As Inescapable as the Divine Right of Kings

November 484 I.C., Odin

Kircheis was, generally speaking, good at minding his own business. He didn’t have any interest in gossiping about why Commander Leigh had shown up to class several minutes late, looking extraordinarily flustered. In the chair beside him, Hilde was similarly willing to forgive, mainly because she was excited to just get started with class. Kircheis could hear snickers from some of his classmates, though.

Leigh did his best to get class started normally, though Kircheis could see that he was very, very distracted. The lecture portion of the class ended quickly, and Kircheis, while playing out a rather interesting match, tried to put whatever the matter was out of his mind. The match was primarily interesting because Kircheis saw a very easy path to victory, a suspiciously easy one, and he took it after a moment of deliberation. His opponent had forgotten, or neglected, to protect his supply line, so Kircheis essentially starved him out and won the game before the class even broke for lunch.

Because he always had lunch with Hilde, who was still playing her game, Kircheis waited for her inside the warm building. There had been a major snowstorm the night before, though roads had been plowed enough that there was no reason to cancel classes, so sitting outside was out of the question, unfortunately. Kircheis wandered through the halls of the building, looking for an empty classroom or quiet alcove that he could take a seat and do some studying for upcoming finals in. As he was doing so, he heard Leigh’s voice, talking to someone whose voice Kircheis vaguely recognized.

“I really don’t know why you need to know,” Leigh said.

“Curiosity, mostly,” the other man said.

Leigh sighed. “I was celebrating Commander Reuenthal’s promotion. Getting drinks. That’s all.”

“I see. And you just happened to walk past the fire.”

“No, Reuenthal wanted to go see it.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised by that. It’s not every day that you see a building go up in flames.”

“Did you know that most arsonists are homosexuals?”

“That seems irrelevant to the conversation, even if it were true, which I somehow doubt,” Leigh said, voice dry. “Don’t you have subordinates in the PI unit to go antagonize?” Kircheis remembered where he had heard the voice before: this was Commodore Bronner.

“I’m taking an early lunch,” Bronner said. “Thought I’d stop by and have a little chat.”

“Do you really think that if I knew anything about the fire, I would have directly asked you about it?”

“Leigh, you’re not the act I’ve come here to see, though you do always manage to entertain me,” Bronner said. “I’m looking for one of your cadets.”

There was a tense moment of silence, and Kircheis thought about creeping away from the conversation, but remained.

Leigh was resigned when he spoke again. “Which one?”

“I think you know very well which one.”

“There’s an off-chance you’re here to interrogate somebody else,” Leigh said. “But regardless, you’re out of luck. He finished his game about ten minutes ago. I’m not sure where he went.”

“How convenient.”

Leigh snorted with derision. “Commodore, it’s not like I engineered him winning his game early in some sort of stunning act of foresight. You’ll have to catch him next week, if you want to steal him out of my class.”

Kircheis tensed up a little. Leigh was clearly trying to protect him from Bronner, because Leigh was well aware that Kircheis would be waiting for Hilde to go eat lunch. But he had no idea what Leigh was trying to protect him from, and he worried that if Leigh did push too hard, Bronner might interpret that the wrong way.

Kircheis decided that he would rescue Leigh from himself. He had no idea what Bronner wanted, so he didn’t think there was any harm in speaking to him.

He stepped out around the corner that he had been behind. “Commander Leigh,” Kircheis said with a smile. “Are you busy?”

Leigh’s face fell a little bit, then he shrugged. Bronner looked at Kircheis appraisingly. “He’s not busy,” Bronner said. “But it’s such a nice surprise to run into you here, Cadet. I was just looking for you.”

“Were you, sir?” Kircheis asked, even though he knew very well that this was the case. Bronner probably realized that he had been eavesdropping, though.

“Yes, I was. Is whatever you have to say to Leigh urgent? I only have a few minutes before I have to run.”

“No, sir,” Kircheis said. “I can find you during office hours.”

“Yes, er, of course,” Leigh said, looking about as flustered as he had when he came in late to class.

“You can go,” Bronner said, dismissing Leigh, who seemed about to protest. Leigh gave Kircheis a sad glance, and Kircheis just shrugged and smiled a little. Leigh headed off down the hallway, but Kircheis had to think that he would be listening.

Bronner seemed to think the same, because he gestured for Kircheis to follow him into a nearby empty classroom.

“Was there something you needed, sir?” Kircheis asked.

Bronner sat on the back of one of the lecture hall’s chairs, pushing his glasses up his nose and looking at Kircheis for a second. “How much of my conversation with Leigh did you hear? And don’t tell me none of it, because I won’t believe you.”

“You were telling him that arsonists were homosexuals, sir, when I walked by.”

Bronner’s smile was thin and slightly menacing. “Oh, perfect.”

“Sir?”

“I just won’t have to repeat that unsavory fact to you, if you already knew it.”

