Captain (The David Birkenhead Series) Page 3

  6

  It felt good indeed to walk once more down the ceremonial halls of the Royal Palace on Earth Secundus, even though the reporters practically rioted at the sight of me. "No comment for now, gentlemen!" I shouted over the roar of the questions as I was escorted past them by a detail of large, toothy Dogs who were kept on-hand precisely for this sort of occasion. "You'll get a full press conference later! Promise!"

  That eased the pressure some, as they knew from past experience that my word on such matters was good. What did even more to improve the situation was the arrival of no less than five Heads of Houses in the limo just behind mine. Normally they'd have landed first, as a matter of social precedence. But they'd graciously waived the honor in recognition of the fact that I had urgent business.

  "Welcome home, Commander," a black-garbed Herald greeted Nestor and I just outside His Majesty's personal chamber. He smiled, for what looked like the first time in weeks. "His Highness would be most pleased that you're here."

  I nodded and gulped. It still felt a little odd to be in the king's private part of the Palace without being all dolled up in Court dress. Sparrow had strained her engines to the limit all the way home, and made orbit only two hours before. Since I'd considered haste more important than formality, I was still wearing the same worn-out full-dress uniform and single battered epaulette that I'd departed Marcus Prime with so long ago. I'd been assured that no one would say a word, given that I was a good friend rushing to His Majesty's bedside. But still…

  "Go on in," the Herald urged, smile widening. Then he nodded at Nestor. "You too, if you like."

  My aide was even more shabbily dressed than I was. "Thank you," he replied in a dry whisper.

  There was a marine at the door; he snapped-to smartly as I passed, but I couldn't bring myself to smile as I usually did in reply. Against all odds His Majesty yet lived, if the shadowy half-existence of near-total brain death could be called living. When I entered his sickroom a doctor was just leaving. He nodded gravely as we passed, then Nestor and I were alone with our sovereign. I removed my hat and bowed my head for a time, then steeled myself and stared directly into the royal visage. Once his features had been so alive they'd seemed almost to glow, illuminated by an inner joy that owed much to childhood but nothing to childishness. Now they hung slack and gray, and his eyes were taped shut. What lay before me was a mere mockery of the man I'd known, a living corpse more than anything else. It was a sight I'd have been pleased to have been spared, yet I owed this visit and far more to the man who once had been.

  "There's absolutely no hope, as I'm sure you've heard," the Herald said softly from behind me. He'd slipped inside with us, once a decent interval had passed. "It's all the machines. They can't be shut down without approval from the House of Lords, you see. There the bickering goes on and endlessly on. It borders on the indecent."

  I nodded, afraid I'd sob if I tried to speak aloud. His Majesty had given everything, devoted his entire existence to the needs of his kingdom. He'd been a man of simple joys and tastes; nothing about being rich and powerful had held any allure for him. And now, even beyond death still more was being asked of him.

  "It's not my place to complain about this," the Herald continued. "Nor is it proper for me to offer much in the way of advice to any senior member of a House competing for the Throne. And yet… It'd please me very much if Marcus were to continue supporting the shutting off of these machines. It's time to let the old man go in peace."

  I nodded. "Yes. Of course. But I'm sure there are… Complications."

  He sighed. "How can anything be simple, with two dozen rival Houses contesting every single decision?" Then he laid his hand on my shoulder. "I should tell you… At the very end he called for James. And Stephen. So that he could tell them how much he loved them."

  I nodded, a tear leaking out at long last. "Of course. They're his grandsons."

  He nodded. "Last of all, he called for you."

  That was far, far too much. First came the tears, next my shoulders were shaking, and then I was weeping aloud in long, moist gouts. "I loved him so much!" I heard myself wail. "He was so good to us all!" Then Nestor and the Herald helped me out into a small anteroom where I was able to compose myself.

  "Your letters were the light of his life, towards the end," the Herald explained once I was at least halfway put back together. "He always liked you—after the first time you met, he said that he thought you had a lot in common with each other." He shook his head. "We all laughed, of course, you being a Rabbit and he the king. But he grew angry, and we saw that he really meant it."

  "It's not polite to distinguish one Herald from another," I said slowly. "But it's almost over now and you're about to get your name back." I looked away. "It was you that helped me back at the Academy. And at my trial. Personally, I mean. Wasn't it?"

  He smiled. "I'll admit that your nose doesn't deceive you. Which in turn leaves me free to tell you that both assignments were a pleasure. Part of my job all of these years has been to keep as up to date as possible on you and your progress, and report to His Majesty whenever anything significant happened. A Herald is supposed to like the same things and people as his sovereign, so that we can think and act as one." He smiled. "I fear that along the way I've become almost as attached to you as he was. Please forgive me if I'm being too familiar. The circumstances are… unique."

  I smiled back. "It's a bit awkward, I'll admit." Then I tilted my head to one side. "What is your real name, anyway?"

