Captain (6 page)

This sort of thing accounted for three of the fourteen Houses that'd voted against us, but that left eleven others. What was
their
beef with Marcus? One by one Nestor and I picked out the factors we thought might be the drivers behind their points of view. Five of them were fringe Houses, so small and economically insignificant that they only continued to exist due to their traditional right to cast a vote in the House of Lords. Each of them owed their survival to one or more patron-Houses, who continued to prop them up in exchange for their willingness to vote however they were
told
to vote. It was an archaic and absurd way to run the kingdom's business, Nestor and I agreed. But I could hardly complain that it was unfair—powerful Marcus had six such vassal-Houses of her own, and Kandoro was well on her way to becoming the seventh. (Indeed, there was much speculation that His Majesty had deliberately sired James's father out of wedlock in anticipation of his own House's final fall from viability, thus further empowering what was clearly someday going to become Kandoro's protector-House.)

So, what motivated the other six "no" votes? Four of them were due to the same kind of blood-obligations that bound the House of Quenton to Marcus, we decided—there'd been considerable intermarriage. But figuring out the last two was tough going indeed, though we were convinced we were on the right track because these were the same ones whose side-switching had so infuriated Uncle Robert. We added more and more dots and color-codes until the chart became an incomprehensible mishmash except in the immediate vicinity of the famous Empty Seats. These were the chairs formerly held by the breakaway Houses that'd become the Empire. They remained unoccupied in a symbolic appeal for their return. One of the two vote-changing Houses, that of Wilkes, happened to sit right next to one of these empty spaces. It was pure coincidence, and yet…

I scowled, making my whiskers go all awry. "Nestor," I said slowly. "James and his elder brother are the two leading candidates for the throne."

"Without question," he agreed. "Especially once His Majesty passes away and the final will and testament is read. Everyone expects him to acknowledge their legitimacy there."

I nodded. "In fact, their claim is so strong that I can't even name number three. Can you?"

He titled his head to one side, then wriggled his nose for a moment. "You're right. It's sort of strange, but I can't either."

I looked at our chart again. "I'll bet you half your glazed carrots at our next fancy dinner with the family that he's either a Wilkes or a Hashimoto."

Nestor's jaw dropped, then his nose began wriggling too. Hashimoto was the other vote-changing House. "No deal," he replied at last. Then he turned to his keyboard, and in two minutes had the answer. "It's a good thing I didn't bet. You'd have gotten the whole portion."

I blinked. "But I was only going to bet half!"

"There's not one but two equally-qualified number-three pretenders," he explained. "So closely matched that no one can really decide which is the stronger. They're His Majesty's second cousins. One is a Hashimoto, and the other a Wilkes." 

11

I really should've met with Uncle Robert that Monday morning, but one of the few things that even he accepted as having a higher priority than politics was my duty to the navy. Direct orders were nothing to toy with, even when you were considered as successful an officer as I was.

Ostensibly I was at Navy Headquarters for my court-martial. Mr. Wong was representing me again, and this time it wasn't nearly as big a deal as it'd been before. "If they were to find the officer who left his footprints on Imperious guilty," he explained the first and only time we met on the subject, "the rioting would go on for weeks. They'd have to be
insane
to find you guilty, David. Either that or damn fools. They wouldn't convict you even if you'd actually done something wrong. Which you haven't, of course."

This time around there were no criminal charges. The only issue at stake was to determine if the loss of
Richard
might possibly have been due to negligence, incompetence, or cowardice on my part. Clearly none of those applied, and everyone involved recognized that the court marital was merely a formality. The officers convened for less than an hour, then I was once again most honorably acquitted and urged to wear my Sword in good health. Afterwards, however, I was rather surprised when Admiral Panetta, the Second Space Lord, ambushed me out in the corridor. Nestor and I were attempting a break for home, but he was too quick for us. "Commander!" he greeted me, shaking my hand warmly. He even spared my aide a nod and smile, which was more than most of the high muckety-mucks did. "I'm pleased to hear that you've been formally cleared. Not at all surprised, mind you. But pleased nonetheless."