“Commander Leigh didn’t—“

“Don’t worry about anything Commander Leigh says. I’d like to talk about you.”

“Me, sir?”

“Have you been doing any more research into the Earth Church lately?”

“No, sir. I have been very busy with school. And I believe you told me to keep out of it.”

“Hm, well, people often don’t listen to me when I tell them not to dig into things. It’s rather unfortunate.”

“I really haven’t been, sir.”

“No, I believe you,” Bronner said, though his flat tone seemed to indicate that he didn’t really, or at least he wanted Kircheis to think that he didn’t. Kircheis’s eyes narrowed, and Bronner’s lips twitched up in a tiny smile. “Where were you last night?”

“Last night?” Kircheis asked, surprised. “In my dorm room.Why?”

“Curiosity, mostly.”

“It was really too snowy to go anywhere,” Kircheis said.

“So, you weren’t anywhere near the capital.”

“No, sir.” Kircheis wanted Bronner to get to whatever point he wanted to make, but Bronner seemed happy to draw this conversation out. Kircheis tried not to feel uncomfortable, because he suspected— knew, really— that Bronner liked to get that kind of reaction out of people. He had said it himself.

“Are you aware that last night, the headquarters of the Earth Church here in the capital burnt down?”

Kircheis was startled, taking half a step backwards. “No, sir, I was not aware.”

“It was.” Bronner seemed almost bored. “I was just wondering, Cadet Kircheis, if you knew anything about that?”

“No, sir,” Kircheis said, rather emphatically.

“I see.”

Kircheis couldn’t help but ask, “You’re certain it wasn’t an accidental fire?”

“Accidental fires don’t tend to spontaneously start on several corners of a building at once.”

“Were there any casualties?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Kircheis said.

“Yes. It seems almost intentional that there weren’t. Since the headquarters is a primarily administrative building, there wouldn’t have been anyone there at night, especially not at night during a snowstorm as bad as last night’s.”

“You think it was a humanitarian firestarter?” Kircheis asked, unintentionally amused by the concept.

“It’s a possibility,” Bronner said. “One of many.”

Kircheis nodded. “Insurance fraud?”

“The church will get some compensation, but you don’t think they were in arrears enough to require that kind of drastic action, do you?”

“Er, no sir.”

“Leigh says you’re smart: give me a couple other reasons.”

“You started off wanting to interrogate me, and now you’re quizzing me, sir?”

“Well, it’s all the same. Come on.”

“They could be doing it to hide evidence of something.”

“It’s funny to me that your mind immediately jumps to the church having burned down their own building. I wonder why that is,” Bronner said. “Another?”

“Well, if they did it to themselves, they would know when the building was going to be clear, and they probably wouldn’t want to hurt their own members.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Bronner said.

“What do you mean, sir?”

“If they really wanted to cover up their tracks, they might want somebody to die in the fire, so that they come out looking much more like victims and less like suspects.”

Kircheis blanched a little bit.

“Horrible, isn’t it?” Bronner said, voice completely dry.

“I’m grateful that it didn’t happen that way,” Kircheis said after a second.

“Yes,” Bronner said. “But you understand that sometimes, people are sacrificed to create the right kind of narrative.”

Kircheis tensed up a little. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, sir.”

“Only that many people find that just as distasteful as you seem to,” Bronner said lightly. “And they might decide that they want to prove a point about that, but without stooping down to that level.”

“The humanitarian arsonists.”

“Yes,” Bronner said. “You understand.”

“Maybe,” Kircheis said. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Just to make sure that you are not getting yourself involved in any, shall we say, humanitarian efforts.”

“Is it really that bad to be a humanitarian, sir?”

“For you? In this circumstance? Absolutely. Let’s not forget who and what we are, Cadet.”

“Yes, sir,” Kircheis said.

“Good. You play the role that’s been given to you, and don’t try to deviate from the script, and we’ll have no problems.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bronner nodded. “And if you do happen to hear anything, I would appreciate it if you let me know.”

“I don’t think I will hear anything, sir.”

“Never say never, Cadet.”

Kircheis was silent, and Bronner stared at him briefly.

“It would be to your benefit if you did tell me,” Bronner said. “Anything that you learn.”

“And what would you do with that information?” Kircheis asked.

“That depends entirely on what the information is,” Bronner said. “Though, if it’s any comfort to you, I wasn’t lying when I said I was interested out of personal curiosity.” His smile was sharp. “The crown, and all of His Majesty’s servants, take a great deal less interest in a petty feud that burns down a church than they would an attack on the crown itself.”

“I see,” Kircheis said. He wasn’t going to tell Bronner anything, he resolved, even if he did learn anything, which he hoped that he wasn’t about to. Bronner was almost certainly trying to lead him into something here, a false sense of security, perhaps.

“I’m very glad that we understand each other,” Bronner said. He stood from his perch. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Cadet.”

