use this tactic again in the future?” Muckenburger asked.

“You need to unify command at Iserlohn,” Yang said. “And make sure communications are as robust as possible to stop that from being a problem. Message relay satellites every hundred kilometers throughout the corridor if necessary. But no, I don’t know if they’ll use this specific tactic again.” He paused. “Well, they’ve used the overwhelming force tactic several times to no success, so they might keep trying it. But every time they do try it, you’ll know better how to defeat it. It was probably best when it had the element of surprise.”

Muckenburger nodded. “And what do you think they’ll try next?”

“Er, I couldn’t say, sir. When I came up with all of this I was working under Commodore Bronner. I had access to a lot more information than I do now.” He waved his hand generally in the vicinity of his binder. “And I had a reason to think about all of this.”

Muckenburger considered him silently for a second, and Yang thought he was going to say something else, but he didn’t. “Any other questions?” Yang asked.

There was a general silence from the table, so Yang slunk back to his seat, taking the binder from the document camera with him, and managing to almost trip over his chair as he sat down.

Muckenburger seemed done with him, so the conversation around the table shifted to how to best reinforce Iserlohn, to prevent a follow up attack. Yang listened, but didn’t think that there would be a follow up attack, and didn’t care much for logistics, so it didn’t interest him as much as it should have.

At the end of the meeting, everyone saluted Muckenburger and he left. Bronner tried to talk to Yang, but Yang slipped out of his grasp and headed for the door. He saw Muckenburger vanish around a corner, and Yang jogged after him.

“Fleet Admiral!” Yang called.

Muckenburger stopped, clearly annoyed. “You have fifteen seconds to say what you need to say, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Please don’t punish Commander Oberstein,” Yang said, slightly out of breath. “Blame me for what he did if you want, but don’t court martial him. Please, sir.”

“He threatened to kill Admiral Kleist,” Muckenburger said.

“He saved the lives of thousands of soldiers,” Yang pleaded. “Do you care about discipline more than you care about--”

“You should be careful not to insinuate what I care or do not care about,” Muckenburger said. “Discipline, von Leigh, is what makes an army function. It is something that you seem to lack.” Muckenburger turned to go down the hallway again.

“Sir, please consider it!” Yang called after him.

Muckenburger stopped and turned back, exasperation written clear on his sideburned face. “Are you going to threaten high command with a gun to get what you want as well, von Leigh?”

Yang was shocked by the question. He spread his arms. “I’m a teacher, sir. I don’t even carry a sidearm.”

Muckenburger stared at him for a second. “Do not follow me, Leigh. You’re not helping your case.” And then he left, leaving Yang standing in the hallway, rather dejected.

Bronner came up behind him, and, once Muckenburger had left earshot, said, “You love to stick your little neck on the line, don’t you.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Yang asked.

“Read your script and don’t ad-lib,” Bronner said. He shook his head. “You have a unique ability to turn a moment where you come out looking competent into one where you look like a disaster. You should have just smiled and taken whatever promotion he was going to give you.”

Yang scowled. “And you’re one to give advice.”

“As your mentor, and the person who was pointing this all out to Muckenburger for years, I’m sure somehow I’ll make rear admiral out of this,” Bronner said with a grim smile. He began walking, and waited for Yang to follow him. “Come on. If you stay in this building you’re going to make a fool of yourself in front of somebody else important.”

Yang trudged after him.

“You should come back to working for me,” Bronner said as they headed for the exit.

“I thought you didn’t like me.”

“Oh, I hate your guts, Leigh. But you’re smart, and you clearly have an uncanny knack for strategy.”

“I like being a teacher,” Yang said.

“No glory in it.”

“If I was glory seeking, I would be a very different man. And I think you’d like me worse.”

“Perhaps.”

They exited the building together into the warm and waning afternoon light. “Why do you care what happens to that Oberstein, anyway?”

