Captain (The David Birkenhead Series) Page 6

  So instead of being super-eager to step in like I usually was, I did the decent thing and remained on leave. This allowed Hess to finish out the spring semester, even though my orders permitted me to take charge right away. Admiral Panetta was deeply worried about Hess's mental state, but after meeting him in person it was clear to me that that booting him early would've been crueler still. All the man had to look forward to was a suddenly cold and lonely retirement—normally the Academy job was reserved for men with just a year or two of active service left. He was genuinely grateful to me for not pressuring him and welcomed my presence whenever I chose to visit the campus, which was almost weekly. "Don't even bother calling first, Commander," he assured me with what looked like the first smile to enliven his features in months. "Everything will always be open to you. Thank you so much for your kindness! And while we've already got a commencement speaker lined up for graduation, would you be willing to give a speech as well? I know who full well who the snotties really want to hear from!"

  This worked out well for me on several different levels. For one thing it left me with very little actual work, excepting a bit of preparatory study and investigation. That allowed me more time with Uncle Robert, which he at least felt was crucial. Not that he was making any noticeable progress—things finally gridlocked so tightly at fourteen to ten on all crucial issues that he invoked a rarely-use parliamentary procedure to force the House of Lords to cease considering any meaningful business at all until he could consult with James, who was expected to arrive in-system any week now. While the maneuver was good for a short-term stall, it was also a major confession of weakness. "Perhaps they are going to attempt to crown either Patrick or Juro," my uncle mused after Nestor and I showed him our mess of a chart. He smiled when he saw it, then hung it up on his office wall so we could modify it in light of his own backroom, non-public knowledge. When we were done the split was clearer than ever— it was the shipping interests we were ranged against, all right, along with the miners and the farmers. The one thing that all the opposing Houses except one shared in common were economies based on the so-called "base" industries. The ones that produced the raw materials at the bottom of the economic food-chain, in other words—high-bulk low-cost materials.

  I shifted in my chair uncomfortably. "It's impossible, sir!" Nestor declared. "For them to crown anyone but James or Stephan, they'd just about have to be—"

  "Dead," my uncle finished for him, meeting his eyes coldly. "If that shocks you, you're not half as smart as I thought you were."

  There was a long, cold silence during which Nestor simply stared off into the distance. "We're already being as careful as we can be," Uncle Robert said eventually. "The reason it's taking James so long to get here is because he's traveling a roundabout route—even I don't exactly what day he's due to arrive. But still…" He sighed and shook his head again. "What lunacy an assassination would be, during a time of war!"

  "Unless they want us to lose," I observed eventually.

  My uncle frowned again. He didn't like that sort of talk—it wasn't proper for Peers of the Realm to speak of each other as even potential traitors. "What would they possibly have to gain?" he demanded in reply, not for the first time. "The Emperor has reduced every other House save his own to mere vassalage. He's had the heads of three House Lords! Aligning with him is suicide!"

  "Of course," I agreed. But I didn't sound very confident, and there was good reason for it. No one could be certain of what was going on, or of what was going through whose minds. "Marcus has grown very strong indeed," I observed at last. "So much so that we with our closest allies are economically more powerful than the rest combined. In the long run advanced tech pays considerably better than freighters and wheat fields. Our votes in the Hall don't represent our true influence. We've grown and grown, while the rest have progressed far more slowly. Grant us the crown and its influence as well, and in some ways we become the Kingdom." My eyes narrowed. "Perhaps someone fears us more than they fear the Emperor?"

  "But why?" the chief Marcus strategist replied, throwing up his hands. "We've always been on the up-and-up with everyone."

  "Perhaps," I muttered, staring at the chart. While Marcus might be supreme among the ruling families, another had attempted in recent decades to offer us at least a limited degree of competition. They'd built universities, funded extensive research and attracted academic talent from all over human space. Indeed, my good friend Heinrich's father, possibly the top Field theory man alive, worked for them. While they'd made a late start and still weren't nearly as good at innovation as we were, their House had made considerable progress in building their economy beyond the bulk minerals and cargo shipping that'd been their stock in trade for practically forever. "But others may not agree that we're so benevolent." I sighed and shook my head. All I had was a gut feeling, one which had first come to me for the entirely silly reason that their Lord sat next to the Emperor's old seat in the Hall of Nobles. And yet… Everything lined up! Everything! "It's Wilkes," I whispered, shaking my head. "They've cut a deal with the Empire. Nothing else makes sense."

  14

  It was one thing to make an accusation of treason in private. It was another entirely to do so in public, where nasty little complications such as being required to substantiate one's charges rapidly come into play. On the surface the House of Wilkes was nothing less than fully supportive of His Majesty. They paid their taxes on time and bowed and scraped in all the right places just like everyone else. The fact that they wanted to end the war meant nothing— there was plenty of precedent for that. Our kingdom had ended lots of wars while we were losing. In fact, it was practically standard practice to end the fighting after losing a handful of worlds. This current conflict had already gone on far longer than any other in the series; indeed, we'd already been at hammers and tongs with the Empire for almost twice as long as average. The economy was growing distorted, we'd been at it so long. Luxuries were running short, and investments were doing unpredictable and unprecedented things. It was high time for an intermission, in other words, from a certain point of view. Past time, even. The fact that Wilkes and the other allied Houses gave voice to the matter was, well… Hardly unpatriotic, by past standards.

