Midshipman (The David Birkenhead Series) Read online

  “Ah,” I replied, understanding. Then I smiled too. “He’s a little smart himself.”

  The tutor snorted again. “Heaven only knows what mischief you two are going to dream up together. Probably blow up an entire planetary system or something.” Then he smiled. “He also says that you’re deficient in social studies. Though that’s natural enough, given the way you’ve concentrated on just one subject.” He titled his head to one side. “Was he sandbagging me on that, too?”

  I shook my head and looked down. “No sir. Dad didn’t want me to spend time on anything but engineering-related stuff. He said that was more than enough for a Rabbit.”

  Mr. Banes nodded. “Sensible enough, if all you ever aspire to be is a highly-competent yet one-dimensional technician. Which, sadly, is the very best that Rabbits have ever been able to hope for.” He tilted his head slightly. “Until now, that is.”

  I blinked and lowered my ears, not really understanding. “I was going to read more novels and history and stuff as soon as I got the console set up right,” I explained defensively. “I like them.”

  “Then by all means do so!” Mr. Banes agreed with a nod. “In certain exceptional cases, the very best thing a teacher can do for his student is stand back and keep out of the way; James is such a case, and you may well prove to be of the same caliber. Certainly that was the intent.”

  “The intent?” I asked. “What intent?”

  The tutor smiled and changed the subject. “I’ll be your primary instructor in other things besides academics, David. Etiquette, for example. And far, far more.” He stepped over to the door and waved at someone; a young gray-furred Rabbit not much older than me stepped through the door and looked down at the floor. “This is Barton,” he explained, patting the bunny on the shoulder. “And Barton, this is David.”

  “Hello, sir,” Barton whispered.

  “Hello!” I replied, smiling. Then I looked back at Mr. Banes.

  “Barton,” he explained, “has been assigned as your personal servant for the time being. We bought him locally, expressly for this purpose. While you’re still infirm, that is—only milord has his own personal footmen under ordinary circumstances.” He looked at me very closely. “He’ll be here to run errands for you, or to do anything else at all that you might wish him to.”

  I blinked. “But I don’t need—“

  “In the meantime,” Mr. Banes continued, raising his voice and speaking over my objections, “I suggest you might indeed be well-served by reading a few novels and histories of your own choosing—I’m not disposed to assign you anything substantive yet; the truth of the matter is that you’re still very weak. Though I’ll go so far as to suggest that biographies, if you haven’t discovered them yet, often combine the best traits of both novels and histories.” Then he smiled and nodded formally. “And with that… Good day, David! It’s been a genuine pleasure to meet you, and I expect that our relationship shall be a mutually profitable one. On my end at least, it’s certainly off to an excellent start!”

  Then he turned and left, leaving Barton standing in the corner with his eyes fixed firmly on his toes, and poor farmer Patrick staring at me from the next bed in sheer terror.

  3

  A long, long time passed as Barton and Patrick and I thought things through, all of us afraid to speak. Then at last I turned to Barton. “Is it true?” I asked. “I mean…”

  He nodded. “I’m assigned full-time to you, sir. Master Banes bought me at auction this morning; I’m fresh in from Montclair Five.”

  Suddenly it was hard to speak again. Montclair Five was infamous among us bunnies—the planet’s primary export was slaves. “Uh…”

  “I need a cold glass of water!” Patrick suddenly declared, grinning from ear to ear. “And fresh veggies from the kitchen, lickety-split! Whoopee!”

  “No!” I countered, even as Barton turned to obey. “Stop right there!” Then I turned to Patrick, whose grin had suddenly vanished. “Do you like it when you’re treated like that?” I demanded.

  “Well,” he admitted. “Not particularly. But we’re in charge of him, see? So—”

  “Stop right there again,” I corrected Patrick. “I’m in charge of him. There’s no ‘we’ to it. Is there?”

  Patrick shook his head, suddenly looking scared again.

  “Good,” I answered. Then I turned back to Barton. “I’m very pleased to meet you,” I said, keeping my voice as gentle as possible. “This is as awkward for me as it is for you; I hope you understand that.”

