Admiral (The David Birkenhead Series) Page 2

  2

  Forty-eight hours might sound like a long time to make a simple decision, and apparently to those who wouldn't actually be stuck wearing the crown the answer was obvious. "It'd be for the good of us all," Uncle Robert declared when I asked his advice. This wasn't too surprising, since he was one of the Royal advisors who'd made the recommendation to begin with.

  "It's the only way to match your actual, real-world power and influence to your social rank," Professor Lambert replied. "I don't think there's any other workable solution, save for you to retire from public life entirely. But you're too young for that, David. And we still need you far too badly."

  Nestor, of course, simply started calling me "Your Highness" and bowed and scraped every chance he got while we were alone together. Though he did also suggest a book on the reign of the Roman Emperor Diocletian, who'd divided the leadership of Rome four ways and thereby, along with the help of other reforms, brought about an amazing rebirth of what'd been a decaying corpse. In fact, had there been any justice in the universe and if Machiavelli hadn't been so fundamentally correct about humans and the pursuit of power his actions might well have preserved the Empire for another thousand years. "Diocletian faced a lot of the same problems we do, sir," Nestor explained as he handed me his battered old reader. "His Empire was large and ungainly and internally divided as well. Perhaps it's for the best on more levels than are obvious."

  It was the book that decided me in the end. That and the fact that soon I'd be negotiating for all practical purposes face-to-face with the Emperor himself. If I was going to be empowered as James's alter ego in such an important matter, then perhaps I needed to be titled accordingly. It was how these things were done in our culture, was all. Ending the war and all the mindless—and now largely purposeless—slaughter that accompanied it had to be the prime goal of any decent and intelligent being. If a crown would help me end it sooner—and in my heart I knew it would—then a crown it'd be, as much as I hated the life it'd force me to live. Besides, who would serve as Protector of the freed slaves if not me?

  Maybe I could sort of abdicate somewhere down the road?

  "Excellent!" James was grinning his best grin when he replied to my acceptance letter over our private link. "Gwendolyn and I had planned a private dinner for tonight, but... This is too big not to celebrate, David. En famile, at least. Would you and Nestor care to join us?"

  I gulped, then decided that turning James down the first time he ever asked anything of me was a lousy way to get started as Prince of the Realm. "Sure," I answered. "We'll be there."

  Nestor and I spend almost an hour sprucing up for the evening meal—we had to cancel a meeting with the Royal Council on Slave Species Empowerment, but my meals with James were important. Even if some were less pleasant than others.

  "Don't you like Lady Gwendolyn, sir?" Nestor asked as he helped me into my uniform jacket. My host's fiancé had specifically asked me come in full naval regalia; she'd never seen me out of civvies before. "She seems like a pleasant enough sort."

  Normally I made it a point to smile when Nestor made a correct guess as to my innermost workings. This time I did no such thing, however—not only because I wasn't even faintly in the mood but because he'd missed his mark by a mile. "She's charming," I answered honestly. "Intelligent, capable, not prejudiced at all that I can see... She'll make a great queen."

  Nestor nodded and looked away—he'd told me once that he often guessed wrong on important matters, and that when he made a mistake he made it a point to figure out where he'd gone wrong. Since that was the last thing I wanted, I decided to offer a half-truth instead. "She's a very pleasant woman, Nestor, and I believe she'll make a fine match for James. Plus, she's a high-ranking Wilkes on her mother's side. It might be a good thing politically just now if the House of Wilkes felt that they had a stake in the success of James's reign. Her appearance is also said to be quite pleasing, though I'll leave that for the humans to judge. But..." I scowled theatrically. "Being around her puts me in a bad mood for other reasons entirely."

  My aide's ears pricked up. "Really?"

  I nodded back and sighed as he buckled on my Sword. "It's Frieda again," I explained, though I could've said much more. "James is younger than I am, you see—almost two full years. In the old days it didn't matter—he was in many ways the elder due to the differences in our circumstances and how much catching up I had to do in so many ways. And now here he's to be married soon, while I..." I looked away and sighed.

