Captain (The David Birkenhead Series) Read online

  I smiled back. "Thank you, sir. I'm grateful to have it behind me. Even if I wasn't particularly worried this time."

  "Of course not," he agreed. "A worthwhile officer understands that the navy is all about risk, and sometimes that means expending ships for greater gains." His smile faded. "I understand you missed your inspection of the Cheyenne yesterday due to illness. Are you feeling better?"

  I smiled again. "Much, sir. It was just my old stomach disorder. You see, while I was on Zo—"

  "Right," he interrupted me. "Your chronic stomach ailment—I understand that you're liable to have troubles for years, possibly even the rest of your life." He tilted his head to one side. "You've never put in for a single day of sick leave over that, have you? Not since your initial recovery, I mean." His features hardened. "David, you're a fine officer. Perhaps our finest. I'd hate to see you pushing yourself too hard and burning yourself out. If you're sick, for heaven's sake take a sick day!"

  I lowered my eyes, hating the lie I'd told. "I was on leave anyway," I explained.

  "And you're quite eager to return to your leave as well, I'm certain," he replied. "Heaven knows you've earned it. But… David, I need to ask a favor of you. I have an important meeting in a few minutes—it's regarding current military operations, you see, and I must attend. It'll last an hour, perhaps an hour and a half. Could I persuade you to wait around a bit and see me afterwards? Privately, I mean. In my office."

  I gulped. Not only was the Second Space Lord the number-two man in the entire navy, but he was in charge of all matters regarding personnel. In many ways that made him more powerful and influential than his putative superior. The First Space Lord ordered about ships and planned fleet movements on the grand scale, while the Second shuffled men and built careers. "Of course, sir!" I replied with a slight bow. "It'd be my sincere honor.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later Nestor and I were comfortably seated in the admiral's outer office, or at least as comfortably as the all-human furnishings allowed. We'd turned down wine and coffee and sweets alike, which upset the Second Lord's aide terribly. Finally an unusually bold footbunny offered us fruit juice on his own initiative, which we accepted with pleasure. This relieved the aide visibly—after that he was all smiles. "His Lordship will see you as soon as he possibly can," we were assured at least three times.

  Still, the wait wasn't nearly so onerous as it might've been. Because the Second Space Lord was in charge of assignments, it was common practice for the navy's unemployed officers above a certain standing to come calling upon him personally on a regular basis to petition—beg, in other words—for a choice posting. The outer office was huge—there were at least fifty chairs, and all of them save two were occupied by unemployed naval officers when Nestor and I arrived. Even these would've been taken, had they not been roped off exclusively for our use. For the first time in months I found myself surrounded by uniformed peers, and it was a very nice feeling indeed. "Commander Birkenhead!" the post-captain to my left greeted me with an extended hand. "My name is Duncan Hashimoto. I'm so honored to meet you! I've read your after-action reports over and over again, more times than I could count!"

  Everyone in the room was staring at Nestor and I. It wasn't my first time, of course—back at the Academy in particular, naval officers had stared at me all the time. Usually in a quite unfriendly manner, in fact. But now…

  …everything was different! As deeply as I searched the faces of the officers who lined up to shake my hand and express admiration for either Richard's cruise or the defense of Zombie Station, I couldn't find a trace of the old arrogance and resentment. Some of the officers were a bit awkward, others refused to meet my eye. But… These men, the hardest-bitten warriors in the kingdom… They actually seemed to respect me! A Rabbit!

  The crowd around me thickened so rapidly that soon it was impossible to see more than a few feet. So I was genuinely surprised when at long last someone I knew stepped forward to greet me. "Hello, shipmate!" Captain Sir Roderick Blaine declared as he emerged from the crowd. "How's the best cabin boy I've ever had?"

  He smiled as he said it, so as always I smiled back and shook his hand warmly. "Very well indeed, sir." Then I introduced Nestor to him. "He's a highly successful cabin boy in his own right!"

  Sir Roderick laughed, then bent down and examined my aide closely. "So, you read and write too?"

  Nestor's one major failing, common to practically all Rabbits, was extreme shyness with humans. "Yessir," he mumbled.

  "He's a certified EMT," I amplified. "He also has a black belt, shot a fifty out of fifty with nineteen bullseyes on a navy-standard combat range last week, and I bet that if universities allowed testing through their classes he'd have at least five degrees by now."

  "Really?" Sir Roderick replied, his eyebrows rising. "But then, of all naval officers I perhaps should be the least surprised at what a cabin boy can accomplish." His cheeks reddened a bit, then the turned back to me. "David," he said at last. "I've spent more time than you probably imagine thinking about you since we first met. About all you did back then, and even more the things you've done since." He licked his lips. "I just wanted to tell you that, when I heard about your raiding Imperious herself, well… I don't know that I could've done what you did. Certainly I'd never have done it half as well. Which in turn means I've been wrong about many, many things." He sighed. "David, I'm deeply sorry for how I treated you back then. And also for how I've stuck my foot in my mouth so many times since. I never meant you anything but well, and yet without even realizing it I did nothing but belittle and patronize you." Then he formally bowed, right out in front of everyone. "I'd very much like to begin our friendship anew. Will you accept my deepest apology?"