  "Martijn," he replied. "Sir Martijn Tjin, at your service. We're a minor sub-branch of the House of Vorsage. Please, keep this strictly private. Technically my telling you before the His Majesty's legal death is a violation of my sacred oath. But the oath in question was sworn to him personally, and I'm so certain under the circumstances that he wouldn't mind that, well… Please, keep it to yourself."

  I smiled back. "Of course. Thank you, Martijn." Then I licked my nose and groomed my face-fur back into some semblance of proper shape. "And now, I suppose I ought to be heading upstairs to the Parliamentary Room."

  7

  I didn't arrive on the floor of the Hall of Nobles until almost ten in the morning, but it didn't take long for me to realize I hadn't missed much. It was understandable, I suppose, that the session was halted in order that all the Houses might make long-winded speeches congratulating me on Richard's exploits and my subsequent 'daring' escape, and that everyone cheered and clapped for the broom-pennant. It made for good news-footage, and I was sufficiently experienced at being a celebrity myself by now to understand why it all was necessary. I could also see why they had to waste another half-hour granting me the special privilege of sitting with the Marcus delegation despite my lack of title—rather pointedly, no one even mentioned that I was a Rabbit, which was even worse than a commoner in such august surroundings. "Commander Birkenhead was promised a knighthood," the sitting Lord of the House of Dyolov declared in the formal motion. "And he'd surely have received it by now if he hadn't been so busy leaving footprints on Imperious Prime! So let us not permit mere formality to stand in the way of preventing the soon-to-be Sir David from enjoying one of the privileges of nobility that he's so richly earned!" The vote was unanimous, there was more cheering as I was seated next to Lord Robert (who was representing our House as James hadn't arrived yet)…

  …and then they adjourned for the day! Even my uncle voted to take the afternoon off!

  "Why on earth…" I sputtered as my uncle and I walked side-by-side out of the Hall of Nobles. "I mean… There's so much to do!"

  My uncle smiled. "You don't understand, David. The work day is just beginning, and we're actually starting early. Today's business will consist largely of maneuvering to take maximum advantage of your unexpected arrival."

  I blinked. "But… I don't even have a vote."

  "That doesn't matter in the least," he assured me. "Pay close attention as I make the introductions."

  And sure enough, he was right! E
very House was granted a little suite of offices that all fronted on the same long corridor. The location of these offices had been locked in long ago, back when the relative circumstances of their owners were far different. Kandoro's suite, for example, was located just a few steps away from the Hall of Nobles, while my uncle and I had to walk almost a quarter-mile. Every five steps, I was required to stop and shake someone's hand. "Excellent work, David!" the least-offensive of these individuals declared, patting me on the back heartily—and making sure with a little subtle pressure that I turned to face the House photographer who was standing right there to record the moment for the serfs back home. Others, however, praised me effusively in front of vid-cams, and two insisted—insisted!—on holding the broom-pennant high over their heads and waving it back and forth.

  Then there were the endless questions. "How does it feel to be back?" practically everyone wanted to know. "Absolutely miserable," I felt like answering after the twentieth inquiry, and it wouldn't have been so far from the truth. But there were dozens of other questions as well, most of which I had no business answering and the rest of which were nosey as could be. "How close exactly were you to His Majesty?" one Lord demanded. He was in a position roughly corresponding to that of Uncle Robert—representing his brother's interests until the true House-Lord could arrive. "Did he ever say anything about what he really thought of James to you? How about my nephew Raphael? Was he ever mentioned?"

  I stuttered and stammered for a moment, then my uncle interceded for me. "Give it a rest, John! Raphael is at best tenth in line, and you know it. Besides, David's just back from a long, trying mission. He hasn't even unpacked yet! Have a little decency, won't you?"

  To my surprise the other Lord burst out laughing—later I learned that he'd shared a wardroom with my uncle for almost a decade. "You can't blame me for trying, Bob. Now can you?"

  Then there were the angry ones who smiled through gritted teeth. Two of the Houses earned much of their income via the shipping trade—their planets were congruent with many of the most strategic locations throughout the kingdom, the places with large clusters of easily-accessible jump-points. Lord Dunbar spoke for both. "You destroyed over thirty enemy ships, son? Well, congratulations! But… What's to keep the Imperials from playing the same game?"

  I'd thought that one through early on, even before ordering Richard camouflaged as a merchantman. "The fencibles, sir! We can convoy our ships far more cheaply than the Imperials can, because we've got at least a three year lead in—"

  "Convoys!" Dunbar snorted. "Do you have any idea what it costs to make ships sit and wait for a convoy to form? How wasteful and inefficient the practice is?"

  "It'll be even worse for the Imperials, sir," I countered. "And I can prove it. In the long run, it must help us win the war."

  "It'll break us!" Lord Dunbar replied, shaking his head. "We'll lose fortunes! And just when wartime rates are at their highest, too!" Then he too posed for a few seconds of grinning video with me—in fact, he was one of the ones who insisted on waving the pennant.

  By the time we reached the Marcus suite all the way down at the end of the corridor, well… I was angrier than ever. "This is madness!" I declared, once Uncle Robert and I were alone at last. "Complete, utter madness! His Majesty would never have tolerated it!"