“He was friendly to me at a time when very few other people were,” Yang said. “He’s an honest man. And a good one.” He kicked at the ground, his hands in his pockets, as they headed down the steps side by side. “To have him imprisoned or killed because he saved people’s lives… I think it’s just not fair, sir.”

“Has life ever been fair, Leigh?”

“If I can possibly pay the price of personal embarrassment to make the world more fair, and to stop my friend’s life from being ruined, I’d pay that price every day of my life.”

“Would he do the same for you?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Yang said. “That’s not what this is about.” He thought that Oberstein probably would, though not for the same reasons, and that thought made Yang distinctly uncomfortable.

“You’re a strange man.”

Yang shook his head. “I know.”

“Do you want a ride home?” Bronner asked.

“No, I’ll just walk to the train,” Yang said. “It’s nice weather.”

“Suit yourself.” Bronner started to go back across the parking lot. Yang turned and walked away, but he hadn’t gone very far when Bronner called out to him again. “Leigh!” Yang turned. Bronner was standing in between the rows of black cars, light glinting off their hoods and mirrors onto his uniform. He seemed surprised at something, maybe at the fact that he had called out, or the fact that Yang had turned. “Good job. I mean it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Yang said.

“Nobody else was going to say it, so I guess I had to. Don’t expect to hear that from me again.”

“Okay, sir.” Yang smiled. Bronner waved his hand dismissively, then turned away for good, getting into one of the parked cars. Yang hated the fact that he liked Bronner’s approval, but he liked it nonetheless.

A few days later, one of Yang’s landladies handed him an envelope. It had the imperial fleet seal on it, and he thanked her and went upstairs to read it. He stood in front of the window, the light fading, but he didn’t want to turn on the electric light just yet, and it was too warm to light a proper fire, so he held the letter to the light and clumsily ripped it open.

He had neither hoped for, nor expected, a promotion, but there it was, in plain black type. He had made commander within four years of graduating from the IOA, for no reason that he could really comprehend. But when he looked there, down at the bottom of the letter, there was the personal recommendation from Fleet Admiral Muckenburger.

Von Leigh provided a great service to the crown, showing loyalty and ability far above his station. He is a man with clear talent that should be used to its fullest potential. Although he was appointed to his current position by His Majesty, I suggest that Leigh transfer to a more active posting within the next several years. This promotion to Commander befits both Leigh’s past accomplishments and his future potential.

Yang folded the letter, not quite neatly. It would go in the desk drawer where he kept his other promotion letters, one signed by Merkatz, the other by the kaiser himself. For now, though, he stared out the window, watching the clouds darken and gather. He didn’t like this promotion. Perhaps he had been able to save the lives of thousands of people in the Iserlohn stationed fleet, and he wished he could focus on only that, but nothing else about what he had done was sitting right with him.

He wanted to go back to thinking of nothing but teaching, but the outside world threatened to break into the safe walls of the IOA. He half laughed at himself for considering that place safe in the first place. It was a small world, a microcosm of the Empire itself, and he was no safer there than he was anywhere else. He was no less dangerous there than he was anywhere else, either.

Unbidden, his thoughts went all the way back to his freshman year, when it seemed like false battles were his entire life. Reuenthal had asked him what kind of ambitions he had.

Yang stared out the window. The light was almost gone, now, and the trees at the edge of the garden were vanishing into the darkness.

He was a man with the wrong kind of ambitions, then. But now… He had shown loyalty. He had proven himself in Muckenburger’s eyes. Was he really falling into the same trap that he had tried to warn Kircheis about? Was a lack of ambition allowing people to move him around like a pawn?

Yang turned away from the window into the darkness of his bedroom and fumbled for the lightswitch on the wall. The electric light cleared away the darkness and replaced it with alarmingly harsh lines. He looked at the letter in his hands.

“Do I have to write Muckenburger a thank you letter?” he asked aloud. “Maybe that would just annoy him.”