  "Of course," I replied, extending my hand. "But you don't—"

  Then he embraced me in a warm hug, having bypassed my hand entirely. "I'm so terribly sorry," he whispered in my ear. "I've manumitted every single Rabbit on my estate. Eventually, I came to realize that it was the only way I could live with myself."

  12

  "I heard about the goings-on out in the waiting area," His Lordship Admiral Panetta began, once we were finished with the polite preliminaries. "Especially with Blaine."

  I felt my face coloring under the fur. "Well, sir… He and I—"

  "I've held this office for almost ten years," he interrupted, pouring himself a second shot of whiskey. The Second Space Lord was a notoriously heavy drinker, but no one ever claimed that it interfered with the execution of his duties. If anything, the alcohol seemed to further hone an already sharp mind. "And in all that time I've never once heard of any such goings-on out in the lobby. Fights and arguments, yes—one of them actually led to a duel, a few years back. My aide Peter has worked in this office almost three times that long, and he's never seen the like either." He paused and looked down at his glass awkwardly. "Are you sure you won't have some, David? It's a rare interview indeed where I'm forced to drink alone."

  "It's a Rabbit-thing," I explained. "Our senses of taste are different."

  "Ah!" he replied. Then he dribbled in some water and took a long, deeply-satisfying sip. "You know, that makes matters more remarkable still. You being a Rabbit, I mean. The last slaves kept on a large scale before your kind were Africans. Many of my ancestors among them, I'll add, which has made me more interested than most in the subject."

  "Indeed, sir?" I responded.

  "Indeed!" he replied. Then he frowned and set down his glass. "What just took place out there in my waiting room would've been unthinkable for a freed slave in that era. While a handful were indeed manumitted, they were never allowed anything resembling social equality. Just like you weren't, at first."

  I nodded.

  "Once upon a time, His Majesty sent a Herald to discuss the possibility of enrolling you into the Academy," he continued. "For what it's worth, David, I supported the idea. But I also warned him that I felt you were almost certain to either wash out or at best would prove a minimally effective officer. Because that's what my knowledge of history led me to believe would be the best-case scenario, you see. Even after you performed so well there despite the social difficulties, well…" He sighed, then placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. "There was a lot of pressure for you to be assigned to a backwater post, David. Some of it was political, but there were legitimate concerns as well. What effect would a Rabbit officer have on morale, for example? And while your courage and intellect were proven, well… Leadership is a quality that's nearly impossible to evaluate in an academic setting. While on the surface you seemed to show some promise even in that arena…" He sighed. "I'm the one who sent you to Graves Registration, David. Ultimately, it was my decision. While many other officers boasted of having been the key string-puller at the time, they don't know of what they speak. Your folder has crossed my desk many times, Commander. And I'm personally the one who made the decision, outside pressure be damned. I thought it best to place you among as many other Rabbits as possible, and most of all I thought it important to be certain that you'd never be faced with the prospect of leading humans in combat. For your sake as well as theirs."

  I blinked. That duty had been so miserable… "I see, sir."

  "I was wrong to do that," he continued. "How wrong I'm only now beginning to appreciate. Hearing about Blaine's apology made me want to get that off my chest, David. I'm sorry to have done that to you."

  I smiled a little. "In the end it came out okay."

  He smiled back. "Indeed it did." Then the expression faded. "You've transcended your Rabbithood, David, at least within the navy. Those men out in my waiting room—they're good officers, most of them. They've commanded ships, made life-and-death decisions… Some have killed almost as many Imperials as you have. Yet they were as giddy as schoolgirls at the prospect of meeting you. And this knowing full well that you'd been moved ahead of them in line—many have been waiting weeks to see me. They didn't resent it at all, because, well… I'm not sure there's even a word for where you stand with them." He shook his head. "No ex African slave ever accomplished anything even remotely like that, David—if they had, I'd know. Some achieved remarkable things, yes—Frederick Douglas, for example, is one of my personal heroes. But… There's something special about winning victories, particularly during a losing war. It makes a man a hero in a way that nothing else can." He looked me up and down. "Or a Rabbit, perhaps."

  I felt myself blushing again. "Sir, I—"

  Once again he cut off my words. "David, your fellow officers used to mutter and curse about you—that doesn't surprise you, does it?"

  "No, sir," I admitted.

  "Today," he continued, "if I were to remind the mutterers of this they'd be deeply ashamed. You should know that there's a sort of unwritten rule on the subject these days. Everyone is allowed to claim they believed in you from the very beginning, even when we all recall quite clearly that they didn't." He smiled again. "Success has a thousand fathers. Not many officers will be as bighearted or as honest as Blaine, David. They won't admit their mistake. But they will respect you, and the Rabbits who come after you. Of all the services you've performed for your sovereign, I'd consider that the largest and most important."