  "I see," Nestor replied, his face suddenly grave. Then he looked away. "And I sympathize, for what it's worth."

  "Of course," I replied with a smile. Of all the things Nestor and I had in common, this was perhaps the deepest and darkest. For his personal life—perhaps his very sexuality, for all I knew—had been ruined by the Masters just as thoroughly as had my own. Even more so, perhaps; while I at least had been granted a fleeting, immature glimpse of what love might be like, so far as I could tell his own romantic inclinations had been systematically degraded and ground away to nothing. Everyone in the universe seemed to follow our successes and triumphs, but I preferred to keep my failings to myself. Yet every time I attended a social function accompanied by Nestor instead of a wife I felt the unasked—perhaps even unthought, as I might well have been projecting—questions hanging thickly in the air. Even alone with James I felt awkward and somehow incomplete, and His Majesty was of course fully aware of the ultimate truth of the matter. In this one way—and this one way only—I resented my close relationship with Nestor. He was the mockery of a family, and despite all his noble efforts and the genuine sense of comradeship we shared he could never be anything more. Everything about my most personal life was toxic, and no one was more aware of it than I was. First I envied James his chance for happiness, then I'd turn around and feel well-deserved guilt about resenting the fact that Nestor wasn't Frieda. Field theory was simple, I decided for about the ten millionth time. Feelings were hard!

  Or feelings were hard for me at least; apparently they were a little more transparent to others. For after what'd seemed to me like a perfectly nice little dinner with His Majesty and Gwen, complete with laughter and pleasant inanities and at Gwedolyn's polite request a full Sword-salute, James asked me to stay over and talk some more. "All right," he said, looking me in the eyes. "Something's bothering you about my fiancé. Spill."

  I looked away. Nestor had never been out of my presence for a moment since I'd confided in him, so apparently my feelings were more obvious than I realized. "I like the woman well enough," I explained, my words unusually hesitant. "It's not her at all. James... I truly believe you've chosen well."

  My blood-brother blinked—clearly he'd been expecting a different answer.

  "I mean it!" I continued. "She even tries the Rabbit-dishes, and pretends to like some of them to make Nestor and I feel more at home. Almost no one else ever does that. She's sweet, intelligent, and clearly wild about you." I smiled faintly. "What more could I ask in a sister-in-law?"

  His Majesty scowled. "You're family to me, David. Not like family—real, actual family. That's why I'm making time to have this little talk with you, when my advisors would have me elsewhere." He sighed and pulled up his chair alongside mine. "So... What is troubling you, my brother? And why does your expression always darken whenever Gwendolyn enters the room?"

  So I told him, of course. All of it, even the parts that hurt, because as my brother he deserved no less. And when I was done there was a long, long silence. "I see," he said at last. "Or at least I think I do." He smiled faintly. "You know, in some ways it makes me feel a bit better to know that you're human. No offense meant. It's just that some of us were beginning to wonder."

  "Flawed," I replied with a nod, though my features remained sober. "Broken. Non-functional."

  Instantly James's smile vanished. "Your pain is my pain, David—I've said it many times before, and I meant it then as much as I do now. And yet...." He shook his head sadly—"I find
that even the power of a monarch has its limits."

  "I know," I replied, rising slowly to my feet. "And I thank you for—"

  "Sit down," James commanded. "We're not half done yet. In fact, we've only just begun."

  Instantly I was back in my chair. "David," His Highness began, "You're one of the most intelligent and capable beings it's ever been my pleasure to know. Perhaps the most intelligent and capable. And with me growing up the way I did, that's saying something." He paused again and took a long, slow sip of water. "And yet over the years we've had to teach you much that you didn't—couldn't!—know simply because of who and what you were." He sighed. "The lessons weren't exactly one-way affairs of course, and I'm not referring to your helping me sometimes with the higher maths, either. The lessons you taught—first to me and then the upper aristocracy of the House of Marcus and then the entire universe—go far beyond the mastery of equations. They were about who we are, who our slaves are, and what's noble and good and decent in life." He sipped again. "You've been a masterful tutor, David. But you're apparently a better teacher than student."

