Captain (The David Birkenhead Series) Page 2

  “But…” the other talking head replied. “They’re already at war, with the Empire!”

  “Exactly, Doug,” the first replied with a tight little smile. “Which is why a civil war may well in turn lead to the end of the kingdom itself.”

  I frowned angrily, then snapped the set off. He was absolutely correct, of course, and I couldn’t stand to think about the fact that just down the hall Prince Neville was probably watching precisely the same newscast and bouncing off the walls with joy at the impending death of a man whose chamber pot he wasn’t fit to empty. “Damn!” I swore, making a fist and pounding the arm of my chair. Then I turned to Nestor. “He’s right, of course. And here we are, stuck where we can’t do a thing to help James.”

  “You could issue a public statement of support,” my friend suggested. “The Genevans would allow that through, I think. I mean, if James does eventually succeed to the throne, well… Our friends here won’t want him already angry at them over what amounts to trivia in the larger picture.”

  “That’s true enough,” I allowed, wriggling my nose in concentration. Suddenly everything was in flux, and all the rules had subtly (or in some cases perhaps not so subtly) changed. “I think I’ll do exactly that, Nestor. Thank you. And we’ll see how things unfold from there.”

  4

  I wasn't halfway done composing the statement before there was another knock at my door. This time it didn't come crashing open, however—whoever it was, they were polite enough to wait for Nestor to let them in. "Admiral Kranmetz," my friend announced formally. "Here to see you, sir." I gulped and dropped my pen, then nervously tugged my uniform into shape. Rear-Admiral Kranmetz was the commander in chief of Geneva Station's armed forces. While I'd dined with him once or twice, it'd been at crowded tables with a dozen or more of his officers sitting between us. He and I hadn't exchanged twenty words in all the time I'd been under his supervision, though rumor had it that he was far more capable a flag officer than his current rank would indicate. He'd never rise any further, however—the New Genevan Navy was a small enough force that its structure justified only a single admiral to command its entirety.

  "Good morning, sir!" I greeted him with a smile as I stepped through into our living area. "Please, have a seat! Would you care for some fruit juice? Or perhaps tea?"

  He accepted both fruit juice and a chair, and we spoke of polite nothings for a few moments as Nestor got us both squared away. "I'm terribly sorry to have dropped in on you like this," he explained finally. "But I wanted to offer you my personal condolences, you see. I'm aware of how close you were to your sovereign."

  I nodded and looked down into my cup. The New Genevans had promised not to snoop on any of my direct personal correspondence with His Majesty—the same privilege was extended to communications between Prince Neville and his father, so turnabout was fair play. Most likely they'd actually kept their word; while New Geneva was indeed a formidable fortress, either of their majesties could and probably would blot it out of the sky if offered a provocation serious enough to justify the enormous expenditures involved. So, as intended from the getgo, the New Genevans tended to be honest brokers and men of their word. Just because they weren't actively snooping didn't mean they had to pretend to be blind, however; His Majesty's letters had arrived hand-addressed on Royal stationery, and my own replies had been directed to his personal chamber. "Thank you," I replied, making a sincere little half-bow from my chair. Then I sighed and wiped away one last tear. "Truth be told, I'm not yet over the shock."

  He nodded back. "Quite understandable, of course." Then he crossed his legs and leaned back. "Your House finds itself in quite a difficult situation as well, I suppose."

  I smiled. Now we were getting to the real reason why I was being graced with such a high-level visitor. "Perhaps," I answered. "Or perhaps not. His Majesty openly supported James as his successor, you know. That's no secret. While I have no special inside knowledge on the matter—I give you my word on this!—I wouldn't be at all surprised if he made it official in his last will and testament."

  The admiral nodded again. "Of course—that's virtually a given. But… Will the Noble Houses line up behind him? Or support a Regency regardless?"

