Love -> Building On Fire

November 484 I.C., Odin

“I was starting to worry that you weren’t coming,” Reuenthal said, smiling at Yang as he slid into the booth across from him in the bar. Reuenthal hadn’t actually been worried that Yang wasn’t going to show up, but he had been wondering when that would be.

“And not celebrate your long overdue promotion? It would be criminal of me.” He took off his hat and gloves, then shrugged off his jacket, tossing the whole wet bundle onto the seat beside him. “Train was delayed because of the snow.”

“Oh?”

“For the first snow of the year, it’s a heavy one.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have dragged you all the way out to the capital. You’ll be stranded here, instead of being able to go home to your own warm bed.” Reuenthal was smiling, and Yang laughed.

“It’s not so warm when I haven’t been home to light the fire. Besides, it’s no imposition to come out here.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You should be pleased,” Yang said. Reuenthal watched as Yang curled himself up on the bench in a way that Reuenthal could not imagine was comfortable, one foot tucked underneath himself, his other knee up near his chin.

“And why is that?”

“Because you, of all people, have managed to overcome my laziness.” Yang’s smile was wide, and his tone was a familiar, joking one.

“If only that accomplishment was what earned me my promotion,” Reuenthal said. The waitress came over and they both ordered drinks. When she returned, Yang raised his beer in a toast.

“To Commander Oskar von Reuenthal! Prosit!”

They knocked their glasses together and drank. “You’re not unhappy that I’ve caught up to you?”

Yang snorted into his beer. “Not in the least. I look forward to the day you make captain, and I remain a commander. It will be as though the galaxy has returned to spinning in the correct direction.”

“You’re not looking to be promoted?”

“I’m certain that I won’t be, unless I leave the IOA, which I have no intention of doing.”

Reuenthal shook his head, even though he had many things to say about the trajectory of Yang’s career. Yang offered him a smile when he saw the slightly bitter twist of Reuenthal’s lips. “If you fall too far behind, we’ll no longer be number one and number two, and that would be a shame,” Reuenthal finally said, which he considered to be the least inflammatory thing that he could.

Yang laughed. “If I left the IOA, we wouldn’t be able to see each other nearly as much. It’s nice that we’re both working near the capital.”

Reuenthal swirled his beer around in his glass for a second. “You understand that a promotion means a change in post.”

“I was hoping you weren’t going to say that. I assume you’re not just being shuffled around within the Ministry of War?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Alright, tell me where you’re going. You don’t need to draw out the suspense.”

“Don’t I?”

“I think you’ll be more pleased by my wailing and gnashing of teeth when you tell me you’re going half the galaxy away than you will be by making me play twenty questions. You might as well just get on with it.”

“Wailing and gnashing of teeth? Are you going to rend your garments while you’re at it?”

“Mmm, maybe not in this bar,” Yang said with a smile. “It would be unseemly.”

“Oh, then you’re saying I should save the news for when we’re in a more private setting?”

“I’m going home after this,” Yang said, which they both knew was a complete lie. “So you’ll have to tell me the news now.”

“Only if the weather magically clears up enough for the trains to run.”

“I’m sure it will,” Yang said. He was smiling, though. “Come on, tell me. Are you getting a ship of your own? Doing some dreadfully boring supply run?”

“I’m not sure if it’s fortunate or unfortunate to say the answer is no,” Reuenthal said. “I suspect my new posting will be anything but boring, but it’s not on a ship.”

“You are killing me with the suspense.”

“I’m going to Kapche-Lanka,” Reuenthal finally said. “There’s going to be a ground campaign there, to try to retake some of the bases that were overrun a few years ago.”

Yang took a sip of his beer. “How interesting.”

“I’ll have a battalion of my own,” Reuenthal said.

“Congratulations,” Yang said. He had an odd expression on his face, one that Reuenthal couldn’t quite parse.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Lots of things,” Yang said.

“Such as?”

Yang smiled. “Do you remember-- our first SW practicum match?”

“I could hardly forget it. I do recall you beat me.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Yang said. “I didn’t accomplish my objective.”