“Yes, sir,” Kircheis said. Bronner walked past him and out the door, leaving Kircheis alone in the classroom to think about what had just happened.

That Friday night, Kircheis took the train into the capital and walked down the slushy streets towards Martin’s apartment. He made a detour, a small one, to the site of the former Earth Church headquarters. There wasn’t much left of it: the building was a completely empty shell, and the walls themselves had collapsed in places. The whole site was fenced off to stop people from wandering in and getting crushed by debris, so Kircheis hooked his fingers through the cold wires of the chain link fence and just stared at it for a while.

It was a miserable looking sight.

He wasn’t getting anything out of this activity, though, so when a gust of wind blew past, making ripples in the filthy, soot-filled puddles on the ground in front of the ruined building, and rattling the fence, Kircheis let go and walked away, glancing back over his shoulder at it a couple times.

When he arrived at Martin’s apartment, warm and familiar, he didn’t take off his shoes or coat. Martin looked the same as he always did, standing on his socked tiptoes to kiss Kircheis hello. His long hair was held up out of his face with a pen that he had used to gather it into a messy bun.

“I’m glad you could come over,” Martin said, trying to tug off Kircheis’s jacket. “How has your week been?”

“Fine,” Kircheis said, putting his hand on Martin’s to stop him. “I was wondering if we could go out to eat? I’m starving.”

“You didn’t want me to cook? I just went grocery shopping.”

“I’ll pay for dinner, but I would like to go out,” he said, stressing the last word.

Martin raised an eyebrow, and Kircheis nodded. “That hungry, hunh?”

“Yeah,” Kircheis said.

“Alright, let me just— I have to send an assignment to my professor. One second.”

“Sure.” Kircheis leaned in the doorway, watching as Martin typed a few things on his computer at the kitchen table, then slapped it shut and gathered up his own coat and shoes.

“Where do you want to eat?” Martin asked.

“I don’t care,” Kircheis said. He was feeling rather odd and worried as he looked at Martin, but Martin seemed oblivious to Kircheis’s mood.

“Odin’s Finest, then,” Martin said, indicating a diner that they frequented occasionally.

“Sure.”

They walked out of the apartment together. Because the weather was poor and the sun was setting, the streets were fairly empty. Martin walked close by Kircheis’s shoulder, and spoke in low tones.

“What did you need to talk to me about that requires leaving the house?”

“Did you hear that the Earth Church headquarters burned down?”

“I could see it from my window last night,” Martin said. “Why?” His tone was light, in a way that Kircheis had grown accustomed to, when Martin wasn’t quite saying something.

“I had a visitor come and find me at school today,” Kircheis said. “Commodore Bronner again.”

Martin took an appreciatively sharp breath. “What did he want?”

“To know if I knew anything about it,” Kircheis said. “Since I was researching the Earth Church last summer.”

“Why would he think that you would have anything to do with it?”

“He indicated to me that he thought that republicans had done it,” Kircheis said. “As revenge.”

“Do you think that’s plausible?” Martin asked. His tone was still light.

Kircheis looked down at the ground as they walked, then turned his head slightly to meet Martin’s eyes. “He wanted me to report to him if I heard anything,” Kircheis said after a second of silence.

“Oh,” Martin said. He sounded a little sullen, now, and scuffed the ground as they walked.

Kircheis tried to make his voice as firm as possible. “I would like to be able to ask you if you betrayed my trust by telling people about what I found, but I can’t. I don’t want to know anything, Martin.”

“I—“ Martin began, sounding unhappy.

“Don’t tell me anything ,” Kircheis said. “Do you understand?”

“But I—“

“Martin!”

Martin stopped.

“If you tell me it wasn’t you, and I believe you, that puts someone else in danger. If you tell me it wasn’t you and I don’t believe you, that puts you and your friends in danger. You’re already a suspect. I don’t want to make you more of one.”

“You wouldn’t tell him anything.”

“I can’t if I don’t know anything,” Kircheis said. He looked away. “There’s plenty of people who have cracked under torture. And they could threaten me with a lot before I even got to that point.”

“If it was that serious, I would have been arrested already,” Martin said. “Or you would have. Or…” He trailed off.

“Bronner is testing me,” Kircheis said. “He might want me to be an informant later. I need to not know anything, so that I fail his test for being useful, and pass his test for not being suspicious. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if it’s possible.” With this realization, uttered aloud, Kircheis felt the first stirrings of despair, like he hadn’t felt since he had briefly been in prison and dragged before a judge in a secret court. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

They walked in silence for a little while, until they reached the restaurant. Dinner was a slightly uncomfortable affair. Martin was frowning deeply, and looking out the window and around the room as though he was checking to see if there was someone watching them. Kircheis poked at his food, not having much of an appetite. They didn’t talk about much, just a few mindless back and forths about what Martin was studying. Kircheis didn’t know enough about dead languages to really hold up his end of the conversation, and he didn’t have the heart to feel enthusiastic about trying, either.

