Commander Read online

  “When you are king,” I replied, “I’ll offer up my last drop of blood for you. Because you’ll be a good and wise king, which is a gift beyond price to any people.”

  Eventually the current king commanded me to the palace to receive another honor. It’d been almost seven years since I’d last seen the old gentleman face to face—in that regard I was very much looking forward to the ceremony. Even though I’d been a mere child, His Majesty's simple and genuine nature had made a deep impression upon me. In a few short minutes, I’d come to love him. Plus I’d get to see James again. Yet otherwise the whole thing was a royal pain in the kiester. I had to have a special white-silk robe and hood made, allow a makeup expert to doll me up like a mannequin, and even spend most of a morning riding in a wheelchair, for heaven’s sake, to avoid showing up in scuffed slippers. But when I got there it all turned out to be worth it. His Majesty loved his little surprises, and there at last stood the Zombie Rabbits, all as paint-smeared as I was. Snow, who looked especially lost, was wearing a white robe identical to mine. Despite the strict protocol I smiled wide at him as I followed James into the throne room, he once again honoring me by standing in as the representative of the House of Marcus.

  It turned out to be a beautiful ceremony after all, one almost worth all the fussing about. The program began with the lesser awards—every Zombie Station veteran received at least one; His Highness was unstinting indeed. Then Chief Engineer Lancrest was awarded a Staff of Hercules and a field-of-battle promotion. Next it was Snow’s turn in the spotlight. His Majesty saw how frightened he was and took a few extra moments to steady the pure-white rabbit down, asking him simple questions about this and that and pretending enormous interest in the stammered, incomprehensible answers. Finally he presented the Sword, Snow saluted His Majesty even more awkwardly than I’d done as a teenager so long ago, and the whole Court bowed to him just as they’d once done to me.

  Then it was my turn.

  “Lieutenant Birkenhead," King Albert addressed me after a long moment spent staring deep into my eyes. “You've served me so well that I fear I’m experiencing difficulty finding words and symbols to properly express my gratitude. Never before has a second Sword of Orion been awarded to a living hero. And never, may I say, has a second been so richly deserved.”

  Then something unexpected happened. The last time I’d been awarded a Sword, two efficient Court aides had taken care of the actual buckling-on and such. This time, however, His Majesty himself rose to his feet, joints creaking with protest, and hobbled his way in my direction, carrying a little box.

  “Sir!” I protested as the whole Court inhaled in a single loud gasp. “Please, don’t hurt—“

  “Quiet, David!” His Majesty shushed me. “Shut up and be honored, for once.”

  So I bit back my words as His Majesty limped forward, bent painfully over, and snapped a brilliant orange warp-gem into the pre-drilled hole in the hilt of my Sword. My jaw dropped at the sight of the thing; it was the biggest I’d ever heard of, and colored perfectly to match my House’s fire-lily emblem. Warp-gems were the most valuable stones in the universe; about once in ten million running-years they formed on the end of a control-rod in a hyperspace drive. They were made up entirely of juvenile matter, derived from imbalances in the quantum foam and given advanced structure by the action of the engine. Once it was determined that a warp-gem was forming aboard a given vessel, if at all possible her captain by tradition abandoned his mission and made a half-Jump into hyperspace. Then he remained there as long as feasible so that it could grow and grow and grow. The result was usually well worth the diversion in both aesthetic and financial terms.

  Most certainly, this one was.

  “Thank you, David,” King Albert whispered directly into my ear. “You’ve done so much, and what I can offer in return is so little.” Then he smiled. “Will you come and see me in my office again afterwards?”

  “I’d like nothing more,” I replied, speaking the simple truth.

  “Excellent!”

  The rest of the ceremony passed in a sort of blur. His Highness manumitted all the Rabbits, making my word good at last, and awarded them back-pay befitting their respective ranks. Then James accepted them as special charges of the House of Marcus, essentially meaning that we were going to act as their protector in a universe not exactly designed with free Rabbits in mind. It was the best possible outcome, so far as I could see. Then His Majesty awarded me twenty square miles of choice land on Earth Secundus. This also made the assembled courtiers gasp—there were no other individual owners on Secundus, all available real estate being either part of His Majesty's holdings or else parts of grants awarded to the various Noble Houses in exchange for past services to the Crown. But I didn’t think that was what had caused the shockwave.

  The real reason, I suspected, was that as a manumitted Rabbit I wasn’t legally allowed to own land at all. And everyone in the room damned well knew it.

  4

  “So, David!” King Albert said as he eased himself down into his well-worn office chair. His joints snapped and crackled as he did so; His Highness had been an elderly man when last I’d sat with him, and he’d aged considerably since. “Today you offer me a rare pleasure indeed. It’s not often that I get the chance to meet with someone more famous than myself. May I have your autograph?”