  His eyebrows rose. "You might be surprised." Then he sighed and sat down, letting his arms flop at his sides. "David… Those are the most powerful men in the entire realm out there. They're the ones making the key decisions just now, for better or for worse. I'm asking you to please remain civil, no matter how much they might deserve otherwise."

  I nodded. "Of course. This is your field of expertise, not mine." Then I sighed. "Whatever you want from me, I'll give it to you if I can."

  He nodded. "Good." Then the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a too-rare smile. "Well… In that case I suppose you'd better settle in for a long stay. Do you have to report in at naval headquarters?"

  I shook my head. "I'm on shipwreck leave—Richard was beyond economical repair and thus is considered a war-loss." I sighed. "Plus I have tons of accumulated time anyway. Though they asked me to drop by when I have a few hours free to be formally arrested and paroled. Another lost ship means another court-martial. Not that I'm particularly worried this time around. I'm growing jaded, I suppose."

  "Lose enough ships and that's bound to happen," he replied with a grin. Then his expression grew serious once more. "The case will be opened and closed in a day," he promised. "Half the House of Lords will take a personal interest in the matter and ensure that it happens that way. It's obviously a mere formality. Anything else?"

  I wriggled my nose for a moment, thinking. "I need to be measured for some new uniforms. And I promised to do a press conference, to get the reporters off my back."

  He nodded. "Good. The more you interact with the press, the better." Then he sighed and folded his hands on his desk. "That excepted, however, I'd be pleased if you spent every possible moment sitting next to me out in the Hall."

  My ears twitched upwards. "But… Why?"

  He shook his head. "Things haven't been lining up as nicely as I'd hoped, David. In the absence of a clear-cut heir, it takes a two-thirds vote among the Houses to seat a new monarch. And every vote of any real significance keeps coming up almost exactly fifty-fifty."

  I nodded—already I'd seen that we weren't nearly so popular as we might've been, at least among the leadership. "But… Uncle, what can I accomplish by just sitting there and taking up space?"

  He stood up and, knowing better than to ask me to join him, poured himself a half-shot of whiskey. "I'm amazed you didn't see it," he replied, after downing it neat.

  "See what?" I asked.

  "David… I didn't anticipate this myself, mind you. But if you know them well, it's obvious. They're terrified of you. Or most of them are, anyway. Particularly the ones that're voting against us."

  8

  I was much too busy for the rest of the day to think about what Uncle Robert had said about the Lords being frightened of me. First there was the whirling maelstrom of a press conference, during which a naval intelligence officer stopped me from answering almost half the questions I was asked. He had excellent reasons for doing so, and for the most part I was on his side. But the reporters most definitely were not; they responded to the censorship by rephrasing and reparsing the same requests for sensitive information over and over again, in the vain hope that the new formulation would somehow prove more acceptable than the last. It was frustrating for me as well, because I felt that the general public needed to understand that Richard had been a fencible ship, manned by non-professional humans and Rabbits who'd performed superbly on a long, stressful, and above all totally unexpected mission. My "keeper" wouldn't allow me to so much as mention the fencibles, however—he'd warned me of this beforehand. I thought this was pointless obfuscation since the Imperials could hardly help but know all about the organization by now, but orders were orders. At least he permitted me to praise "the outstanding performance of Richard's crew under most trying circumstances, humans and Rabbits alike."

  Then I was led off to where Nestor and the Marcus tailor-in-residence awaited me. There was plenty of perfectly serviceable civilian clothing waiting for me in the closets back at my cabin on my little estate. However, it seemed that none of my old stuff would do anymore; Uncle Robert had dictated that I be dressed in the very latest of Lordly fashions. These currently featured silk stockings and lots of lace trim. The old gentleman nearly had a nervous breakdown when he realized that neither of these features were in any way compatible with a Rabbit's physique. "Oh my goodness!" he whispered as my toeclaws ripped through the silk and the lacework attracted huge clumps of freshly-shed fur—it was that time of the year again. "I don't know what in the world to do!" (Eventually he came through rather well, I thought. Since it was obvious that I couldn't follow current styles, he simply established new ones by outfitting me in otherwise plain su
its that featured brighter colors and gilded buttons to make up for the "flash" lost by giving up the silk and lace. Once I'd been photographed in them a few times, well… Soon everyone was wearing the "neomilitary" look. But for the short term I made do by living in practically nothing but my uniform.)

  It was long past dark before Nestor and I were free to fly home, so that I could finally sleep in what was truly my own bed again for the first time in several years. It was a two-hour trip to the hardpoint outside my front door, a long enough commute that, well… It wasn't something I could do every day, I realized sickly. "Nestor," I said as we took off. "I'm afraid we're also going to need an apartment somewhere near the Palace. Perhaps Uncle Robert will be able to spare us a room. Can you add that to your to-do list?"

  My friend's big eyes blinked, then he wearily pulled out his datapad and made a note for perhaps the thousandth time that day. "Of course, sir," he answered loyally, though his voice was far more subdued than usual. "Right away."