  And yet…

  One of the traditional social obligations of an incoming Commandant of the Academy was to dine individually with each and every professor, so that they could make their wants and needs known in an informal setting. While I hadn't yet taken charge officially, I considered it proper to go ahead and get the process started right away. Though I admit that perhaps I might not've been so eager except for the fact that my old friend Professor Lambert, who'd instructed me in basic strategy back when I'd been a snotty myself, could be placed first on my list. Since I hadn't moved into the Commandant's quarters yet, I had to entertain him out at my estate. This was hardly a problem, however; he seemed delighted when I gave him the grand tour.

  "This is wonderful, David!" he gushed, looking around at all the flowers and greenery and neat, well-maintained little houses. "Simply wonderful! And you say that the entire staff is made up of Rabbits?"

  I smiled back and explained about how I'd been unable to hire a human to oversee things. "We still can't find a willing human; my chief-of-staff Nestor is in terrible need of an assistant and we haven't a single qualified applicant. But as you can see, it's mostly worked out well so far. With all the Zombie Station and Richard bunnies building their own places and having families, well… It's turning into a little Rabbit Town, just like back home on Marcus Prime. Plus we're accepting any other manumitted Rabbits who can get here, at least until things start getting crowded." The Professor was an avid abolitionist, I'd been unsurprised to learn after graduating, and since instructing me he'd taken an active interest in the difficulties of introducing Rabbits into society as equals. Every Tuesday and Thursday he ran an off-campus literacy class for the various slave-species.

  He shook his head. "It's very nice, David—I'll certainly grant you that. Nor can I imagine how you could've accomplished anything more under the circumstances. Certainly it's better than anything you Rabbits ever had before. But it's still essentially a ghetto, no matter how pleasant. Not true integration."

  "One step at a time, Professor," I replied. "That's all anyone can take. One step at a time."

  It was also inevitable that the subject of His Majesty's health would come up during the Professor's visit; had it not I'd have made it a point to raise the matter. King Alfred had been an avid reader of my former instructor's books on strategy; indeed, he'd been fond of quoting them at the slightest provocation. "Have you been to his bedside yet?" I asked, after we'd discussed the latest dismal update on his health.

  "No," the Professor replied. "They won't allow me in."

  I shook my head. It was, we both knew, because he was a commoner. Which His Majesty would've hated. "I'll fix that first thing tomorrow," I promised. "If it's the last thing I do. I know a Herald that I'm sure will see things our way."

  "Thank you," he replied, with a slight bow. "It'd mean a lot to me, David."

  I nodded and chewed on my lima beans for moment before replying. "Did you ever write each other?" I asked.

  His face lit up. "Oh, yes! We corresponded extensively on every single book I ever wrote. Though he had to go back and search out the earlier ones. His observations were very acute. In fact, a lot of them tended to find their way into the next book." He sighed and shook his head. "He'd have made a fine general."

  I nodded. "So, you were in regular contact?"

  "Fairly," he answered. Then he shifted awkwardly in his seat. "David… Some of our correspondence was of a classified nature. I know that you're a serving officer, but I've sworn to discuss it with no one in detail."

  My head tilted. His Majesty had often angered the military professionals, I knew, by ignoring their advice and doing things his own way. My own fencibles were an example of throne-driven defense policy, launched against official opposition. I'd have considered His Highness's behavior in these matters to be both irresponsible and egocentric, save for the indisputable fact that we'd finally started winning wars about the same time he'd grown so notoriously bull-headed. "What was the first book of yours he read?" I finally asked.

  He blushed. "No Holds Barred—A Comprehensive Guide to Hitting Your Enemy Where it Hurts. It's still my best-seller."

  I blinked. "That was published about fifteen years ago, wasn't it?" Just about the time His Majesty had begun rebelling against his advisors, I didn't say aloud. And the professor's appointment to the Academy to infect future officers with his own version of strategic insight… That'd been accomplished via Royal 'meddling' as well, hadn't it?

  "About," he agreed with a smile. "His Majesty particularly enjoyed that one. More than any of the others, I suspect."

  My smile faded as I suddenly came to understand many, many things. "You've always felt that fighting brief wars against the Imperials was foolish, haven't you?"

  "Always," he confirmed. "Their whole setup is geared for a series of short, high-intensity conflicts—it's reflected in their military planning, their economic structure, their internal administrative policies… Even their warships are designed to such high performance levels that they require refits after a relatively brief period of service. We insist on fighting by their rulebook, so it's not difficult to understand why we keep losing. Over and over again, we match our weaknesses to their strengths. In all honesty, David, so far your personal exploits are the only real exception to the rule in that regard. We're still ultimately the stronger in a thousand different ways, if we'd but bite the bullet and fully mobilize our resources. But we never get the chance because peace keeps breaking out before we're ready begin fighting in earnest. Just about the time, in fact, that the Empire is showing signs of severe internal stress."