  He nodded, though he was still looking down at his toes. I sighed.

  “Well then…” I thought about how James had treated me aboard Hummingbird and smiled. “I suppose the first thing you ought to do is go out and find yourself a chair—a nice comfy one, since you’re probably going to be spending a lot of time sitting in it.” I looked around the small, cramped room. “It’ll be tight, but we’ll have to find you a bed, too. You might as well get on that right away, as well.” Then I frowned slightly. “Can you use a data console?”

  He shook his head silently, still not looking up. “No, sir. I’m very sorry, but I can’t read.”

  I nodded, then turned to Patrick. “How about you?”

  “A little,” he admitted. “I touch the pictures on the screen when I need more supplies.”

  “Right,” I agreed, sighing as I pushed the console away from my bed. It’d be rude to sit and read all the time, if I was the only one who could. Somehow it was different, now that we were three. “Then… Barton, while you’re out perhaps you could find us a deck of cards too? I want to teach you guys a game called ‘Old Maid’.”

  ***

  By the time that Mr. Banes returned that afternoon with two navy officers in tow, Barton and Patrick and I were all seated on pillows in a little circle, playing cards. We were chatting and laughing and joking together as if we’d known each other all of our lives, munching hay and slurping wonderfully-cold ice-water and in general having what slavebunnies the universe over refer to as “a big old time”. I had to rest between hands, and Patrick’s IV lines kept getting in the way. But Barton hustled about and helped us both without being asked. He even leapt to his feet and steadied me when, for the first time in ages, I went in to use the facilities on my own. No one had to give him orders; he just came forward and did what any Rabbit could see needed to be done, smiling all the while. I hadn’t wanted or needed an assistant, and still didn’t understand why I’d been assigned one. But all in all, I couldn’t complain much about how things were working out.

  “Come in!” we all cried together when Mr. Banes knocked at the door—people were coming and going all the time now, with fresh flowers and paintings to hang on the walls and all sorts of stuff. Once we’d even had to interrupt our card game while a carpet was laid on the bare cement floor. So by now the traffic was routine.

  Still, when I saw that it was my tutor I tried to leap to my feet. It didn’t work out very well, however, since I sort of almost passed out and nearly fell over. Barton was right there to prop me up, however. “I’ve got you, David!” he cried. “Hang on!”

  “Thanks!” I declared, patting his back in gratitude as he steadied me. When I was finally able to look up at Mr. Banes, he was smiling wider than I’d ever seen before.

  “So!” he said. “I see that you two are getting along well.”

  “Uh-huh!” my new friend answered first, smiling back. “Thank you so much for buying me, sir! I was so scared, and… Well, this is wonderful!”

  Mr. Bane’s eyebrows rose, then his smile grew wider still. He reached out and tousled Barton’s ears, then turned to me. “You’ve done well indeed, David!”

  I blinked. “At what, sir?”

  “At proving it unnecessary for me to administer what might’ve been a very painful social lesson at some point in the not-so-distant future,” he explained. Then he laughed out loud and slapped his thigh at my confused expression. “Never mind son; just know that you’ve done well
.” Then he gestured the navy people forward. “David, meet Admiral Bennett and Captain Xiang.”

  I snapped to attention as best I could while leaning so hard on Barton. “Sir!”

  The admiral smiled, then squatted down to look me in the eyes. Captain Blaine had done the same thing once, but somehow it felt different this time. “So you’re the one I’ve read so much about,” he observed. “After studying the reports, I must admit that I was expecting a far larger Rabbit.”

  I blushed. “I don’t know about any of that, sir.”

  He smiled, then stood back up. ‘Why don’t you climb back into bed and relax for a minute or two, David? Then if you feel up to it, the captain and I would like to ask you some questions about Hummingbird’s loss. And perhaps about some other issues as well.”

  I blinked, then looked up at Mr. Banes.

  “It’s a mere formality, David,” he explained. “According to ancient tradition, a captain must be court-martialed upon the loss of his ship. Even when he loses it most gloriously, under completely honorable circumstances.”