“A tie, then.”

“I wouldn’t give myself a passing grade for that one,” Yang said with a laugh. “I suppose I could go back and look at our old postmortems.”

“I’m not sure that would do either of us any good.”

“Why, you don’t think SW class has adequately prepared you to start waging a ground war? Should I recall you and put you back in my class, to duke it out with my cadets?”

Reuenthal chuckled. “I don’t think it would be much of a competition.”

“No, probably not. Though I do have a few talented students.” Some of the humor that was in Yang’s voice fell away. “I do think that’s just as stupid of an objective as it was back then.”

“If you rise through the ranks high enough to become someone who chooses the objectives--”

Yang waved his hand. “I’ll let you do that for me. I trust you to have good judgement about that sort of thing.”

“Do you indeed?”

“You were always better at grand strategy than I was,” he said with a bit of a wry smile. “I’m only at my best when I’m backed into a corner. That’s not the type of person you want at the front, giving orders.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Reuenthal said. “But neither of us are right now in a position to tell Fleet Admiral Muckenburger that we should stop contesting that barely-habitable chunk of rock.”

Yang laughed a little. “I’ve certainly told him stupider things.”

“I’m well aware.” Reuenthal studied Yang while he looked away, out the dim front window of the bar where thick flurries of snow were dancing in the light from the sign and streetlights. Yang’s face was soft, in the muted yellow and blue bar lights, with only the slight pinch of his lips betraying that he was still thinking about something. “Are you unhappy that I’m leaving?” Reuenthal asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

“Of course,” Yang said, looking up at him. “But I assume it won’t be for too long. A few months, at most. It’s not like you’re being given command of one of the bases-- that would be a more permanent position.”

“That’s true. I expect I will be back on Odin once this little campaign is over. You just look like you’re thinking about something.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Yang said. He was not a very good liar, and this was an obvious lie to Reuenthal’s ears. Reuenthal didn’t press it for the moment. It might be something that Yang wanted to address privately. Yang switched the topic. “Are you prepared for the cold?”

Reuenthal shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“I must admit that I’m glad I’m not being assigned there. I don’t think I’d survive.”

Reuenthal chuckled a little. “You haven’t been keeping up your practice with an axe while teaching? Perhaps it’s you who needs remedial lessons.”

“I told you once that if I was engaging in hand to hand combat, the battle was already lost. That has not changed at all.” Yang shook his head. “You’ll be fine, though.”

“I’m sure.” Reuenthal took a sip of his beer. “I think, on this occasion, I’m more worried about the commander behind me than the enemy in front of me.”

“Who’s leading the operation?”

“High Admiral Ovlesser.”

Yang made a face. “I suppose I’m not surprised. Ground combat and all.”

“Have you met him?”

“No, but I know him by reputation. I studied some of his engagements while I was working in the PI unit.”

“Any wisdom you can impart?”

“Not really,” Yang said. “Don’t get yourself into a situation where he needs to call a retreat, because he won’t call one.”

“I’m not sure how he has survived to the rank that he has without understanding the tactical value of retreating.”

“I’m sure he understands, but…” Yang fiddled with his napkin. “He’s not stupid. He knows that if he cultivates this reputation, he’ll be able to push people past their limits. I don’t like it as a strategy, but it’s worked for him.”

“Perhaps."

“You probably won’t have to interact with him directly,” Yang said. He leaned forward a little. “Do you have any idea what precisely you’re doing? I’d like to see what the strategy is.”

“So you can use it as teaching material for your students?”

“Sometimes I think we should try a kind of monkeys-at-computers approach to strategy. Just have all of the cadets start randomly trying things, and statistically speaking one of them will have to come up with a good plan.”

Reuenthal laughed. “I’m glad I am not trusting myself to some cadet’s plan. But no, I don’t have any information on it, and I couldn’t give it to you, even if I did. You’ll just have to hear how it all works out when I get back.”

“I look forward to it. When are you leaving?”

“Early next month. Before the solstice. I should put all my things into storage and break my lease.”