  I smiled—he was again asking a question to which he must already know the answer. "Marcus is of course the largest and most economically important of the Houses," I replied. "We've long been on the leading edge of several fields of technology, plus our economy is far more efficient than anyone else's. Largely because of the way we treat our Rabbits and Dogs, I'd submit. Being relatively free, they work harder and contribute more. They're even becoming soldiers. Spacemen too, you may've heard." I smiled, displaying my oversized incisors. "So we're in a good position to make our claim stick."

  He smiled back, but the expression faded quickly. "Even so, your House's capitol world has only recently been freed from enemy occupation. The Imperials looted it practically to the bedrock. Though Marcus Prime hasn't been attacked again, defending it is draining your treasury something fierce. Marcus isn't the powerhouse it was ten or fifteen years ago—it can't be, after what it's been through."

  I shrugged. "This last decade has been a rough one, yes. But what of the next ten years, sir? Who's situated best to grow? Marcus began as a very minor House indeed, but its overall history has been one of growth without limits. By tradition we're innovators, experimenters… Long-term planners, in other words." Then I scowled. "Let me speak frankly, sir. I don't know how you feel about empowered Rabbits. But we make up almost half of all sentient beings here on Geneva Station, just as we do overall in the rest of colonized space. Marcus created Rabbits, and now Marcus is leading the way in integrating them into mainstream society. This has been going on for many years now—certainly longer than I've been alive. Today, on most planets Rabbits own nothing and contribute little except brute labor and domestic services. On Marcus worlds, they run small farms and businesses. My own father was a working ship's engineer, sir! In your position, you can't help but know how difficult that certification is to earn. Once again, we're on the leading edge of yet another major step forward." I shook my head and smiled. "In comparison to the long-term benefits we'll reap from this one social advance alone, the Occupation was nothing."

  His eyes narrowed. "And the other Houses? How do they line up? Will they support James and a Marcus-led Kingdom?"

  I shrugged. "At least some will. Many Houses owe us favors and allegiance due to past services—some of these involve matters of blood, which are held to be especially sacred. Vorsage, for example, will stand with us to the bitter end—their Heir is one of my closest personal friends. I've met the Earl of Quenton—he saved the lives of my entire command at Zombie Station. We can certainly count on their support, as well. Kandoro has long known that the passing of this last king of their line marks the end of their time in the sun—given that His Majesty was also their titular head and that he's openly supported James, well…" I sighed. "We have allies, sir. Will they be enough? I can't know. And at this point I don't think anyone else can, either."

  There was a silence, one that Nestor finally broke. "If I may, sir," he said to the New Genevan admiral as he refilled his juice glass, "I'd like to point something else out as well."

  Kranmetz's eyebrows rose; clearly, he wasn't accustomed to footbunnies offering their opinions on important matters of state. "Indeed?"

  Nestor took this as a 'yes' even though it didn't sound much like one to me. "Well, sir… I've been reading David's old Academy textbook on strategy. It describes a well-known game that this situation reminds me very much of. If you think about it, whether there's a Regency or not there'll still be a Marcus on the throne. People tend to forget that poor Stephen is James's elder brother. So if he's crowned and a Regent is appointed, James is still next in line anyway because Stephen can never father a child. Therefore, if you think matters all the way through and look past the next few years, well… The name of the game I was thinking of, sir, is 'Heads I
win, tails you lose'." He smiled. "The Marcuses are famous for playing the long game. I'm amazed that no one else seems to be looking at things in that light."

  "So," Admiral Kranmetz said eventually, looking bemused. "It'll be the Marcuses in the long run after all. No matter what happens."

  "Unless we totally screw it up," I replied, smiling across the room at Nestor. Then the expression faded. "Personally, I think a Regent would mean a weak, indecisive kingdom and in turn an Imperial victory. In that case there may well be no long game. Though of course if we go down that road and I'm ever allowed out of here, I'll still fight them with all I have."

  "If the Imperials win," Nestor asked softly, "how long do you suppose there'll be an independent New Geneva?"