  “As Captain Blaine unquestionably did,” the admiral added. “No one is in anything even remotely resembling trouble over Hummingbird’s final action, David. Least of all Blaine or yourself.” He smiled evilly. “Except possibly a certain Imperial cruiser captain I could name. But we’ll let him deal with his own service in good time.”

  “The admiral is going to put you under oath, David,” Mr. Banes continued. “Which means that you’re obliged to be totally, completely honest. As the admiral said, you’re in no trouble. But… You must tell the truth, son. As fully and as completely as you can. On your honor.”

  Captain Xiang mumbled something. I had no idea what it was, except it was about Rabbits and honor. But the admiral apparently heard it just fine. “Belay that!” he snapped, suddenly angry. “The Tribunal has ruled; you’ve no further standing to question it. The boy is free, and he’s quite thoroughly earned the right to swear an oath. So we’ll be hearing no more about the subject, Captain. Will we?”

  Captain Xian’s face was pale and pinched, but he nodded sharply and the admiral let it go at that. Barton helped me into bed while the seals on the recorder were verified, and then Admiral Bennett was leaning over me.

  “David Birkenhead,” he began. “Do you hereby swear…”

  4

  And that was pretty much all the interesting stuff that happened for the next few days. Though answering the admiral’s questions wasn’t hard, I had some really bad dreams about them. Sometimes I woke up screaming, trying to explain to the hard-eyed Captain Xian that no, I hadn’t known the healing foam was conductive when I attempted the second hookup, and that yes, it’d truly been my own idea to move sternwards down the Sword’s hull in order to head off a possible counterattack. He never believed anything I said no matter how hard I tried, and at first Admiral Bennett seemed pretty dubious as well. But my dreams were far worse than the reality had been. The captain screamed and called me a liar and held a blaster to my head until the muzzle grew so huge I feared it’d swallow me, while Admiral Bennett drifted slowly away in a cloud of vaporizing blood. Rather surprisingly it was old Patrick who did me the most good when I woke up screaming, telling me to hush and that everything was going to be all right and holding me close until I stopped shaking. He smelled a lot like Dad, and I guess that was part of it.

  James had to quit coming by, though he continued to send daily notes. His security threat-rating had been raised, he explained, and it wasn’t as easy for him to move around anymore. I understood, of course, and when I wrote him back I encouraged him to be careful. One day Lord Robert dropped in unexpectedly to make sure that all was well. I didn’t think anything was wrong, but he scowled at my chart and soon a physical therapist was coming by every day to help me grow strong again. She was really nice and explained up front that she’d never worked with a Rabbit before. I liked her a lot, even when the things she did hurt me. Lord Robert also happened to be there when Patrick was finally released and his owner came to pick him up. I’d asked several times why the farmbunny had only been a given a new liver when he needed so much more, and my new patron wasn’t able to offer a good answer. There was a terrible argument out front when they met, and afterwards Lord Robert didn’t speak to anyone for half an hour. I decided it wouldn’t be nice to ask about the matter anymore after that, though I sure hoped old Pat would be all right.

  Meanwhile, Barton grew easier and easier in my company. Too easy, in fact. One afternoon he disappeared for almost three hours, during which time I really could’ve used his help with a bathroom run. After thinking it over for a while, I reminded him that even though he was a slave someone had to pay for his food and stuff, and that he really ought to be grateful for good treatment. At first he got all snotty about it, then I reminded him that I’d been a slave myself for almost as long as him. After that he never brought the subject up again, nor did he vanish for long periods without asking first. But there was a new barrier between us. It hurt that we couldn’t simply be friends, and it hurt badly. What was so terribly wrong with the world, that we two young Rabbits couldn’t just be Rabbits? It got so bad that Barton’s mere presence made me feel guilty. Or perhaps more correctly, a little bit dirty inside. Things grew even worse when I learned that he was pocketing little items and trading them for liquor. I wanted, even needed to discipline him. For his own good, he needed to be disciplined. A thieving, alcoholic Rabbit is of no use to anyone, including himself. And yet… And yet…