  I worked my lips, but no words came out. The subject was making me acutely uncomfortable.

  "Anyway," Admiral Panetta declared. "I just wanted to get that off my chest." Then he leaned back in his big leather chair and took another sip of rye. "So, we've dealt with the past. Now comes the larger question. What of the future?"

  I wriggled my nose in thought for a moment before replying. "The truth is… I haven't thought much about that, sir."

  He raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?" Then he looked down at the folder on his desk—my folder, I suddenly realized. Over which he was all-powerful. "His Majesty has commanded that your life not be risked again—a decision with which I completely concur, by the way. We agree that you're far too valuable for that. And, that you've faced enough danger."

  I gulped. "I'll gladly go wherever I'm ordered, sir."

  "Of course, David." He smiled. "I'm not in the slightest doubt of that." He idly flipped a couple pages. "When I make this sort of decision, I usually try to balance two factors—the needs of the individual and the interests of the service. So let's look at those first." He flipped a couple of pages. "Officers of your age and length of service are almost always in need of some sort of resume upgrade. Administrative officers tend to be short on field-command experience, while those who've captained small vessels as lieutenants or commanders tend not to have held responsible positions in long-term developmental projects." He closed the folder. "But once again you're unique, David. While there was a lot of doubt about your fencibles in the beginning—and once again, I was on the wrong side of the argument!—today there are thirty-eight fencible vessels devoted to convoy escort alone. We've even taken them interstellar, where they were originally intended to be a localized force. Our flag officers shudder at the very thought of doing without these ships and crews." He looked me directly in the eye. "You headed one of the most successful, quickest-moving procurement programs in the entire history of the navy, David. That's a fairly solid resume entry, if you ask me! And as for your combat and command record…" He shook his head. "Son, I can only wish that my own was as spectacular."

  I shifted awkwardly in my seat.

  "As far as the good of the service… Every flag-officer in the fleet will request you specifically by name, once word of your escape makes it out to the front lines. But they won't get you; as I said, you're not to be placed at risk again." He took another sip. "I'd send you to the Office of Strategic Planning, here in this very building. But they insist on nothing but War College graduates, and sadly for all your virtues you're not that."

  "I've read the texts," I replied. "And… I'd like to attend, sir."

  He nodded. "I'd like to send you. But classes have been suspended for the duration—we need the instructors in the field." He paused. "I'm sorry, David. I'd arrange it in a minute if I could."

  "Of course, sir," I replied. "I understand."

  "So…" he continued, re-opening my folder. "I find myself confronted with the problem of placing a grossly overqualified officer for once, instead of someone needing to be helped along." He turned more pages. "You've been spending quite a lot of time in the Hall of Nobles recently, haven't you?"

  I nodded. "Yes, sir. It's…. Marcus House business."

  He smiled. "The navy well appreciates the importance of House business," he replied. "Especially just now, with the succession at stake." His eyes narrowed. "You and James are very close. Like brothers, some say."

  "That's a fair description, sir," I admitted.

  He nodded. "Then that's a factor as well. He'll be counting on you. Your orders will state very clearly that when your leave runs out you're still to be permitted to spend as much time as you deem necessary on your family's affairs, at least until the situation stabilizes. Which dictates an independent assignment of some kind, one in which you're obliged to report directly to no one." His smile vanished. "The navy can't openly take sides. But we most emphatically do not support a regency. It'd be a strategic calamity of the first magnitude. Is that clear, David? From our point of view, any measures you take with that in mind will be considered consonant with your duty, no matter what they are or how they might impact your primary assignment. This includes the dispersal of funds and use of official navy transportation, at your discretion—you'll be assigned a purser qualified to file the necessary confidential paperwork. There'll be a secret addendum to your orders regarding all this."

  I gulped. That meant I was being trusted, utterly and completely. Most officers went their entire careers without having half so much confidence placed in them. "Thank you, sir. But—"

  "So," he interrupted a third time. "We need to find you a billet that's not terribly demanding in terms of time, or at least one where you can lean heavily on a subordinate who we'll ensure is completely and totally sympathetic in regards to the true circumstances." He smiled. "And preferably a position that takes advantage of your unique personal status. It'd also be nice if it were close to the capitol, so you can commute easily." He closed the folder one last time, then offered his biggest smile yet. "David, have you ever considered becoming the Academy's new Commandant?"

  13

  Fortunately I didn't have to take up my new command right away. The old Commandant, Captain Hess, was stepping down early because he'd suffered a terrible tragedy in his life. His two sons had both recently died in an obscure and unimportant battle out in the middle of nowhere, then his wife took an overdose of pills in order to join them. The captain was every bit as devastated as could be imagined under the circumstances, and one didn't hurry a man along after such an experience. Hess had served the navy both well and nobly for almost forty years; indeed, only truly outstanding officers were ever placed in charge of the Academy. Traditionally they were there to serve as role models as much as anything else.