  The admiral colored slightly, and I thought for a moment that perhaps my friend had pressed matters too far. Then Kranmetz smiled and looked him in the eye. "What did you say your name was?" he asked.

  "Nestor," he replied. "I've yet to choose a surname. In fact, I may never choose one."

  "Well," the admiral replied, his smile widening as he bent over and offered his hand. "Now I know that there are at least two Rabbits in the universe whose opinions are worth hearing." My friend smiled and accepted the gesture in the spirit in which it was offered. Then the admiral looked up at my wall, where my Sword hung next to the broom and home-made victory pendant we'd sailed Richard into her final berth under. "It's a damned shame indeed that you're stuck here so far away from the action," he declared. "I expect that right about now the House of Marcus would be grateful to have both of you back home to help things along."

  I shrugged. "What cannot be cured must be endured."

  He looked at me a bit strangely, then smiled again and extended his hand. "It's been a tremendous honor, playing host to the most famous naval officer of our age," he said. "Who knows? Maybe it'll even earn me a footnote in the history books. You've been a polite and gracious guest."

  I smiled back. "And under the circumstances, well… My already high regard for New Geneva has only increased."

  "Good!" he replied, "I'm pleased to hear it." He stepped to the door, and rather to my shock saluted me. It was normal for Royal officers of higher rank to salute me first—that went with having been awarded a Sword, after all. But foreigners, well… I repaid his courtesy as best I could by replying with parade-ground stiffness.

  "Fair winds, David!" he said as he stepped out into the corridor. "I only wish I'd made more time to get to know you better."

  My mouth dropped open—what on earth was the man talking about? Was he headed off on detached duty or something? "Come by any time!" I finally stammered. Then he was gone. "Well!" I declared, turning to Nestor. "What on earth do you think that was all about?"

  "Beats the heck out of me," the ever-practical Nestor replied. "But for my part, I'm going to start packing."

  5

  After careful consideration, I did a little packing too. I didn't have all that much stuff of my own, as naval officers tend to travel lightly. The only really important item I couldn't carry on my own person was the broom-and-pendant arrangement, which Uncle Robert had already twice attempted to secure for display at the Royal War Museum. But my crew had presented it to me personally; their exact words were "We want you to place it on your mantelpiece for the rest of your life to remember us by". And there it would indeed hang, if I had any choice in the matter. No captain had ever sailed with a finer crew than that of Richard, and I'd honor their request to the letter as best I possibly could.

  We were so excited at the prospect of leaving that it took us less than an hour to get everything squared away and ready—I even placed a few gold pieces atop my dresser as a tip for the domestic staff so I wouldn't forget in the sudden rush that I was sure must be coming. But as it happened we waited…

  And waited…

  And waited all through the endless afternoon, until Nestor finally gave in and cooked us dinner. "We have a reading class tonight," he pointed out as our veggies boiled. "At least that'll help the time pass."

  I nodded. It was my habit to teach classes in slave shorts, so as not to stand apart from my students. Yet here I was still in my full dress uniform, pockets stuffed with souvenirs, datacubes, and heirlooms. "Perhaps so," I agreed with a sigh. "I suppose I ought to go ahead and change clothes. We're not likely to be exchanged outside of business hours, I don't suppose."

  "You never know," Nestor countered. "And besides—you promised old Isaac that you'd come at least once in uniform, so he could take your picture."

  I scowled, not at all in the mood to pose for the aged photographer's assistant. Yet a promise was a promise. "Well, I am all dressed up already…"

  Someone knocked on our door at precisely six forty-five, right on schedule. It just about had to be our escort to the rec-room—we were not only kept under guard coming and going, but typically an entire squad of Genevan marines sat in the back row the whole time we were teaching. Over time we'd come to know them all quite well, of course—at Christmas-time Nestor even made chocolate-mint cupcakes for them all. "Hello!" I said with a smile as the door swung open. "How—" But the rest of the sentence remained stillborn in my throat, for instead of the usual friendly gang I found myself confronted with a heavily-armed squad of men wearing the orange collar-tabs of the New Genevan Internal Security Service.