  "So," I asked. "Why does peace keep breaking out?"

  "Because the Noble Houses fear losing their power and influence," he replied. "Or most of them, at least. Full mobilization for war of the sort I'm advocating requires doing things they absolutely hate, you see. Like empowering a strong central government to make tough decisions and redirect resources in a manner that might not benefit the current power-holders, for example. Full mobilization would require a draft as well, and that's especially problematic."

  "Why?" I asked. I'd long wondered why we hadn't implemented conscription; while the fencibles had attracted plenty of recruits, I knew it wasn't nearly such a simple matter for the regular armed forces.

  "Because drafts mainly draw from the lower classes," he explained. "That's where the numbers are, you see. You can't get enough conscripts to matter otherwise. And putting people under arms always empowers them eventually, by one means or another. They have to be taught pride and self-discipline, for example, or they can't function as combat troops. And that's just the beginning." He smiled gently. "In today's society, Rabbits mostly make up the bottom rungs. So in our situation enacting a draft means radical social change." His smile faded. "Given the alternative, perhaps from where most of the House-Lords sit eventual assimilation into the Empire doesn't look so bad after all."

  15

  I'd given the Professor my word that I'd get him permission to visit His Majesty's sickbed first thing in the morning, and I did literally that. Before I'd so much as touched a brush to myself or swabbed my ears I was on the phone, demanding to speak to a Herald. I didn't have to wait long; in seconds a familiar voice was on the line. "Yes, David?"

  It was Martijn, whom I'd gotten to know a little during my own first visit to the Royal Sickbed. Suddenly I felt a little guilty. "It's not the end of the world, sir," I explained. "Perhaps I was too strident. But someone who I know for fact was close to His Majesty's heart has been denied access to visit, and I'm trying to make things right. I'm speaking of Professor Lambert, sir. One of His Highness's favorite authors. And a frequent correspondent."

  "That's odd," Martijn replied. "I put him on the list myself. Because you're quite correct, you see; His Majesty did indeed hold Dr. Lambert's books in the highest of esteem." There was a long pause. "Apparently some sort of error has been made."

  "Perhaps an error rooted in petty jealousies?" I demanded. "By someone who resented the Professor's influence?"

  There was a long pause. "As much as I'd like to claim otherwise," he finally said, "you're probably right." He sighed. "A monarch is all-powerful while he lives and rules. But once he's dead or infirm, his influence fades almost immediately to nothing. Even within his own household, it would appear. Where he should be most beloved of all." There was a long pause. "I'm putting Dr. Lambert's name down again, this time with my personal seal affixed alongside it. If that doesn't do the trick, David, I fear that I don't know what will."

  Suddenly all the anger melted away inside of me. Martijn was doing his best to cope with an impossible situation, it was clear. "Thank you, my friend."

  "No worries," he answered. There was a pause during which I overheard papers shuffling, then the stamp of a ring-seal. "Things are getting crazier and crazier every day here, David. It's almost as if there's no king at all. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it, but… Some of the palace fixtures are vanishing."

  "You mean that… that… that…" I stammered, unable to find words. "I mean…"

  "Oh, yes!" he replied, his voice flat and cold. "Bit by bit the Royal Palace is being pillaged. The lion has lost his bite, you see, so the jackals come out in full daylight." He sighed again. "David, my line is secure. Is yours?"

  "Yes," I replied. All House lines were always secure. Uncle Robert was a fanatic on the subject, and with good reason. "What is it, Martijn?"

  "Perhaps I'm a jackal too, because I'm not supposed to be giving advice or taking sides. But… You and your uncle had best move quickly, if you're going to move at all. Because at the rate things are going, I fear that the Royal Final Testament isn't going to be worth the paper it's written on by the time it's finally read."

  ***

  "A source," was all I could say to Uncle Robert when we met later that day in his apartment. "A most excellent and well-placed source indeed told me that. But I can't tell you who. It'd be dishonorable."

  My uncle looked out his window at the distant outer wall of the palace. "If things really are that bad over there," he muttered, "then..." But he never finished the sentence. Instead he lapsed off into silence.

  "Can they disregard the Royal Testament?" I asked. "I mean, is it even possible?"

  "Of course!" he replied. "It'd be totally against tradition and all the rules. But then, so was the founding of the Empire. And so far that little project seems to have come along rather well." He turned to face me. "Don't let your military background blind you, David. In the mind of a legislator, laws are for everyone else. From his point of view, they're mutable things that can be and usually are altered as a matter of convenience, not rock-solid statements of morality." Then he turned back to the window. "For the first time, I begin to seriously wonder if you're right about them attempting to crown one of the cousins."