It was very dark and very cold when they walked out of the restaurant. The temperature felt like it had dropped precipitously over the hour that they had been inside, and where there had been slush on the sidewalk, there was now slick, invisible ice. Martin took a few incautious steps and his right leg skidded out from under him,

Kircheis was able to grab him underneath his arms before he fell to the ground, and he waited just a fraction of a second longer than necessary, letting Martin rest in his arms, before lifting him back up so that he could stand on his own two feet.

“You okay?” Kircheis asked.

“Yeah,” Martin said. “Thanks.”

Kircheis just gave him a smile.

When they had walked a little ways, Kircheis stopped, looking down the street to where the train station was. “Should I just go back to the IOA?” he asked.

“No,” Martin said. “Don’t.”

Kircheis still hesitated for a second. “I have physicals in the morning.”

“You can be back before then. Or you can skip them.”

“I can’t skip them,” Kircheis said. He bit his lip.

“Do you trust me?” Martin asked suddenly, perhaps getting to the crux of the issue, right there on the empty street.

“I love you,” Kircheis said.

“That’s not the same.”

“I don’t trust myself,” Kircheis said after a moment.

“But me,” Martin insisted. “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t know,” Kircheis said. “I don’t— I trust that you want to do the right thing, but…” He shrugged, slightly miserable. “I think that means that you shouldn’t trust me. Me being in your world— it puts you in danger. And I don’t want that.”

“I trust you,” Martin said.

“Why?” Kircheis asked. “I think I might be your enemy. Bronner wants me to be a spy.”

“You’re always there to catch me when I fall,” Martin said. He put his hand on Kircheis’s arm. “We don’t have to talk about any of it, if you don’t want me to. Come on.” He tugged on Kircheis’s sleeve a little, but still Kircheis hesitated.

“Martin…”

“I trust you to do the right thing, too,” Martin said. “So I don’t think we could ever be enemies. You shouldn’t worry so much.”

Kircheis followed Martin, then, but that didn’t stop him from worrying.

The next day, after he returned to the IOA for physicals, he laid on his own bed and stared, first up at the ceiling, then at the picture of Reinhard and Annerose on his desk, feeling more alone than he ever had in his life.

February 486 I.C., Odin

Kircheis was lingering outside Commander Leigh’s office door, a datastick with all the postmortems that he and Hilde had graded in his hand. He didn’t want to knock, because he could clearly hear people speaking inside. Although it felt rude to eavesdrop, he also didn’t want to walk away, because he really did need to give the graded assignments to Leigh.

“Are you almost ready to go?” the person who was not Leigh was saying.

“Patience is a virtue,” Leigh said. “I need to finish putting these grades in.”

There was a deep sigh from the other man, and the sound of shuffling papers and shifting furniture. “I should have just met you at the restaurant, instead of coming all the way here.”

“Probably,” Leigh said mildly. “Do you know when Mittermeyer is getting back, by the way?”

“Probably not for a few more days. He was further out than I was, and I think he retreated after I did, as well.”

“Mm,” Leigh said. “But he’s doing well?”

“I spoke with him yesterday.”

“Good.”

“He’ll make rear admiral with this.”

“I’m sure you will, too.”

There was a dark chuckle from the other man. “I wouldn’t presume so.”

“Why not? It seems to me like you had a tactical victory, all things considered. Destroyed the target, and more Alliance ships than ships that you had even under your command, and you only lost, what, three?” Although Leigh was praising the other man, his tone was carefully neutral.

“Five.”

“Ah.” There was a moment of silence. “Pointless,” Leigh said after a moment, and there was a melancholy note in his voice.

“You know I don’t disagree with you.”

“I know. You said as much.” Furniture creaked again. “So, why don’t you think you’ll be promoted? Retreating too early?”

“No.” Again, the dark chuckle. “You know, I was shown up by a cadet.”

“What?”

“I thought you kept up with the news off Phezzan.”

“Maggie told me to stop, because it makes me too depressed.”

The other man snorted. “And you listened to her?”

“No, I’ve just been preoccupied with other things the past week or so. This was in the news, though?” A pause. “Well, either tell me about it or don’t— I’m not going to look it up right this second.”

“I thought that your friend Bronner might not waste any opportunity to tell you about my many and varied failings.”

“I think he’s had to lay off you since you’re the same rank now. In preparation for when you outstrip him.”

“I got the distinct impression that he’s just as eager to criticize his superiors as he is his inferiors.”

“Oh, wait, I know why he’s not going after you,” Leigh said, sounding suddenly cheerful.

“Enlighten me.”

“You’re the same rank, so if he slanders you enough, you’d probably try to duel him. He has to wait until you’re a rear admiral before he starts privately denouncing you as a homosexual again.”