  I felt my face flush as I sat down in my own chair. Already the chocolate milk was sitting there waiting for me. “Sire, I…”

  His Majesty grinned like a little boy. It did good things for his wrinkles. Then he let the smile fade. “Seriously, David. Let me get this out of the way first. You’ve done this kingdom an enormous service, at I can’t even imagine what personal cost. My military staff is still shaking their heads, trying to figure out how you pulled it all off.”

  “Part of it was luck,” I admitted. “We had just the right weapons, and—”

  “Bah!” the old man interrupted, waving my argument away. “Humbug! Your weapon, ultimately, was your mind. Given different tools to work with, you’d simply have found different solutions. This is the mark of the great warrior, and it’s written all over you.”

  I gulped; the words were a near-quote from one of Professor Lambert’s books on strategy. Apparently His Majesty and I had similar tastes in reading material. And, in part because of their source, the praise was so far as I was concerned of the highest grade possible. I felt myself turn even redder. “It was the Rabbits, mostly,” I eventually replied. “Without them—”

  Once again my sovereign waved away my words. “Yes,” he agreed. “They were great heroes— that’s why they were honored so richly. Every time I picture them close-assaulting that cruiser behind a screen of corpses, well…” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “But you led them, David. Even more, you dreamed up an attack that…” He shook his head. “I won’t belabor the point any further, for both of our sakes. But I also won’t accept it when you demean your own role in all of this—not for an instant! Son, have you any idea what a shock wave you sent through Fleet Headquarters? I’m briefed every morning on the military situation, first thing. For weeks no one could figure out why the Imperials weren’t advancing by leaps and bounds. At first they thought it might’ve been to throw us off balance, then maybe it was due to some sort of massive unexpected equipment recall. After that a dozen theories went the rounds, all mutually contradictory. But no one—no one, son!—ever imagined for a moment that somebody was holding fast somewhere and discombobulating things for the enemy. Not a soul! The last thing they ever dreamed was that some upshot junior officer had enough grit in his soul and brains in his head to do what none of them had ever managed—hold the Imperials back with inferior forces and thereby disrupt their entire war plan. And by now our reserves are all in place, while theirs are still in complete disarray.”

  I shook my head. “Forgive me, sire. But… Isn’t that sort of an officer’s job?”

  “Yes!” His Majesty exclaimed, nodding violently. “Qui
te so! And yet, it’s been so long…” Then he smiled and sipped at his chocolate milk. “The doctors want me to give this stuff up,” he commented after swallowing. “But it’s my last remaining pleasure. I’d rather live a few months less and be happy.”

  I smiled back. “Quite understandable, in my book.”

  “Your… Well, perhaps ‘brother’ is too strong a word. Or perhaps not—he certainly speaks of you as one. Anyway, David… He’s my most likely successor, and I rest easy knowing that this is so. I’ve done everything possible to smooth his way, and will be doing even more to help him in the near future. A monarch’s influence rarely persists long after his or her death, however, and I’m sure there’ll be a powerful effort to crown his elder brother and appoint a Regent instead. So that the graft-flow can be enlarged.”

  I nodded slowly. “Uncle Robert thinks so.”

  “Installing a Regency while the Empire remains such a threat to us would be petty, greedy, short-sighted, and even downright stupid. Exactly what I’ve come to expect of most of my so-called nobility, in other words.” He scowled.

  “David… James is our best possible hope for the future. He might well become a truly great king. Surely you can see it.”

  “Yes,” I answered. “Only a fool wouldn’t.”

  He nodded back. “Sadly, there’s no shortage of those.” Then he leaned back in his chair. “Speaking of nobles… You do realize, don’t you, that in a sense you were cheated this afternoon?”

  My ears perked. “Sir?”

  “At the awards ceremony,” His Majesty continued. “Any other officer in the Fleet would’ve received at least a knighthood for what you accomplished, David. Or even something more. If you were human, you’d very likely be a newly-minted Lord in your own right this very instant. A Peer of the Realm.”

  I gulped. Somehow, I’d never even considered...

  “I hope you’re not too disappointed. Some of my more radical advisors, including a couple Heralds who’ve come to know you personally, argued for exactly that. They felt not only that you deserved it, but that it’d make an important statement about Rabbits and their future place in society as well.” He sighed. “But I put the kibosh to it myself, David. And I wanted you to know that. Because it’s too much too soon, you see. The land grant was meant as a substitute, intended both to soften the blow and open other possibilities instead.” He smiled. “Besides, I just couldn’t imagine you being called ‘Milord’ by your fellow Rabbits for the rest of your life. It just doesn’t fit the David Birkenhead I know and love so well.”

  I looked down at my hindpaws. “Th-th-thank you for not ennobling me, sir. You were right. I’d have hated it!”

  “It would’ve sent the wrong message entirely,” the elderly man agreed. “Or at least it would if done today. Our over-emphasis on the aristocracy lies behind many of our most intransigent problems. Better that you remain outside of that particular snakepit. For the moment, at least.”

  My cheeks burned, and I was unable to meet his eyes.