“You don’t have to get a storage unit,” Yang said. “You’re welcome to put your stuff at my place.”

“No, thank you,” Reuenthal said.

“Why not? Save you money, and I’ve got plenty of room.”

“I once had an unpleasant time picking up my belongings from Mittermeyer’s house. It’s soured me on the whole concept.”

“I’m much more pleasant than Mittermeyer’s parents are,” Yang said, but he waved his hand with a smile. “Well, do what you want.”

Reuenthal smiled tightly. “Besides, what would your landladies think about me moving all my possessions into your house?”

“I don’t think they’d care, honestly, as long as you weren’t eating meals without paying for them.” He scratched the back of his head, an action that Reuenthal always found endearing. “It’s too bad about your apartment, though. It’s a nice place.”

“I’ll find another when I need to.”

“True.”

Reuenthal wanted to change the subject. “How have your students been doing?”

“Oh, the same as they ever were,” Yang said.

They talked about inconsequential things until both of them were moderately drunk, and then Reuenthal stood and paid their tab. They wandered outside into the night, the snow still falling thick and heavy. There were several inches of it collected on the ground, and visibility was limited.

“I highly doubt the trains are running at any regular intervals,” Reunthal said. “I would hate to think of you spending the night in the train station.”

“You know, one of my talents is being able to fall asleep anywhere,” Yang said, but he craned his neck to look up and down the street, making sure there was no one around. “But I’m sure your apartment is more pleasant.”

Reuenthal’s lips curled up in a bit of a triumphant smile. “I should hope.”

“Lead the way, Commander,” Yang said.

Yang had been joking, but when Reuenthal replied, “Yes, sir,” in a low voice, his cheeks flushed more than could be accounted for by the snow-filled air.

They walked together towards Reuenthal’s apartment, a decent distance away. Their progress was slow, from the snow on the ground, and they eschewed the most direct route in favor of the most plowed one, which took them through more of the main streets.

Although every sound was muted, in the way that falling snow tended to muffle things, there were an unusual number of sirens sounding, especially for this late at night. At one point on their walk, a fire truck rushed past them, nearly causing Yang to fall into the street. Reuenthal gripped his elbow tightly.

“What’s going on, you think?” Yang asked.

“Shall we investigate?”

“Gods, no,” Yang said. “I’m freezing.”

Reuenthal raised his eyebrows. “Your curiosity isn’t warming you up?”

“It’s sobering me up, which I don’t appreciate,” Yang said. “Come on.” He tugged Reuenthal’s sleeve and they continued forward. Their path brought them closer to the sirens, though, and they became aware of an odd smell in the air-- acrid, burning-- and some of the snowflakes that Reuenthal saw landing on Yang’s face were a filthy grey. Reuenthal reached out and swiped some off of Yang’s nose, investigating the sooty smudge that was left on his finger.

“Something’s on fire,” Reuenthal said, though it was stating the obvious.

They both looked up at the sky, where an odd, reddish glow was illuminating the clouds behind the buildings, making them just barely visible as looming black shadows.

“Are you really going to make me go look at it?” Yang asked.

“Does it make you that unhappy to go a little out of your way?”

Yang rolled his eyes. “I’ll live, I suppose. I did just say you had cured me of my laziness. Figures you’d go and test me on it.”

They turned in the direction of all of the sirens and walked until they came upon the scene. It was chaotic, with fire trucks crammed into the street as best they could, and spectators milling around. Yang and Reuenthal blended right in with that crowd.

The building in question was well and truly on fire, and looked like it had been for a while. All the glass had burst out of its windows, and flames were crawling up underneath the cladding, leaving eerie traces along its outer walls, as though it was coming apart at the seams. Most of the firefighting effort was focused on keeping the adjoining buildings from also catching fire. Reuenthal could feel the heat of it on his face. It was an awesome sight, and it made him shiver a little, not because of the cold.

Yang was staring at it with an inscrutable expression on his face. “This is Amberlin Strasse, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Reuenthal said. Yang frowned and pulled out his phone. “Is something the matter?”