The other man snorted. “Cowardly behavior.”

“Eh, pragmatic. He’d lose if he fought you.”

“Is he a noble?”

“No. Or, at least there’s no ‘von’ in his name.”

“Too bad.”

“I’m sure he’s already thought of that,” Leigh said. “Don’t duel him. It would look bad.”

“If he insults me to my face, I’ll just punch him.”

“Yes, and that’s why he won’t insult you to your face. Also, don’t punch him either. It would look even worse.”

“Fine.”

“So, are you going to tell me how a cadet somehow got the better of you?”

“Sure. But I’m distracting you from entering grades.”

It was Leigh who laughed this time. “Oskar, come on.”

“Apparently, two cadets who were on a ship that we destroyed managed to make it into an escape capsule, steer their way to the base, get inside, kill a lieutenant and stuff an enlisted man into a closet, steal their clothes, and wander freely around both the base and every ship that was docked. Including the Ostberlin,” the other man, Oskar, said.

Leigh laughed. “Did your security team get overconfident about their control of the base?”

“There was apparently some difficulty in gaining control of the base’s security system, which went unreported to me. The people responsible for that oversight have been reprimanded.”

“And then what happened? I’m dying to know.”

“Apparently, the two cadets hid on board one of my ships, the Falke, for a few days, then used various improvised weapons to free the POWs I had taken, and commandeer the ship.”

Leigh laughed. “Impressive.”

“You have any cadets you think could do that?”

“Oh, one. And maybe Hilde.”

“You have a high opinion of the little Mariirendorf.”

“I can’t help it,” Leigh said. “She’s very talented.”

“And what is she going to do with that talent?”

“Probably not commandeer any ships,” Leigh said with a bit of a sigh. “You said they got onto the Ostberlin?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I spoke with one of them. Right after I got done talking to you, actually. I’m sure he was eavesdropping on our conversation.”

“Really! How rude of him.” Kircheis, on the other side of the door, flushed a little, since he was eavesdropping here.

The other man’s voice had a peculiar tone in it. “He should have killed me then. He had a sidearm, and I wasn’t prepared for a fight. He would have been able to shoot me.”

“I’m glad he didn’t.”

“Mmm.”

“What was he like?”

There was a momentary pause. “Well, you should see the pictures of him.”

“Oh?”

“He’s ex-Imperial,” Oskar said after a second. “Apparently left when he was ten, along with his sister, who’s a lieutenant commander in the rebel fleet.”

“I can’t help but feel some companionship with expats, even if they are in the other direction,” Leigh said. Oskar laughed.

“Anyway, he spoke Imperial flawlessly, of course, and even used his real name, when he spoke to me.”

“I assume you remember it?”

“I can hardly forget. I’ll probably have a grudge against him until the day one of us dies. Reinhard von Müsel.”

It was at this point that Kircheis dropped the data stick he was holding, and it clattered to the floor, loudly.

The conversation inside paused. “If you’ll forgive me,” Oskar said, “I’m a little sensitive to the concept of eavesdroppers at the moment.”

“Of course,” Leigh said.

Kircheis should have run, but instead he was frozen in the act of picking up the dropped data stick, his face hot and ashamed for overhearing the whole conversation. The door swung open, and Kircheis stood quickly, looking into the annoyed face of a commodore. Now that he was seeing him, Kircheis recognized this man as Commodore Reuenthal, whom he had briefly spoken with over the video call several weeks ago.

Leigh didn’t look up from his computer. “Do we have an eavesdropper, Oskar?”

“Yes.”

Leigh looked up. “Oh, Kircheis, you could have knocked, you know.”

“I’m sorry, sirs, I just didn’t want to interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” Leigh said.

Reuenthal pursed his lips. “Is it?”

“You’re getting a bad impression of my favorite cadet,” Leigh said, which made Kircheis flush even more. “You should know that there’s tactical value in eavesdropping, and we’re as guilty of bad opsec as he is of listening.”

“I’m not one of your cadets, Leigh,” Reuenthal said, tone very annoyed at this point.

Leigh picked up the ugly yellow mug that always sat on his desk and took a sip from it to hide his smile. “Of course not. My apologies, Commodore.”

Reuenthal just sighed and turned to Kircheis. “Was there something you wanted?”

Kircheis held out the data stick. “Fraulein Mariendorf and I finished our grading, sir.”

“Oh, excellent, thank you.” Leigh took the datastick and dropped it into the top drawer of his desk, where Kircheis felt that it immediately vanished into the mess of garbage and random other objects. “You have a look on your face that indicates that there’s something else that you wanted to talk to me about.”

“I don’t want to, er, interrupt,” Kircheis said. “I really am sorry, sir. I’ll come to your office hours tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

“Oh, of course.” Leigh smiled pleasantly.

