Captain (14 page)

I glared at the first sergeant, who flinched from my eye. "Stand your ground," I ordered. "If you don't, you'll have cause to regret it."

"Arrest them!" the admiral countered. "Or by god I'll see you hang as well!"

"Sir!" the sergeant moaned. He was caught in a wretched situation, one not in the least of his own making. "I… I…"

"I'm a sitting House Lord!" Lord Quenton roared. "How dare you threaten me in this sacred Hall?"

"You're a captain and I'm an admiral!" the First Space Lord countered. "And I'll have you arrested whenever and wherever it suits me, traitor!"

And that was that; I'd seen enough, and the situation was escalating beyond all reason. Half measures would sink us more certainly than anything else ever could; it was time to take decisive action for its own sake. "
You're
under arrest!" I screamed in a feral half-growl, drawing my Imperial blaster and pointing it square at the Fleet Commandant's face. Then I turned to the marines. "Take him to the brig and hold him incommunicado until you receive my personal orders to the contrary."

First the sergeant's jaw worked. Then he looked back and forth from his admiral to me.

"Do it, son," Lord Quenton advised. "I've seen David angry before, and you don't want to be around when he's like that. Believe me, you don't."

"Aye-aye, sir," he finally responded, pointing his weapon at the admiral. "I've heard the stories myself."

"You miserable flea-bitten cur-slave!" the admiral shrieked at the betrayal. "You low-down—"

"All of that and more, sir," the sergeant interrupted, confident again now that his decision was made. "Now come quietly—we wouldn't want to have to frog-march you, now would we?"

28

All in all things went far more smoothly than we'd feared. Our enemies seemed paralyzed by the sudden, decisive and high-risk strategy we'd employed, a course of action so alien to their own thought processes that they were still numb with shock hours later. None of the Hashimoto-Wilkes bigwigs resisted to the point of violence, though one minor functionary managed to get two of his own bodyguards killed by the marine squad sent to bring him in. There were also shots fired in orbit, as three destroyers and a fast dispatch vessel captained by members of the opposition Houses made a break for Point One, which was making a very near approach to the capitol world just then. But they were brought to heel without damage by a veritable storm of fire from the rest of the fleet, which was already in the process of deploying to enforce the brand-new quarantine James ordered as his very first Royal Decree. Not a ship was to leave local space until we were one hundred percent secure and in charge. I passed on the word to the Second Space Lord personally just after attending the backroom coronation. Another far more elaborate public event would be held when time allowed, but James was now legally King of the Realm. Or at least as legally King of the Realm as he'd ever be. "You've done a wonderful job so far, sir," I found myself reassuring my immeasurably senior officer. "All the right personnel were in precisely the right places. His Highness is most grateful, and I assure you that your assistance won't be forgotten."

Our little headquarters was growing awfully crowded by then, so much so that Uncle Robert suggested relocating to somewhere in the palace proper; after all, it was James's legal residence now. I didn't like the idea, however, and said so. "Feelings are running too strong. If I had my way, His Majesty would sleep aboard a dreadnought tonight. If our enemies are to strike back, their best shot will come while we're still settling in."

"I agree, David," James confirmed with a nod. His youthful face was deeply lined from stress and lack of sleep, yet somehow he found the energy to smile at me. "About not moving into the Palace at least; it'd look like a sign of weakness if I retreated to a warship, I think. So we'll spend at least another twenty-four hours right here. And please! Never call me anything but James again, in private at least." His smile widened. "I owe you everything, David."

I nodded back, unable to relax enough to smile with so much unsettled business on my mind. While we had the Wilkes-Hashimoto leadership all safely brigged up and guarded by politically reliable marines, there was no reason to doubt that they employed at least as many shadowy operatives as we Marcuses did. And every last one of them was probably still skulking about, looking for a chance to be a hero. 