“That’s the Earth Church headquarters.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” he said, with no further elaboration. Reuenthal leaned on Yang’s shoulder to watch him clumsily type out a message on his phone, fingers clearly stiff from the cold night air. The message was to Yang’s former CO, Commodore Bronner.

> is there a reason the earth church headquarters is on fire right now

The reply was almost immediate.

> because i’m standing here watching it burn down

Yang frowned deeply, not answering that question, and shoved his phone in his pocket.

“ Is there a reason you’re asking him that?” Reuenthal asked. “You seem invested in this.”

“It’s stupid, don’t worry about it.”

“Is it?”

He shook his head. “I’ll tell you in a bit.” Their conversation was interrupted by a huge cracking and roaring sound, as a portion of the building’s roof gave in, sending new gouts of flame out through the broken windows. “Do we have to stand here and watch this?”

“You don’t appreciate it?” Had he been alone, Reuenthal probably would have watched the building burn for a while longer, but Yang didn’t seem to like it as much as he did.

Yang looked at him. “I’m cold.”

“I didn’t realize you had such a delicate constitution.”

“You know, the train station is only three blocks away from here...”

Reuenthal did not dignify that with a response, and with one last glance at the fire, walked back down the street in the direction of his apartment. Yang followed after him.

When they arrived back at Reuenthal’s apartment, the removal of their wet clothing was more practical than anything else, and Reuenthal got his kettle going to make tea as Yang hopped around in the living room, pulling off his pants that were soggy up to the ankles from stepping in snow drifts. When Reuenthal brought the mugs of tea, splashed with brandy as Yang liked, back out to the living room, Yang had wrapped himself in a blanket and was sitting on the couch sideways, his chin on his knees.

“Thank you,” he said, taking his mug. “Quick cure for hypothermia.”

“You’re probably right that you wouldn’t survive on Kapche-Lanka, if you’re dying of chill just from a little walk,” Reuenthal said, leaving his own mug on the coffee table for a second as he gathered up Yang’s discarded pants and jacket from the chair that he had tossed them on, and put all of their wet clothes in the laundry. He came back out of his bedroom also just in his undershirt and boxers, then sat down next to Yang on the couch.

Yang smiled. “Good thing I’m not going there, then.”

“It would be more pleasant for me if you were.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Yang said. He paused for a moment, thinking. “If I’m going to go to the front lines, I really would prefer it be in space.”

Reuenthal nodded. “So, why were you so concerned about the Earth Church burning down?”

“Oh, you actually want to know about that?” Yang didn’t quite meet his eyes, taking a sip of his tea. “It’s… Bronner caught one of my students digging into Prince Ludwig’s assassination last summer. The Earth Church may have been involved in that whole affair.”

“Oh?”

“It was stupid of me to think that Bronner would admit to knowing if the kaiser, or somebody, had ordered the building burned.”

Reuenthal raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think that the kaiser would need to resort to arson to get his point across about the murder of his son. He could just have the whole organization arrested.”

Yang’s brow furrowed. “I suppose so.”

“Perhaps it was just an accidental fire.”

“Mmm.” He was clearly unconvinced, and he looked down into his tea with a pensive expression.

“Do you want me to tell you you’re being paranoid?”

“No,” Yang said. “I don’t think there’s anything you could say to convince me that it wasn’t arson.”

“Who else has any reason to burn down a church headquarters?”

Yang didn’t answer that question, just shrugged and sipped his tea.

“You know something, Wen-li?”

“You, of all people, should know better than to ask me questions. I have suspicions, maybe. I’m not going to follow up on them, because I don’t want to know.”Yang sighed a little and shook his head. “It’s really-- the whole thing is done. Nothing is going to bring Prince Ludwig back to life, so everyone spending their energy digging into it is…” He shrugged, looking somewhat miserable.

“That’s not usually what you say about history.”

“Let historians uncover the truth in a hundred years, then,” Yang said. “We’re all too close to it for the truth to really come out.”

“Why was your student looking into it?”

