One day, a letter came to Yue. The letter had been delivered through anonymous channels—or in other words, Imperial spy-rings. It had been a great risk for them. Many complaints had been raised.

  “You’re telling me, we, imperial spies, who have had to stay low forever, who couldn’t even eat and sleep in peace in hostile territory, are supposed to deliver a letter to a fucking admiral?” was the complaint of the agent assigned for the task.

  “A letter?” Yue murmurred. She had still been confined to bed. Her recovery had been slower than expected. She carefully opened the letter—in the past, assassination tactics such as planting diseases on letters had been used by the Empire. Still, the doctors vetted this letter.

  "Dear Yue, my love,

  I am currently held in the Imperial Throneworld. They're treating me well, and I even spoke with the Empress.

  If I talk too much they'll simply censor any confidential information anyway, so I cannot say much. But you don't have to worry about me. I'm sorry that I have to leave your side.

  I hope you are well.

  Love, Abbas."

  "... I have a good husband," Yue remarked, smiling. The woman to whom she made that remark was Alice Black. The two had formed an odd but surprisingly solid friendship.

  "You do, Admiral," Black replied. "But honestly, I'm surprised this letter even got through at all. Perhaps the Empress authorizes it."

  "It's a wonder, indeed," Yue said, carefully caressing the letter. "And that part about talking to the Empress–those two have some history together."

  "History? By which you mean–"

  "Romance? Of course not. I mean my husband once humiliated the Empress by spoiling her perfect victory. You were there too, weren't you?"

  "I was ...."

  "Well, I might be wrong, but I think I understand some of the Empress' psyche. She probably enjoyed meeting someone she deems her equal. In fact, I bet she brought Abbas' fleet to heel herself."

  Yue stretches. "At any rate, I'm glad he's safe."

  At roughly the same moment, Abbas couldn't exactly be called safe, because Admiral Valentina was right upon him.

  "So you're Vice Admiral Abbas al-Salem," she said coldly, her gaze domineering. "You're less impressive than I expected. It looks like your well of luck has run dry. What a shame. I wanted to bring you down myself."

  "I'm not sure what my response ought to be," Abbas said. "You are Admiral Valentina of the First Fleet, aren't you? We met at Alvisa."

  Whether intentional or not, Abbas' words only inflamed Valentina's wrath. "You know what we do with sharp-tongued prisoners? We can make them ... disappear. You might have the Empress' favor, but who knows, maybe one day you'll make me angry enough that I'd trade my life for yours."

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  Admiral Valentina stormed out of the house. This incident didn't go unreported to the Empress. At that time she was conducting exercises with the Second, Fifth, and Sixth Fleets.

  "Valentina did what!?" Katharin asked, pinching her forehead. "What a mess."

  Katharin sighed. "I remember her. She was a shooting star until Alvisa."

  "It is likely she holds a grudge against Vice Admiral Abbas al-Salem," Admiral Thompson suggested.

  "I can understand that. She probably hated his guts utterly," Katharin sighed. "Still, it won’t do to treat a high-ranking POW like that. I'll send her a gentle letter of reprimand and forbid her from entering the detainment facility. How annoying."

  Once the Empress, escorted by Scarnhorst, left, Thompson and Radbruch descended into gossip.

  "I heard the Empress actually proposed to Vice Admiral Abbas al-Salem," Radbruch said casually. "And she was rejected. After that she offered him a place in the imperial military and a noble title, but he refused that as well."

  “How on earth have we not had an intelligence leak, with how gossipy our flag officers are?” thought Thompson, but he immediately replied, “really? You think our empress is attracted to him? I mean she’s at the age when emperors usually marry. I’d not be surprised if Spymaster Klaris has been pestering her about it. What about you, Radbruch? Any plans to settle down? Weren’t you hooking up with Scarnhorst some time ago?”

  “During the civil war? It was just a physical relationship. We broke off soon after that,” Radbruch sighed. “And you?”

  “I’ve got a fiancee ... but don’t tell anyone yet. We want to keep it private,” Thompson said. “We’ll be having the ceremony in a few weeks. Don’t worry, you’ll be invited.”

  “Ah. Congratulations. And I’m waiting for the free buffet—I mean for the wedding.” Radbruch cackled at his own joke.

  Innumerable light-years away, a pair of siblings were locked in deep discussion.

  “The Empress is moving towards peace,” said Petra Kaufmann, the younger of the two. “We have had problems like this but this is on a different scale. Her enemies have been purged in the civil war. What pawns can we use now, except that?”

  “Hmm.”

  Wilson Kaufmann, older of the two, gazed at his brewed coffee. “So, the Empress wants peace, doesn’t she?”

  “Shall we put a knife to her throat? It’ll be very hard, but I think we have a good shot.”

  “No ... we cannot afford that degree of chaos. She’s unmarried, and heirless. If the Empire fractures, the tides will be too difficult for us to ride on.”

  At this moment, just like any other, streams of information from the Kaufmann’s spies flowed like the great rivers of old Earth. One caught Wilson’s eye. It read:

  “In about ten or eleven days, Admiral Thompson will marry his fiancee, a nurse by the name of Grace, unremarkable of birth, in the Planet of Neptyhs, in the city of Neptyhs City, with Hotel Neptuna as the venue. Many decorated personages will attend, including the Empress.”

  “An opportunity reveals itself,” Wilson said.

  “Shall we send agents disguised as republican soldiers?”

  “No ... that would be too obvious. We’ll hire a bunch of unaffiliated mercenaries, then drop clues that the Republic is behind it. It should be a fun game for their intelligence service. Arrange it at once, Petra.”

  “Aye, Wilson.”

  Wilson walked outside the mercantile palace from which he operated. He sipped on tea while gazing at the blue skies above.

  The Empire and the Republic had been playing their great game for hundreds of years. They never thought there could be another ultimate outcome than victory for one or another.

  One side believed in the inviolability of the emperor. They were foolish to trust in bloodlines. Science had long marched on yet the imperials clung as luddites to their beliefs. And so, as luddites, they would fall in the end.

  The other trusted in the consensus of the masses. They, too, were foolish to believe in themselves. Society could not hope for the waiter, for the cook, for the domestic servant, for the clerk, for the office worker, for the housewife, for the beggars, for why should they care about the machinations of the government when they battled for survival? Nor could it count on the businessmen, on the officers, on the ministers, on the politicians, for they only cared about themselves. And this way, the Republic’s democratic rot grew ever more virulent.

  The Kaufmanns had spent nine generations. Most had desired to keep it that way. Accumulating power and wealth, feasting on the decline of nations.

  But why should we not take the stage ourselves?

  The Kaufmanns’ goal had finally shifted. They would unite humanity, and rule themselves. As enlightened rulers, they would advance humanity.

  All for humanity ....