  By then I was crying a little, though tears weren't something I often indulged in. "How so?" I whispered.

  There was another long pause. "David... I'm an orphan every bit as much as you are, and yet neither of us are orphans in the larger sense." He looked me up and down, head to toes. "Who does Uncle Robert love more, you or I?"

  I blinked. "I... I..."

  "Neither of us over the other is, I truly believe, the correct answer. And the right and proper one as well. It speaks well for the man." He shook his head and sighed. "David... Can't you see where this is going? We live in a culture that's obsessed with bloodlines. Well, our society has a lot of other ridiculous affectations too, so far as I'm concerned, and that's one of the crazier ones. Family is where you find it, just as love is where you find it. I understand that romantic love, the relationship between a husband and wife, is different and special, and I sorely regret your loss in that area. But... Can't you see that family—especially in your case, after your extraordinary life so far—is as limitless as your own heart? Everyone loves you, David, and the Rabbits love you in a way that I'd never imagined possible. Your family, in a very real sense, has come to include nearly everyone everywhere, especially those with whom you interact every day. We Marcus's are proud to have claimed you for our own, but we were just the first. Now the Rabbits claim you too. As does the navy, the other slave species, the people of Wilkes Prime... The list goes on and on." He shook his head. "You may not have a wife, David, and again I'm sorry about the way that eats at your heart. But I'll be utterly damned if I'll ever again hear you claim you have no family. For after the way that the universe—and I myself!—have adopted and embraced you I simply will not hear it." He paused again and placed his hand on my shoulder. "For David, your family is legion."

  3

  James always knew how get at the heart of things in a way that I couldn't—it was part of why I loved him so, I suppose. And so even though nothing changed for me in the objective, materialistic sense, I felt a lot better after our little talk. A certain bounce returned to my step and I laughed more. This in turn meant that those around me laughed more as well, which spawned whatever it is that one calls the opposite of a vicious circle. Instead of spiraling downward my emotional state grew better every day, until even the imminent prospect of a crown of my own didn't depress me too much.

  James chose to incorporate the announcement of my rise in social stature into his emancipation proclamation—he only had to add a few lines to his planned speech, since the advancement was practically on-topic already. Nestor and I had to attend rehearsal after rehearsal, even though all our part consisted of was standing in the background in full Court regalia and bowing at the right times. His Highness also kept his word to me by informing Nestor of his Peerage during one of the rehearsals. "No, you silly bunny!" he exclaimed out of nowhere while we were taking our places. Then he pointed. "You're over there, with the rest of those receiving awards." Then he made Nestor stew for almost an hour before the little Rabbit finally broke down and asked if some sort of mistake hadn't been made. James laughed and took mercy on him at last, explaining everything including how he was expected to become an important leader in his own right. After that Nestor remained almost silent for a full day, so long that I grew a bit worried. At least when he finally snapped out of it he quit calling me "Your Highness" every five seconds. My guess was that the joke didn't seem half so funny anymore.

  Not that Nestor didn't have his revenge, for James sprang a little surprise on me as well. His Highness must've read through his speech at least eight or ten times in rehearsal before he subtly changed the text on me to see if I was paying attention. And indeed I wasn't—my mind was far away, working on the stubborn problem of how much to compensate slaveowners for their imminent loss of property. This was a touchy issue on at least three fronts—financial, ethical, and legal. My own position was the more compensation the better; it'd make the new way of things that much easier to swallow for the humans. But the Royal Treasury wasn't bottomless, and I was pondering whether a temporary tax on goods made largely by slaves might not be in order. I was just trying to work up some rough numbers in my head when a distant part of me heard James say. "...and of course the award of two further Swords of Orion, one long overdue for his daring raid on the homeworld of the Empire itself, and a second for his more recent role in the defeat of the Imperial Line of Battle at Wilkes Prime."