“I don’t know,” Yang said. “I didn’t ask him about it.” He seemed mostly honest, so Reuenthal nodded and finished his cup of tea, burning his mouth on it a little bit when he drank it too fast. He kicked his legs up onto the couch, worming his feet underneath the blanket that Yang had wrapped himself in. Yang squirmed a little. “You’re cold as ice,” he said when Reuenthal’s foot slid up his leg.

“Mmm,” Reuenthal agreed. He liked how soft and warm Yang was. He found the place on Yang’s thigh where there was a thick scar and let his foot rest there for a second. Yang finished his own tea, dislodging Reuenthal’s foot when he leaned down to put his mug on the coffee table. “I’ll be even colder on Kapche-Lanka, I’m sure.”

Yang shifted so that they were facing each other on the couch, and he pulled Reuenthal’s legs up onto his lap, running his hands on Reuenthal’s calves. Reuenthal tilted his head back and closed his eyes, picturing the fire that they had watched earlier, feeling an echo of the thrill that it gave him. Yang’s gentle touch on his legs intensified that feeling. “You’ll find some way to keep warm,” Yang said.

Reuenthal shook himself out of his momentary trance, getting up on his knees to lean over Yang, his hands on either side of Yang’s shoulders on the arm of the couch behind him. “Will I?” Reuenthal asked.

Yang reached up to put his hand on the back of Reuenthal’s neck, his smile deceptively calm and relaxed. He tugged Reuenthal down towards him, and Reuenthal nestled his nose for a moment in Yang’s hair. It still smelled like smoke.

Later, Reuenthal and Yang were in bed, the muted light of a snowy night coming in through the bedroom window the only source of illumination. It was very late, and Reuenthal wasn’t sure what had woken him up until he turned towards Yang, who had his eyes open and his arms underneath his head, looking up at the ceiling.

“Can’t sleep?” Reuenthal asked, mouth dry and sticky from just waking up.

Yang jumped a little in surprise, then turned towards Reuenthal, laying on his side with his head on his arm.

“I guess,” he said.

“Still thinking about the fire?” Reuenthal had been-- it had taken up a prominent place in his dream.

“No,” Yang said. He sighed a little, a huff of breath that Reuenthal felt on his own cheek.

“What, then?”

Yang was silent for a long second. Reuenthal reached out and traced one finger along the soft line of Yang’s jaw, waiting for him to speak. “Mittermeyer’s on Kapche-Lanka.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“And this worries you?”

“No,” Yang said, shaking his head. “I just thought you should know. But you don’t like when I bring him up.”

It had been over a year since Reuenthal had last seen Mittermeyer, at his wedding, but the thought of him still caused a miserable, twisting reaction in Reuenthal’s heart. It was easy to pick out the mixture of anger and desire-- the feeling of betrayal remained strong-- but there were other things that Reuenthal never wanted to look too closely at, like peeling the flesh away from the wound to see underneath. In the quiet darkness of the bedroom, still on the edge of sleep, though, his emotions were muted.

“I’m sure I won’t see him,” Reuenthal said. “It’s a big planet.”

“He’s been in charge of new construction,” Yang said.

“Making him put his engineering studies to use, I see,” Reuenthal said idly, which actually made Yang laugh. Mittermeyer hated engineering, despite having completed the course of it at the IOA, so Reuenthal took a bitter kind of amusement at Mittermeyer’s misfortune.

“Yeah.” There was silence for a moment. “If you do see him--” He cut himself off.

Reuenthal’s finger continued tracing its way around Yang’s jaw, up towards the hair that curled down in front of his ear. “What?”

“You should talk to him,” Yang said.

“And then what, Wen-li?”

Yang closed his eyes. “He misses you.”

“He made his choices.”

“I miss us all being able to be together,” Yang said finally, after a long moment. “You would be happier if--”

“If what?”

“If you were able to see him.”

“Are you trying to say that he’s better for me than you are?” If he had been more awake, he might have delivered this in a bitter tone, but it came out flat, a genuine question.

Yang was apparently also in the mood to be honest. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe.”