Kircheis walked out, feeling the eyes of Commodore Reuenthal on him the entire way down the hallway. He could hear Leigh say, “You said there were two cadets, though? Who was the other one?” But Kircheis was by then too far away to hear whatever Reuenthal’s response was.

He practically ran back to his dorm, dashing through snow drifts to cut across the green, and when he got back to his room, he lay on his bed as though his strings had been cut, staring at the picture of Reinhard and Annerose. He picked it up, as though it could reveal something to him.

There couldn’t possibly be more than one Reinhard von Müsel, with an older sister, who fled the Empire when he was ten, could there be? Kircheis was sure that there wasn’t. His heart was pounding in his chest.

The idea that Reinhard had been listening in to the brief conversation that he had participated in, with Leigh and Reuenthal… Kircheis couldn’t quite think straight. To think that he had been that close to Reinhard, after all these years.

Kircheis was almost afraid to look up the news off of Phezzan. There were several Phezzani news outlets that operated satellite stations on Odin, and Kircheis pulled up their websites, looking around for any information about Reinhard, or Commodore Reuenthal and the latest operations in the Iserlohn corridor. There was, surprisingly, very little. Certainly nothing about Reinhard, and only brief descriptions of various victories that the imperial fleet had had during the engagements.

Kircheis frowned. He didn’t think that Commodore Reuenthal had any reason to lie about this being in the news, but Kircheis wasn’t seeing it, at least in the news that he had access to. All of these news reports were written for an imperial audience, anyway— they were being sent to Odin, and they were written in the imperial language. Perhaps only the Alliance-oriented Phezzani news would contain mention of this miraculous cadet, and Kircheis had no idea how to access such things. The average Imperial citizen certainly couldn’t. Leigh must be able to, somehow, and the commodore, as well.

Kircheis didn’t really want to ask Leigh about it, because it felt far too personal, but he really did need to know.

He wished there was someone who could understand this wild feeling welling up inside of him, but there was no one. Although Hilde was his closest friend, he had never directly addressed his homosexual inclinations with her, and he wasn’t sure that this was the moment that he wanted to do so. He couldn’t talk to Martin about it, for obvious reasons. And Leigh, he was going to have to talk to Leigh and just hope that he didn’t give too much away.

Really, the person Kircheis wanted to talk to in that moment, desperately, was Reinhard himself. He traced his finger over the lock of hair, tucked within the glass of the picture frame.

Kircheis found Leigh during his office hours. He was sitting at his desk, leaned back in his chair with his arm draped over his face to block out the late-afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window. He said, “Come in,” when Kircheis knocked on his door, but didn’t shift from his position except to lift his arm enough to confirm that it was indeed Kircheis walking in.

“Are you not feeling well, sir?” Kircheis asked. “I can come back some other time.”

“Hunh? No, I’m fine,” Leigh said. He gestured vaguely at the other seat, which Kircheis took. “Just thinking.”

“Do you mind if I ask about what, sir?”

“Oh, you know, the unending misery of human history.” He smiled a little. “That, and what my landladies are going to be serving for dinner tonight.” He finally straightened up a little. “What can I do for you, Kircheis? You seemed pretty agitated, yesterday.”

“I would like to apologize again for overhearing your conversation,” he said. “I should have left.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Leigh said. “If I was going to discuss anything particularly salacious with Commodore Reuenthal, I certainly wouldn’t be doing it here in my office.” He smirked a little.

“Nothing salacious, sir?”

Leigh raised an eyebrow. “What, are you curious about something you heard?”

Kircheis tensed up in his seat, which made Leigh chuckle. “No, sir,” Kircheis said.

“You’re welcome to ask questions.”

“You mentioned Commodore Bronner…” Kircheis finally said after a second. “And his accusations.”

Leigh laughed again. “Kircheis, I’m shocked that you hadn’t figured this out by now: Commodore Bronner will accuse anyone and everyone of being a homosexual. When I worked at the PI unit, more than half the files he handed me had a big ‘homosexual?’ written in the personal notes section. We can be reasonably assured that half the imperial admiralty, and all of the Alliance admiralty are not actually implicated in such things. I think he likes the rise the accusation gets out of people.” He paused, considering something. “After all, it’s an invisible thing, and it’s in everyone’s best interest to deny it, but not in a way that makes it look like you’re too invested…” Leigh shrugged. “It’s an open wound, and Bronner likes nothing more than to stick his fingers in that kind of wound, just to make people jump.”

“Oh,” Kircheis said.

“Were you hoping that I would tell you if Commodore Reuenthal is or is not a homosexual?”

“No, sir!”

Yang smiled at Kircheis’s flustered reaction. “See, it makes people jump.”

“Yes, sir,” Kircheis said, trying not to think about it too much.

“And, anyway, you know as well as I do that Bronner probably still sometimes listens to the conversations I have in here, so he can just be aware that there may be consequences for his insinuations.” Leigh shrugged. “Was there something else?”