  It was a great relief when Mr. Banes came and took him away. By then I was mostly able to fend for myself anyway, so life became a lot simpler. I didn’t rat Barton out to his face, though maybe I should’ve. But after considerable soul-searching I wrote my tutor a note and let him know about the drinking and the thefts and how I wasn’t sure if I’d handled the situation properly. His reply was short and to the point. My tutor thought that I’d pretty much made the right choices all the way through, and it wasn’t my fault that things hadn’t gone well. In the same note he also gave my very first school assignment. I was, he explained, to write a paper of whatever length I chose explaining the differences from an ethical point of view between a slave and an employee as well as between an owner and an employer, and in said paper also to lay out and define the responsibilities and moral obligations of each party. Writing something like that really made my head hurt—Dad’s assignments were never anything like this!—and I was sure I must’ve gotten it all wrong because it came out that a master owed far more to a slave than he did to a voluntary employee, and that an employee owed far more in return than any slave. This couldn’t be right; it was all backwards! Yet no matter how long I scratched my head it kept coming out the same way. Mr. Banes gave me an “A” for my efforts, complete with a big bunny-eared and buck-toothed smiley-face drawn atop the grade. It was “well reasoned”, he claimed, and showed that I was “sensitive to my obligations to others”. The whole thing affected me pretty deeply; over and over again for many years I found myself looking back on the whole episode and thinking that somehow I’d failed to learn a very important lesson. It was only much later in life that I finally grasped Mr. Banes’s true intent, though perhaps it sank in at a subconscious level long before then. What my tutor wanted me to learn from the experience was that the higher a person climbs in life and the more power they accrue, the greater their obligations towards others become and the less personal freedom of action they enjoy. Life cannot in fact be lived any other way without becoming a mockery of itself.

  If the individuals involved have any honor, that is. Or empathy.

  5

  I was terribly glad to leave the hospital when the Big Day finally came, even though I had to wear a coat and tie for the first time in my life. The garments were hideously uncomfortable, probably as much because I wasn’t used to them as the way they kept rubbing my fur the wrong way. While a few servant-buns wore formalwear such as tuxedos and gowns on the job, even they wer
e glad to strip down to normal slave-gear when off duty. I’d never worn more than a pair of simple, cheaply-made shorts in my life until Dad had my apprentice-engineer’s coveralls made, while all the Rabbit-girls wore little bikini-thingies. While whoever made my new clothing clearly had experience in dressing lapines—the tail-hole, for example, was as comfortable as could reasonably be expected—I felt half-choked and overheated to boot. I could take it, I knew—anything the servants could tolerate I ought to be able to handle as well. But still… Mr. Banes seemed like a reasonable person. Maybe I could explain to him about fur and clothing, so that at least around the house I wouldn’t have to feel like I was dying all the time? Even if he didn’t, however, well… The fire-lily embroidered on my jacket pocket made it all seem worthwhile. For it, I’d put up with anything. It appeared only on the clothing of milord’s blood-relatives and closest, most trusted staff. Even Dad hadn’t worn one.

  Rather to my surprise nobody I knew personally came to the hospital to pick me up. Instead, they just sent a limo. The driver was all smiles and extra-nice; he asked me what was mine (almost nothing) and what stayed (practically everything). Then he insisted on carrying my stuff for me! It was terribly embarrassing—I’d never had a human do that for me before, or at least not when I wasn’t in a Tank and therefore totally helpless. But before I was halfway down the hall I was glad for the assistance. My legs were ready to give out on me by then, and my back was cramped from the stress of holding me upright. I’d asked Mr. Banes for a little bit of money so that I could buy a thank-you present for the vet and his staff. He gave me more than I’d requested without so much as blinking, and I bought my caretakers an artificial flowering plant that grew and bloomed just like a real one but never needed care. Neatly tucked into the pot alongside it was a nice little card with a small-“r” rabbit’s picture on it. They were terribly embarrassed at the nurse’s station; the woman I gave it to stammered and blushed and wouldn’t look me in the eye. I wasn’t exactly their favorite patient, I knew—my mere presence as a non-enslaved Rabbit upset their routine and created all kinds of extra work for them, while Lord Robert’s interference must’ve been even worse. In return I’d tried to be nice to them and not to trouble anyone for anything I didn’t genuinely need.