“Why?” Reuenthal had never understood why Yang was so willing to step aside, when it came to his relationship with Mittermeyer, especially when he himself had had no one else. His whatever-it-was with the Baroness Westpfale did not count. Yang had spent years doing nothing but supporting Mittermeyer, doing nothing for his own sake. Reuenthal admitted to himself that he had always been rather pleased that Yang did not abandon him for anyone else-- and he had been jealous of Westpfale when that had looked like something . But he could not understand why Yang did it-- he certainly would have never done such a thing-- and he didn’t understand now why Yang seemed so eager to push him back into Mittermeyer’s arms, something that was not going to happen.

“I spent years seeing how happy he made you,” Yang finally said. “It feels selfish and wrong for me to keep that from you.”

“I don’t think anyone could ever accuse you of being selfish. Certainly not Mittermeyer.” There was vitriol in Reuenthal’s voice.

“Oskar…”

“You are still compelled to defend him, for some reason.” Reuenthal rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Yang could feel guilty all he wanted, but that didn’t change the fact that Mittermeyer had gone and married some woman.

“He didn’t mean to hurt you,” Yang said.

“Hurt?” He laughed. “I’m not hurt. I simply have no desire to tiptoe around his feelings. Let him have his wife, if she makes him so happy.”

Yang was silent for a long time, and Reuenthal wondered if he had perhaps fallen asleep. He turned to look if he had. Yang was staring up at the ceiling again, but he turned his head towards Reuenthal when he felt him move.

“I did say that you didn’t like when I brought him up,” Yang said, voice a little wry.

“Hm,” Reuenthal said, which wasn’t agreement, but was intended as a concession.

“All I’m saying is-- if you do see him-- it would give me peace of mind to think that you’re… doing what makes you happy.”

Reuenthal hooked his leg around Yang’s under the sheets. “I am.”

December 484 I.C., Iserlohn Fortress

On his way to Kapche-Lanka, Reuenthal made a stop at Iserlohn fortress. It was the staging area for the whole operation, where he would get to meet and integrate himself with his battalion, a newly formed group, and hear about the strategy of the operation from the high command. He had command of about six hundred men, which was approximately the same size as the crew complement of a large ship. In the grand scheme of the operation, it was almost nothing, but it was Reuenthal’s first real command, so he took to it with quiet pride and dedication. The junior officers below him seemed competent, and his NCOs had more ground combat experience than he did (none), so he relied on their expertise. His trust and consideration was reciprocated, so in the period of training that they had available to them before they deployed, Reuenthal felt that he formed a good working relationship with his team.

He didn’t have very much free time during this period, and so the one day that he was eating dinner alone in one of the many restaurants on Iserlohn, after coming out of a division-level strategy meeting, he was surprised when someone came up to him at the diner counter. “Excuse me,” the man said. “Are you Commander von Reuenthal?”

“I am,” Reuenthal said. The other man was also a commander. He had long, light-brown hair streaked with grey, and a nasally, flat voice. “Did you need something?”

“My name is Paul von Oberstein,” he said. “I believe we have a mutual… friend.” The hesitation on the last word was odd, and it distracted Reuenthal from the fact that he felt the name was familiar.

“Oh?”

“Commander Hank von Leigh said that you were on Iserlohn and wondered if I might make your acquaintance. Am I disturbing you?”

Reuenthal gestured at the empty seat next to him at the diner counter so that the other man would sit, which he did, sitting rather primly. “How do you know Leigh?”

“We met while he was on Iserlohn during his first deployment. He has since been… a great help to me.”

“In what way?” Reuenthal asked. He remembered, suddenly, who Oberstein was. “Oh, you’re the one who held Admiral Kleist at gunpoint.”

“Yes,” Oberstein said. “Leigh saved my life twice over, I believe.”

“Certainly your career, at least,” Reuenthal said, looking at Oberstein. He found him vaguely unpleasant, and he wasn’t sure what had compelled Yang to help him. “And why has Leigh told you to find me?”

“I do not know. I am happy to obey his instructions.”

“Oh?”

“They have not served me wrong thus far.”

“He is that type of man,” Reuenthal said.