“Yeah.” Kircheis hesitated. “Commodore Reuenthal was talking about that cadet…”

Leigh seemed surprised. “Yes. Are you about to ask if I really think that you and Hilde could commandeer a ship?”

Kircheis shook his head, feeling very strange that Leigh would jump to that. “No, sir. I was wondering, did you look up the articles that Commodore Reuenthal was talking about?”

“Oh, yes, I did,” Leigh said. “Did you want me to send them to you?”

“If you could, sir. I don’t have access to the Alliance aimed news.”

“Sure. You’ve gotten pretty good at reading the language, haven’t you?”

“I think so, sir,” Kircheis said.

In the Alliance language, Leigh asked, “Is there a reason you want the articles?”

Reading was one thing; speaking was another. Fumblingly, Kircheis replied in the same language, “I’m interested in the cadet.”

“Why?” Leigh tilted his head consideringly. “Not that it matters, I suppose.”

“I think… I knew him, as a child. Unless it’s a different person.”

“Really?” Leigh leaned forward.

Kircheis pulled the photograph out of his bag and showed it to Leigh. “Is this him, sir?”

Leigh studied it for half a second. “That’s his sister?” He pointed at Annerose.

“Yes, sir.”

“The resemblance is uncanny.” Leigh picked up his tablet and poked around on it for a second, then turned it towards Kircheis. Staring out from the screen was a school photograph, with Reinhard dressed in what Kircheis assumed was the Alliance cadet uniform. He had a sort of haughty expression on his face, and his long blond hair was tied back in a stiff looking french braid. Kircheis couldn’t help his involuntary intake of breath. Kircheis studied the photograph silently. He hadn’t seen Reinhard in almost a decade.

“He’s clearly very talented,” Leigh said. “The article says he’s number one in his class.” He laughed a little. “Clearly, the Empire is worse off for not having him here. I suspect I might have enjoyed having him as a student.”

“I don’t think so, sir,” Kircheis said, distracted.

“Oh, you don’t think I would like him?”

“No, I mean, I don’t think the Empire would be better if he had stayed here. He swore to destroy the Goldenbaum dynasty.”

“At age ten?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s ambitious, then.”

“Yes.” Kircheis was still staring at the photograph.

“You remember him well?” Leigh asked. He gently tugged the tablet away from Kircheis, breaking the spell that the photograph was holding him under.

“Very well, sir,” Kircheis said. “I think he was the greatest friend that I ever could have.”

“Oh? Well, I’m sorry for your sake, that he left the country.”

Kircheis shook his head. “He left for a good reason,” he said. “I think he’s probably happier.”

“Can I ask why?”

“His father tried to sell his sister to the kaiser. His mother took them both and left.”

Leigh nodded. “Good.” He had a strange tone in his voice.

“Is something the matter, sir?”

“Let’s take a walk, Kircheis.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kircheis and Leigh both stood, and silently headed out of the office, out onto the snow-covered green. Leigh immediately stuck his hands in his pockets, having neglected to bring his winter gear. Kircheis didn’t mind the cold so much. They walked until they were a decent distance away from all the academic buildings, and there were no other students or staff in sight.

“Can I tell you something, Kircheis?”

“Of course, sir.”

“I get the feeling that you’re a person who can understand me, even if maybe it’s overstepping my jurisdiction as your teacher to confide some of this in you. It’s something I’ve been thinking about quite a lot.”

“That’s fine, sir.”

Leigh collected his thoughts for a moment. “One of the jobs of a historian, as I see it, anyway, is to bear witness to injustice.” He paused. “I always wanted to be a historian. I thought that— historians have this unique ability to topple the dictators of the past, by exposing their wrongs, and they can do that without harming anyone, really. Or, at least, not directly.” Yang rubbed his head. “I thought that I could be a historian, here. It would be difficult, maybe, because the way the Empire constructs stories about itself is itself dangerous, but I thought that I could do it.”

“You are, sir,” Kircheis said. “I thought your book was very enlightening.”

Leigh shook his head. “That’s not what I mean.” He took a breath, then exhaled loudly, his breath fogging up the air. “What I mean is that… I thought I could be a witness to the injustices of the past. But I’m not. Or, at least, that’s not all I am.”

“Sir?”

“You said your friend’s sister was going to be sold to the kaiser.”

“Yes, sir.”

“She is very beautiful. I can see why she would catch the kaiser’s eye.”

Kircheis nodded. “Was there a recent photo of her, in the news?”

“No, or at least I didn’t see one. I just mean in the picture you showed me. That was taken right before they left, I assume.”

“Yes,” Kircheis said. “Just by a few months.”

“She was very young, then.”

Kircheis nodded and said nothing, waiting for Leigh to continue. He did,. after a long moment.

“You know that Kaiser Friedrich favors me, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Being in his favor has meant… quite a lot for me, personally and professionally. I would not be here without his direct assistance.” He laughed, a little ruefully. “In fact, I might not even be alive.”