  "Good evening, Commander Birkenhead," their leader said from behind a thin, wispy smile. "I'm Major Adama. I fear there've been some changes in how we're administering our internee program. Please don't be alarmed by this. You and your valet have been model prisoners; this has nothing to do with you and your daily routine won't be affected." His smile widened. "I understand we're on our way to a reading class?"

  I blinked, then reminded myself that the Genevans were free to run their prison however they wished. "Yes, Major. Of course." Just then Nestor came dashing out of the kitchen. "In recreation room one."

  He bowed and gestured with a flourish. "After you!"

  Our improvised classroom was only a short walk away, and there were already half a dozen Rabbits and a Dog waiting there for us. As was so often the case with the gengineered species, they'd gotten right to work. The chairs were already rearranged for the class and our students were sitting in a neat row waiting for us, some peering intently into their readers. Fortunately old Isaac was among the early arrivals, so we were able to get the photographic nonsense out of the way first. Nestor brought our broom-and-pennant to use as a prop, so when the rest of the class arrived the elderly bunny got a good shot of us all posing around it. "Thank you, sir!" he said, voice quavering with either age or gratitude—I wasn't sure which. Then we got down to business and took turns reading first Peter Rabbit and then a second-grade level tale about a dog named Lad aloud for almost two hours. Things were just breaking up when Nestor came sidling up beside me. "Excuse me, sir," he whispered in my ear. "But can you handle the cleanup alone for a few minutes? Dinner didn't agree with me."

  I nodded without speaking aloud, so as to avoid embarrassing him. Rabbits have some odd social taboos that are believed to derive directly from ancestral lapine behavior patterns, and an unusually strong sense of privacy about matters involving toilets stands high among them. It seemed that everyone wanted to hang around and chat that particular evening; I spent perhaps half an hour gossiping about this and that with my students. Then I noticed that my broom-and-pennant was missing! My heavens! Who would've stolen that? My head darted left, right, left, but it was nowhere in sight! Surely neither my students nor the security police… I was just about to grow incandescently angry when it occurred to me that perhaps Nestor had taken it with him for safekeeping. So, excusing myself and making it clear to my escort what I was doing, I followed him into the little toilet.

  And there it was, of course. Along with Nestor, Major Adama…

  …and a large, fresh crawl-hole in the bathroom wall. "I thought you'd never come looking for this!" Nestor hissed, waving the pennant.


  Then Major Adama smiled and spoke up. "Congratulations on your successful escape, Commander!" he explained. "An escape which we New Genevans did everything humanly possible to prevent, of course, and are in no way complicit in. In fact, you and I have never even met."

  At least I recovered quickly. "Thank you," I replied with a deep bow. "Which explains why you won't be receiving a card expressing my deepest gratitude."

  "Naturally not." His smile widened as he handed me a pair of pliers. "There's an air vent on the other side of that opening. Bear right, and count four ventilation grilles. The fourth opens up just across from where your diplomatic courier ship Sparrow is berthed. By the purest of coincidences, she's all powered up and ready to transport urgent dispatches back home. And by an even greater coincidence, no New Genevan ship is even remotely in a position to intercept."

  I shook my head. "It's simply amazing, how lucky Nestor and I are!"

  "Yes," the major replied. "Heads are going to roll over this, I'm sure. Someday. When we get around to it, that is. Probably all of them about to retire anyway." Then he snapped to attention and saluted. "Godspeed, Commander! My government is officially neutral, as I'm sure you understand it must be. But that doesn't mean that we're too stupid to know who the good guys are, or that our officers aren't allowed personal feelings. It's been one of the greatest honors of my life to be of assistance to you!"