Uncle Robert nodded and gave in easily—he was doing that more and more often these days, I noticed. Gracefully as well, to give the old man credit. Slowly but surely he was stepping aside as James grew ever more confident and capable. It might not have been an easy thing for some, but Uncle Robert made it look like a cakewalk. "Very well, then. But…" He frowned. "Despite everything, there's still decorum and ritual to consider." He sighed. "You haven't yet made your final call upon His Majesty."

Suddenly we were all glum again—there was no questioning which His Majesty our patriarch was referring to. James was utterly done in, yet he unquestionably had an important duty to perform. It was traditional that the Heir kiss the former sovereign on both cheeks before he was taken away and prepared for burial.

"Yes," James replied, sighing. He looked absolutely awful, mostly for lack of sleep. "Of course."

"Let me take care of it on your behalf," I urged. "Heirs have sent representatives before, when they were ill or off-planet or something. It's still too dangerous for you out in the corridors. Where will the kingdom be if some two-bit assassin gets lucky?"

"David's right," Uncle Robert agreed. "Under the circumstances, people will understand. Certainly His Majesty would."

At first James put on his 'stubborn' face, the same one he'd worn when required to eat asparagus as a boy. Then he sort of slumped over and nodded. "I
must
rest," he observed at last. "I'm not sure if I'm still making good decisions."

"You just made your best of the evening," I reassured him with a smile, standing and buckling on my Sword. "Go to bed, both of you. Get some good healthy sleep. I'll take the night watch, then snore all day tomorrow."

29

The universe was swathed in a mist of unreality as I made my way back into the palace proper, accompanied by Nestor and my usual escort. I was nearly as exhausted as James; nothing but pure willpower was propelling me down the endless corridors. Everything seemed to be happening to someone else. "We're going to go in, do what must be done, and then leave as quickly as is decent," I explained to my aide as the hallways grew both wider and grander. "There's no profit at all in anything else."

"Yes, sir," Nestor agreed with a nod. He must've been exhausted as well, yet he never uttered so much as a single syllable of complaint. We'd at least be able to sneak in a catnap once this last little job was done, and I suspected my aide craved the shuteye as much as I did.

This late in the evening the Palace wasn't nearly as crowded as it'd been earlier in the day. Part of it, I supposed, was that there was currently no king in residence. Normally power-transitions went much more smoothly than this one, so that the incoming monarch had plenty of time to ask certain key personnel to remain or have replacements pre-selected and ready to hand for those not staying on. This time, however, everything was a total mess. Uncle Robert, who should've done most of the grunt work on personnel and such, had instead been forced to devote his limited work-hours to endless politicking. And James hadn't even had time to unpack before the coup itself demanded all of his full-time exertions and more. So the palace infrastructure, I had to assume, was pretty much operating on autopilot. The only figures I encountered were dozens of furtive Rabbits scurrying here and about, all frightened out of their wits by half-true backstairs rumors about the death of their sovereign and everyone in authority arresting each other so that they couldn't be sure who was in charge anymore. Rabbits weren't political, I reminded myself, or at least the wise ones weren't. We couldn't afford to be, in our servile situation. So even as tired as I was, I somehow found time and energy to stop here and there to reassure my fellows that all was well, that James was their true king, and that there was nothing for any of them to fear.

"I'm so glad to hear it from you of all people, sir," one liveried old bun declared. "Now I can rest easy."

"You and James are friends, aren't you?" another asked. She worked in the kitchen.

I smiled and nodded. "Yes, the very best."

The doe smiled from ear to ear. "A king who has a Rabbit-friend! It makes it all worthwhile, somehow. Thank you
so
much, sir!" Then the expression faded. "Sir… It's not for me to say. But don't you think you ought to get some rest? You look terrible!"

What could I do but agree? "Soon," I promised her. "I have just one last job to take care of first."

She nodded back. "You should take better care of yourself, David. Where would the rest of us be if something were to happen to you?" I nodded in agreement, then smiled again and hugged her before continuing on my errand.