“I am grateful, then, that the kaiser favors you,” Kircheis said carefully.

“As am I. It’s… difficult.” He sighed. “I have lost the rights of historians, I think.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“There are many injustices that I have borne witness to, Kircheis,” Yang said. “It would be one thing if they were happening in the past. It’s another to see them happening right in front of me.” He sighed. “Your friend’s sister. I know what kind of fate she escaped from.”

Kircheis just nodded.

“I can only imagine— in a slightly different lifetime, we might have known each other well.” Leigh shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you the number of times that I have spoken with the kaiser’s current favored woman, Susanna von Benemunde. I’ve dined at her table. I’ve even been a recipient of her personal generosity, in small ways.”

Kircheis looked over at Leigh, who was frowning deeply, scuffing his feet through the snow on the path.

“She does not live an easy life. Nor does anyone else in her position, like the late Prince Ludwig’s wife, Ingrid.” His voice cracked a little. “And it pains me to say that I have been directly responsible for making Susanna von Benemunde’s life worse.”

“How, sir?”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Leigh shook his head again. “In a different lifetime, your friend’s sister, I could have watched her come into the kaiser’s favor— I know what that does to a woman!— and done nothing. Absolutely nothing. Or worse than nothing. Because the kaiser favors me.”

“It’s not your fault, sir,” Kircheis said, feeling rather overwhelmed by Leigh’s sudden expression of vulnerability.

“No? Captain Oberstein says that I’m so wrapped up in bearing witness that I become afraid to act.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind, you don’t know him.” Leigh was twisting his fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “Your friend had the right idea.”

“To leave?”

Leigh laughed. “I fled the Alliance, or Phezzan— it doesn’t really matter which. They’re the same. And I came here. Someone told me that I maybe could do some good, and I believed that. But…” He spread his hands, looking down at them. “I’m watching every injustice that occurs in the kaiser’s court, and what do I do?”

“You saved people at El Facil.”

“Yeah.” Leigh deflated a little. “Sure.” He put his hand on Kircheis’s shoulder, briefly. “I’m sorry for ranting to you. It’s not really anything I could say to someone else.”

“That’s fine, sir.” Hesitantly, he added, “I think that you’re doing good, here.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Leigh said, his voice falling back into one of his dry tones. “But there’s only so much good one can do while still being a servant of the kaiser. I’m training his weapons of war.”

“You do a good job making us think about the consequences.”

“I might do a good job making you think about the consequences,” Leigh said. “But your classmates— you’ve graded their postmortems. You’ve played against them. No matter what I do, they’re still thinking that this is a game. And I can’t fault them: it is. But at best they’re learning that the value of human life is in the points I assign them when I grade their essays. Somehow, when I put it like that, what I’m doing feels even more evil.”

“If there’s evil here, sir, I’m sure it’s not you.”

“I appreciate that, Kircheis.” He shook his head. “Please don’t mention any of this to Hilde, if you would. She’s on social terms with Marquise Benemunde, and I don’t want to trouble her.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Thank you,” Leigh said. He turned, and they headed back towards the academic buildings. “I’m very sorry for lecturing you,” he said as they walked, clearly trying to inject some levity into his voice. “You get enough of me during class— I’m not sure how you can bear hearing me any more than that.”

“I think what you have to say is interesting, sir.”

Leigh laughed. “Why, thank you, Kircheis. You might be the only one who feels that way.”

Although Kircheis had tried to cheer Leigh up, his words stuck with him that night, as he perused the news articles that Leigh forwarded to him about Reinhard. He couldn’t help but feel an echo of Leigh’s own guilt, or at least a premonition that if nothing changed, in a few years, at best, Kircheis would be in the exact same position that Leigh found himself in now.

Kircheis stared at the photographs of Reinhard, wearing the imperial uniform on the bridge of the Falke, caught in the fuzzy lens of the security cameras. Long ago, they had pledged to take down the Empire together. He had, somehow, done what Reinhard had asked him to: joined the fleet, and he was well on his way to securing himself a good position that would raise him through the ranks if he played his cards right. But rising through the ranks was an easy and clear path to see. Using that to destroy the Goldenbaums?

If the plan was to wait and see when to act, without having a plan, how easy it would be to justify any injustice with a promise of future change. How easy it would be, to stay subservient to this system for his whole life, never finding an opportunity, or never taking those that were found. The thought terrified him.

Reinhard had seemed so sure and confident. He still looked that way in these photos. He would have never allowed himself to fall into this kind of trap.

And neither would Martin, either, Kircheis knew.

He felt like he was teetering on a precipice, the yawning chasm of the future. He would be graduating in just a few months, and then he, too, would be one of His Majesty’s servants. And he might even come face to face with Reinhard, that way. And if he did, what would both of them do?