  “Anyway,” His Majesty continued, moving on to another, more pleasant topic. “The last time we spoke, I made it a point to ask you to pursue a naval career and do your best to succeed at it, as the most promising way to advance the interests of Rabbitkind and of this Kingdom.” He smiled. “For the record, you may consider yourself officially informed that you’re succeeding. So much so, in fact, that I’ve had great difficulty deciding what to do with you next.”

  “I’d like to be an engineer,” I mumbled. “It’s all I ever wanted. Since I was little.”

  His Majesty’s smile faded. “You were designed to want to be an engineer,” he reminded me. “An engineer and a successful leader. Apparently, however, the talents that make for a smooth-running engine-room are applicable in other endeavors as well.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, David. Engineering can be your hobby, if you like. But it can’t be your career. You’ve proven yourself far, far too valuable for that.”

  “But sir! I—”

  He cut me off. “David… I just spoke to you of my hopes and dreams for James, and of how I was doing my best to smooth the way for him. Part of the master plan is to provide him with the best possible circle of allies and advisors. I’m slipping them into place now, while I’m still vigorous and able to do so. You’re one of them, of course.” He shook his head. “Be honest with me. For all the high esteem in which I hold the kingdom’s starship engineers, I don’t think you can best held James ascend to the throne against opposition and then rule effectively from the engine room of a starship. Do you?”

  I gulped. “No, sir.”

  “Neither do I,” he replied. “In an ideal world, you’d be a grizzled old admiral that I could put in charge of the Home Fleet or perhaps even the Palace Guard. But you’re not. You’re still a very new lieutenant. That makes things much more difficult.”

  “Forgive me, sire. But actually I’m just an acting-lieutenant.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Really? Then somehow we’ve overlooked that little detail.” He scribbled himself a note. “Please forgive my staff—we’re quite overworked. You’ll be legally a lieutenant by this time tomorrow, seniority effective back to the date of your acting-appointment.”

  I gulped again. It was that easy?

  “Anyway…” he continued, setting down the pen. “It’s proven quite challenging to find you an appropriate posting. Impossible, in fact. So we created one.” He smiled. “You’re being assigned to create a whole new defensive organization on Marcus Prime, the space fencibles. Have you ever heard the term before?”

  I nodded. “It dates back to the Napoleonic era. The sea fencibles were seagoing reservists. Small boat people, mostly—fishermen, ferrymen and the like. Even Thames River boatmen. They and their vessels were to be conscripted in the event of invasion. In preparation, they trained from time to time and were paid a stipend to maintain their craft to military standards.”

  “Precisely!” His Majesty replied, smiling wide. “You know your history well indeed, David. Your mission will be to set up a similar organization made up of manned satellites, ground-to-orbit vessels, and other small ships and their crews. Back in the old days it was a full captain’s command, but in this instance we’re ignoring precedent. Our goal is to keep the organization small enough that we can justify a mere lieutenant being in charge until we can reasonably promote you again. And in truth, since you’ll be building the whole thing from scratch, it’ll probably be years before it legitimately grows to that point anyway.”

  I gulped. The job was… Huge.

  “You’ll be permitted to choose your key subordinates within reason, and will be allotted a generous budget. We expect this force to eventually become a worthwhile addition to our military capabilities—the idea isn’t exactly new. So we’re not going to starve you for startup funds.”

  I nodded again. “Thank you, sir.”

  He smiled. “I have every confidence in you, son. This position will allow you to develop your organizational skills, learn a little bit about politics, meet key people and solidify your position within the House of Marcus. But most of all, David, it met my number one requirement.”

  “What was that, sir?” I asked.

  He sipped the last of his chocolate milk before replying. “Keeping you safe. I’ll never willingly put you at risk again. Or James either. You’re both now far too important to lose.”

  5

  Nine long months passed before I was able even to ship out to my new command. During that time the war ended, James turned twenty-one and was elevated to titular leadership of the House of Marcus, and I slaved away at my assigned task of creating the space fencibles out of nothing without most of the information I desperately needed.

  It wasn’t half that bald or simple, of course. James’s elevation ceremony was a thing of majestic grace and beauty. He chose me to stand at his left hand—circumstances of bloodline dictated that Uncle Robert stand at his right, and of course no one begrudged him the honor a
nyway. This meant that I had to make time to attend rehearsal after rehearsal. The whole process was infernally frustrating, even worse than mastering the basics of drill back at the Academy. And of course I had to get all dolled up again. But it was worth it to see James in his rightful place at last, especially since the realm of Marcus was raised to a dukedom in the process. James had to resign his commission, of course, which was sad. By then he liked the navy very much, and I suspected that his adventures aboard Javelin far behind enemy lines would enliven his conversations for the rest of his days. But Marcus Prime was about to be freed, and returning it to its former state of wealth and beauty would require the full-time attention of its proper owner. Thus James entered the fleet reserve at the age of twenty-one after a ceremonial elevation to the rank of commander. Someday as king he’d become an admiral in much the same way. But it wasn’t the same and he knew it better than anyone.