At least His Majesty's household staff were all still working, I noted as Nestor and I were approved for entry into the Royal Chambers. I had standing permission, and of course recent events had only raised my personal stock in regard to such matters. "Greetings, Commander Birkenhead," the old marine sergeant at the front desk said after running us through the scanner. Then he turned to Nestor. "Sir, you'll have to surrender your blaster."

"Sorry," my aide muttered, laying the weapon on the desk. I was one of only a tiny handful permitted in the Royal Presence armed, dating back to my first Sword investiture. Sadly, Nestor didn't have such authorization. He must've been exhausted indeed to have forgotten.

"No worries," the sergeant reassured him, taking in his red eyes and droopy ears. "It's been an anxious time for us all." Then he waved us in.

I had to admit that all afternoon and evening long whenever I'd had a second or two to spare I'd worried about Martijn. But every time the question had so much as formulated itself in my head someone had tried to arrest me or something and I'd never been able to act upon it. According to the news networks His Majesty had died of natural causes, and the story had to have originated from inner Palace staff. I knew my favorite Herald to be an exceptionally intelligent man, and he'd had months to plan things out. But… Had he actually gotten away with euthanizing his monarch?

My question was answered almost instantly when I rounded the last corner to His Majesty's sick room, where the royal corpus was laid out in full ceremonial regalia on his former sickbed. At his sovereign's foot stood Martijn with his rarely-seen ceremonial spear of office, standing final guard over the man he'd loved enough to kill. The Herald looked sick unto death, his until-recently youthful face wrinkled and worn like that of a man decades older. Under the makeup, I expected he was probably as pale as a ghost. All of his peers had fled off-planet, he'd told me a few days before, leaving him to carry the entire burden of His Majesty's final days upon his own shoulders. As was so often the case I didn't know proper Court ceremonial for such an occasion—that was normally James's department. So I improvised by bowing deeply before Martijn in his role as his master's representative. "We grieve together," I said.

"Yes," Martijn replied, nodding gravely. If I was behaving improperly, at least I was being forgiven. "And deeply. He was a great man indeed."

"None greater." Security was intense in the Royal Chambers, so I couldn't ask Martijn if he needed to be spirited away and made to disappear before someone figured out what he'd done. So instead I chose to be indirect. "James is most grateful to you for your exceptionally kind services to his grandfather during his final days," I explained. "He'd do anything for you in return. You have but to ask."

Martijn smiled faintly and returned my bow. "It was my pleasure as well as my duty," he explained. "A proper Herald need not be rewarded for doing what is obviously the right thing."

"There is duty, and there is beyond duty," I replied. "James will have great need of a man of such proven value, if I'm any judge. The people of this realm deserve no less. Though perhaps you might serve in a less personally-demanding role—one can ask only so much of anyone."

Martijn smiled and bowed again, but said nothing.

"I'm here," I continued, "to represent James in saying goodbye to His Highness."

The Herald nodded. "Of course. The halls must be very dangerous for the Heir just now. So it's entirely proper." Then, robes rustling, he raised his spear-butt and took one large sideways step…

…leaving me gazing into the cold, still features of the human I'd admired most in all the universe.

30

The departure of the spirit, I'd often heard, was supposed to bring peace to the abandoned husk that remained behind. But this was a lie more often than not, and His Majesty's corpse was no exception. I'd thought during his coma that he couldn't possibly look any worse, but death proved me wrong. In most ways nothing had changed—indeed, someone had applied his ceremonial court makeup to hide the awful sallowness of his skin. Despite this he looked worse than ever, denied even the illusion of peace at the end of his stress-filled existence. What lay before me seemed smaller and frailer than even the comatose version of my sovereign, as if some sort of macabre vampire had sucked the last shred of joy of joy and merriment out of him, and the responsibilities of his crown had extinguished his spirit at long, long last. "Goodbye, old man," I muttered with tears pouring down my cheeks. "I'll never know better. James would truly be here if he could." On the verge of bawling like a kit, I bent over and kissed first one cheek, then the other. And it was done.