“What type, Commander?”

“Extremely competent.”

“Yes. That is the case.” Oberstein paused, then said, “I have encouraged him to use his talents to advance his career, but he has no interest in that.”

Reuenthal raised an eyebrow. “You’re not the only one.”

“It would be to the universe’s benefit if he were in a better position.”

“I don’t know about the universe,” Reuenthal said, picking up his beer. “But certainly to his. It would befit him to have a higher station.”

“Indeed. I told him once that I would be happy to serve within his command.”

“Oh?” Reuenthal asked. He looked at Oberstein a little more carefully. His eyes were dull and lifeless, and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

“He would make a competent commanding officer,” Oberstein said. “Do you feel the same?”

“You’re making assumptions about me,” Reuenthal said. “He was second in our graduating class. I was first.” Reuenthal’s feelings about serving beneath Yang were complicated, and not anything that he was going to share with this stranger, who he was finding more unpleasant by the second.

Oberstein tilted his head slightly, his hair falling limp around his ears. “I did not mean to make any insinuations.”

“Of course not.”

“I simply mean that we seem to have a common goal.”

“Which is?”

“To ensure that Leigh both survives, and takes a place, as you said, more befitting to him.”

“Why do you think that is my goal?”

“He seems loyal to you, from the way he has spoken about you in his letters. I would assume that you are loyal to him as well.”

“Loyal to me?” Reuenthal asked, a slight frown on his face.

“He is a man who goes to great lengths to help his friends, and he describes you with the highest regard. That is all.”

“Indeed.” Reuenthal took a sip of his beer. “And why is that your goal?”

“Aside from the debt that I owe him, we have similar ideals. He has the capability to realize those ideals, and I would like to help him do so.”

“What kind of ideals?”

Oberstein pursed his lips. “Dangerous ones,” he said after a second.

Reuenthal narrowed his eyes. “Dangerous ideals.” And the wrong kind of ambition, Reuenthal thought.

“He needs someone to ensure that he does not throw himself away carelessly, in service of those ideals.”

“What do you mean?”

“He could have died at El Facil,” Oberstein said, after a moment of hesitation. “And he risked his own prospects on my behalf. He has been a very lucky man, that neither of those events ended poorly. I understand that he will not listen to me, when I describe what might be necessary. He might listen to you.”

“I don’t know why you think that, Commander Oberstein,” Reuenthal said. “He is in no way obligated to listen to me. He is my friend, not my subordinate.”

“But as his friend, you have no desire to see him sacrifice himself unnecessarily.”

“And what is your definition of ‘necessary’, Commander?”

“Perhaps different from yours, and certainly different from Leigh’s. I suspect that Leigh would trade his own life for that of a single stranger, if he was seized by that impulse. I would say that even the sacrifice he almost made at El Facil would have been too great. He has the potential to be worth the lives of more people even than that.”

Reuenthal smiled grimly. “And you say this out of some kind of affection, Commander?”

“No. Mere pragmatism. He has a prescient talent that I have never seen except in history books, and the ideals to be a fair leader of men. The universe would be a better place with him in a position of power, which will not happen if he makes himself into a martyr.”

“He once told me that he had no intention of becoming a martyr,” Reuenthal said, thinking back to an SW match they had played against each other. Of course, that match had ended with Yang’s character ending the game with a suicide bombing assassination, so perhaps Yang’s own thoughts on the topic were muddled.

“Did he?”

“He should take his own advice, perhaps.” Reuenthal finished his beer.

“Yes.” Oberstein stood. “I wish you good luck on your deployment, Commander Reuenthal.”

“Thank you,” Reuenthal said. He was glad that Oberstein was excusing himself. Even the fact that Oberstein clearly liked Yang-- and that Yang apparently liked Oberstein-- was not enough to overcome the unpleasant taste that the man was leaving in his mouth.

“I’m sure we will meet again,” Oberstein said. “Please do consider what I said.”

“I will. Until then, Commander Oberstein.”

Oberstein nodded at him, and then slipped out of the restaurant, walking stiffly with his hands behind his back.