I smiled back. "Thank you, sir. I'm grateful to have it behind me. Even if I wasn't particularly worried this time."

"Of course not," he agreed. "A worthwhile officer understands that the navy is all about risk, and sometimes that means expending ships for greater gains." His smile faded. "I understand you missed your inspection of the
Cheyenne
yesterday due to illness. Are you feeling better?"

I smiled again. "Much, sir. It was just my old stomach disorder. You see, while I was on Zo—"

"Right," he interrupted me. "Your chronic stomach ailment—I understand that you're liable to have troubles for years, possibly even the rest of your life." He tilted his head to one side. "You've never put in for a single day of sick leave over that, have you? Not since your initial recovery, I mean." His features hardened. "David, you're a fine officer. Perhaps our finest. I'd hate to see you pushing yourself too hard and burning yourself out. If you're sick, for heaven's sake take a sick day!"

I lowered my eyes, hating the lie I'd told. "I was on leave anyway," I explained.

"And you're quite eager to return to your leave as well, I'm certain," he replied. "Heaven knows you've earned it. But… David, I need to ask a favor of you. I have an important meeting in a few minutes—it's regarding current military operations, you see, and I
must
attend. It'll last an hour, perhaps an hour and a half. Could I persuade you to wait around a bit and see me afterwards? Privately, I mean. In my office."

I gulped. Not only was the Second Space Lord the number-two man in the entire navy, but he was in charge of all matters regarding personnel. In many ways that made him more powerful and influential than his putative superior. The First Space Lord ordered about ships and planned fleet movements on the grand scale, while the Second shuffled men and built careers. "Of course, sir!" I replied with a slight bow. "It'd be my sincere honor.

***

Fifteen minutes later Nestor and I were comfortably seated in the admiral's outer office, or at least as comfortably as the all-human furnishings allowed. We'd turned down wine and coffee and sweets alike, which upset the Second Lord's aide terribly. Finally an unusually bold footbunny offered us fruit juice on his own initiative, which we accepted with pleasure. This relieved the aide visibly—after that he was all smiles. "His Lordship will see you as soon as he possibly can," we were assured at least three times.

Still, the wait wasn't nearly so onerous as it might've been. Because the Second Space Lord was in charge of assignments, it was common practice for the navy's unemployed officers above a certain standing to come calling upon him personally on a regular basis to petition—beg, in other words—for a choice posting. The outer office was huge—there were at least fifty chairs, and all of them save two were occupied by unemployed naval officers when Nestor and I arrived. Even these would've been taken, had they not been roped off exclusively for our use. For the first time in months I found myself surrounded by uniformed peers, and it was a very nice feeling indeed. "Commander Birkenhead!" the post-captain to my left greeted me with an extended hand. "My name is Duncan Hashimoto. I'm
so
honored to meet you! I've read your after-action reports over and over again, more times than I could count!"

Everyone in the room was staring at Nestor and I. It wasn't my first time, of course—back at the Academy in particular, naval officers had stared at me all the time. Usually in a quite unfriendly manner, in fact. But now…

…everything was different! As deeply as I searched the faces of the officers who lined up to shake my hand and express admiration for either
Richard
's cruise or the defense of Zombie Station, I couldn't find a trace of the old arrogance and resentment. Some of the officers were a bit awkward, others refused to meet my eye. But… These men, the hardest-bitten warriors in the kingdom… They actually seemed to
respect
me! A
Rabbit
! 

The crowd around me thickened so rapidly that soon it was impossible to see more than a few feet. So I was genuinely surprised when at long last someone I knew stepped forward to greet me. "Hello, shipmate!" Captain Sir Roderick Blaine declared as he emerged from the crowd. "How's the best cabin boy I've ever had?"

He smiled as he said it, so as always I smiled back and shook his hand warmly. "Very well indeed, sir." Then I introduced Nestor to him. "He's a highly successful cabin boy in his own right!"

Sir Roderick laughed, then bent down and examined my aide closely. "So, you read and write too?"

Nestor's one major failing, common to practically all Rabbits, was extreme shyness with humans. "Yessir," he mumbled.