  My eyes must've gone about a mile wide, because Nestor snickered and James broke out laughing as well. But it was no laughing matter to me—two Swords were all that anyone before me had ever earned in all of history and His Majesty wanted to double that? "But..." I finally objected. "I mean...."

  "Write it up, David," James countered from the podium. "All of your arguments against receiving two more Swords, I mean. Justify to me why these feats don't deserve Swords, and I'll spare you the embarrassment of accepting them. But I warn you—several of my advisors wanted to add a fifth for your other raiding accomplishments in Richard. So if you fail to convince me that you don't deserve either of these two, I'm awarding you a fifth."

  I gulped and nodded. And, I fear, the papers were never written. I was after all an ex-captain of the Royal Wargaming Team, and therefore knew better than to challenge someone holding all the aces.

  So it came to pass that a couple days after the big emancipation speech and the ensuing round of celebrations, interviews and parades I got all dolled up yet again and rode to Court in a wheelchair for fear of scuffing my slippers. When His Majesty presented me once more with the Sword his grandfather had originally awarded me, it came back with the big warp gem—an orange dodecahedron, an expert had once called it—moved to the weapon's pommel. The scabbard was now adorned with numerous similar but smaller fire-lily-orange stones, and four more perfectly matched warp gems in royal purple were lined up vertically near the top. I fear that my jaw dropped when I saw it—without even considering any premium it might command for having been mine, the thing could easily have been swapped for more than a few thoroughly-colonized and economically productive planets. "I'm not foolish enough to imagine that this is more than a token of what we truly owe you," James said as he dropped to his knees and buckled it around my waist. "This is a mere gewgaw, when your brilliance and courage have won victories far more precious than mere gold." Then he stood and his face hardened. "And now, David, before the eyes of all the kingdom I Command you to go forth into the so-called Empire and finish this fight once and for all. You're my strong right arm. Strike shrewdly and wisely, my brother, with all my might and confidence behind you. I hereby place my complete trust and authority in you."

  4

  A Royal Command is a Royal Command, of course. But when the Command in question is issued in person by His Majesty before one of the largest holovision audiences in all history, well... From then on I didn't have much trouble making things happen. I
f I needed to commandeer a block of offices in the most desirable location on Earth Secundus, I could count on them being vacated long before I arrived. If I wanted reports on how repairs were progressing on various warships, their captains showed up to report personally on the matter in their very best uniforms. I remembered how I'd battled balky equipment and incompetent leadership while trying to recover the dead at Zombie Station—the job had already been sheer misery even before the Imperials arrived. If I'd only enjoyed access to even a hundredth of the resources at my disposal then that I had now... But there'd be plenty of time to muse about such things later, when I was old and gray. For the moment the war deserved my full attention.

  And my full attention it did require, since I was now formally in command. Though I hadn't yet undergone a formal coronation His Majesty held a small private ceremony and made me legally the Prince of the Realm. According to the protocol nabobs it'd take a year or more to prepare a public spectacle appropriate for someone of my status—indeed, they claimed, the hard part would be not overshadowing James's own relatively recent coronation ceremony. But the crown had been fabricated, James had placed it on my brow in front of all the right witnesses, and one and all of them had murmured their approval as the overpriced hat touched my fur. A four-star admiral's uniform sort of came along with the package, as did of course a marine general's uniform, an army general's uniform, and so forth. Usually these were intended merely for ceremonial purposes, but in my case James meant for me to wear the navy one in dead earnest—my rank was now precisely one star above that of the First Space Lord and the same distance under that of His Majesty himself. In the past, four stars had been reserved for truly outstanding senior leaders and awarded only when they were very old and the rank didn't really mean anything anymore. But I didn't plan on dying anytime soon, which meant that for the rest of my span of years the navy had itself a brand new senior command structure.