"He's a certified EMT," I amplified. "He also has a black belt, shot a fifty out of fifty with nineteen bullseyes on a navy-standard combat range last week, and I bet that if universities allowed testing through their classes he'd have at least five degrees by now."

"Really?" Sir Roderick replied, his eyebrows rising. "But then, of all naval officers I perhaps should be the least surprised at what a cabin boy can accomplish." His cheeks reddened a bit, then the turned back to me. "David," he said at last. "I've spent more time than you probably imagine thinking about you since we first met. About all you did back then, and even more the things you've done since." He licked his lips. "I just wanted to tell you that, when I heard about your raiding Imperious herself, well… I don't know that I could've done what you did. Certainly I'd never have done it half as well. Which in turn means I've been wrong about many, many things." He sighed. "David, I'm deeply sorry for how I treated you back then. And also for how I've stuck my foot in my mouth so many times since. I never meant you anything but well, and yet without even realizing it I did nothing but belittle and patronize you." Then he formally bowed, right out in front of everyone. "I'd very much like to begin our friendship anew. Will you accept my deepest apology?"

"Of course," I replied, extending my hand. "But you don't—"

Then he embraced me in a warm hug, having bypassed my hand entirely. "I'm
so
terribly sorry," he whispered in my ear. "I've manumitted every single Rabbit on my estate. Eventually, I came to realize that it was the only way I could live with myself."

12

"I heard about the goings-on out in the waiting area," His Lordship Admiral Panetta began, once we were finished with the polite preliminaries. "Especially with Blaine."

I felt my face coloring under the fur. "Well, sir… He and I—"

"I've held this office for almost ten years," he interrupted, pouring himself a second shot of whiskey. The Second Space Lord was a notoriously heavy drinker, but no one ever claimed that it interfered with the execution of his duties. If anything, the alcohol seemed to further hone an already sharp mind. "And in all that time I've never once heard of any such goings-on out in the lobby. Fights and arguments, yes—one of them actually led to a duel, a few years back. My aide Peter has worked in this office almost three times that long, and he's never seen the like either." He paused and looked down at his glass awkwardly. "Are you sure you won't have some, David? It's a rare interview indeed where I'm forced to drink alone."

"It's a Rabbit-thing," I explained. "Our senses of taste are different."

"Ah!" he replied. Then he dribbled in some water and took a long, deeply-satisfying sip. "You know, that makes matters more remarkable still. You being a Rabbit, I mean. The last slaves kept on a large scale before your kind were Africans. Many of my ancestors among them, I'll add, which has made me more interested than most in the subject."

"Indeed, sir?" I responded.

"Indeed!" he replied. Then he frowned and set down his glass. "What just took place out there in my waiting room would've been unthinkable for a freed slave in that era. While a handful were indeed manumitted, they were never allowed anything resembling social equality. Just like you weren't, at first."

I nodded.

"Once upon a time, His Majesty sent a Herald to discuss the possibility of enrolling you into the Academy," he continued. "For what it's worth, David, I supported the idea. But I also warned him that I felt you were almost certain to either wash out or at best would prove a minimally effective officer. Because that's what my knowledge of history led me to believe would be the best-case scenario, you see. Even after you performed so well there despite the social difficulties, well…" He sighed, then placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. "There was a lot of pressure for you to be assigned to a backwater post, David. Some of it was political, but there were legitimate concerns as well. What effect would a Rabbit officer have on morale, for example? And while your courage and intellect were proven, well… Leadership is a quality that's nearly impossible to evaluate in an academic setting. While on the surface you seemed to show some promise even in that arena…" He sighed. "I'm the one who sent you to Graves Registration, David. Ultimately, it was my decision. While many other officers boasted of having been the key string-puller at the time, they don't know of what they speak. Your folder has crossed my desk
many
times, Commander. And I'm personally the one who made the decision, outside pressure be damned. I thought it best to place you among as many other Rabbits as possible, and most of all I thought it important to be certain that you'd never be faced with the prospect of leading humans in combat. For your sake as well as theirs."