Commodore (The David Birkenhead Series) Page 6

  "Yes sir," Nestor agreed.

  "I'm going to write it up, though, and put it in the captain's safe next to my sealed orders. The envelope will be addressed to His Highness, personally. No one else is to open it, Nestor. If worst comes to worst, I want you to instruct Josiah to destroy the thing unread rather than allow anyone else to see it. At all costs, if necessary."

  Nestor blinked. "What about Captain Harlowe, sir? Doesn't he need to know?"

  "No," I replied. "He doesn't. Because I'm also about to write up a new set of written orders for him. He's to immediately sail this entire task force back to Earth Secundus if command devolves upon him, no matter what. Even more, I'm forwarding private copies of these orders to Jean and Josiah. The price of poker just went up, Nestor, and I'm damned if I'll see the likes of Captain Harlowe play out such an important hand for us. Officers like him are half of how we got into this mess to begin with."

  12

  The next few days were grueling indeed. My first priority had to be bringing myself up to date on Ambassador Vorsage's negotiations with the Wilkes people. I was rather unsurprised to learn that while everyone had been unfailingly polite and proper—the presence of Javelin and our powerful landing force dictated nothing else—they'd refused to discuss anything of substance.

  "It's not looking good, David," His Excellency reported over his secure link to my cabin. "All they're doing is yes-ing me to death on trivialities and herding me back and forth from one dignitary to another. It's a complete waste of time, even by ordinary diplomatic standards. They profess their loyalty over and over again, yet when it comes time for a specific action to be taken or a document to be signed nothing ever actually happens." He sighed. "It's a runaround, son. Pure and complete. I'm getting nowhere."

  "Thank you for your honesty," was the only reply I could make.

  "You're welcome," Ambassador Vorsage replied with a sigh. "I only wish my news were better." Then he frowned slightly. "You've been invited to dine Thursday with all the leading nobles of Wilkes, including the House-Lord himself. Normally I'd urge you to accept. Under the circumstances, however…"

  I nodded back, understanding instantly. The Wilkes people had to know as well as I did that an invasion was inevitable if they didn't cooperate. What better hope of victory did they have than to make a hostage of me? Yet it'd be the height of rudeness if the commander of a visiting naval force didn't hit dirt at least once to pay his respects. Sufficiently rude, in fact, that others might well see it as a deliberate snub or even provocation. James was on shaky enough ground already in terms of his legitimacy as a monarch; he didn't need any more headaches in that regard. "I'll get back to you on that as soon as I can," I promised. "In the meantime, stall. Turnabout's fair play."

  He smiled. "Agreed." Then the expression faded. "Be extra-careful if you accept, David. I don't like the way this is shaping up at all." Then, with a polite nod he cut the connection.

  There were other obligations I had to deal with, as well. The primary one dealt with another form of turnabout. I'd understood from the very beginning that accepting Sir Jason's invitation to dine aboard Will of the People implied that in return I'd have to reciprocate and invite his own officers aboard Javelin. Josiah positively sparkled at the prospect; having played host to so many Imperial merchant captains aboard Richard over so many long months, he was perhaps the single best-equipped officer in the fleet to perform the same role for the Emperor's naval officers. In no time at all we'd agreed to Wednesday evening for the big event, and soon the battlecruiser was alive with deck-swabbing, brasswork-polishing, and above all relentlessly drilling marines. These latter gave me an idea; if we couldn't match the Imperials in perfection of drill, well… We did have other achievements to show off instead. It took only minutes to ask Jean, whose destroyer was one of several fencible vessels in the task force and thus partly crewed by Rabbits, to put together a special detachment of all the sharpest bunnies in our little fleet and send them over with their dress uniforms to drill, drill, drill together in the hope of offering the Imperials something new to think about. They might even be genuinely impressed. And at worst, well…

  Perhaps they might at least be distracted from our other deficiencies.

  There were other special preparations to make as well, and at first I found myself totally at a loss as to how to handle them. Now that I knew Sir Jason was a spy, it was reasonable to assume that he might wish to somehow communicate with us. But by what means? Because of the impromptu nature of it all, we had no prearranged signals, methods, or codes. Nor could I even so much as hint to anyone except Nestor that there was even the possibility of a message being sent to begin with! In the end I had mostly to trust Sir Jason's own common sense—after all, he'd been at this sort of thing for far longer than I had. Still, I took some basic precautions. Among them, I troubled myself to look up Midshipman O'Toole, the Rabbit-wrangler in charge of Javelin's various stewards and galleys. "Mr. O'Toole," I greeted him in my cabin after returning his nervous salute. Because I'd dumped so many of my own duties upon Josiah I hadn't spent nearly enough time with my officers, and the boy was clearly terrified at the sudden, unexplained summons. "You've done nothing wrong. Relax, son."

  He smiled slightly, but didn't unbend at all. "Thank you, sir."

  I smiled back. "You had no way of knowing this," I began. "But the wardroom dishwasher makes a most annoying sound. Or at least it does to a Rabbit's ears. Up until now I haven't said anything. But we have the big dinner with the Imperials coming up, you see."

  His brow puckered in confusion. "Yes, sir?"

  I smiled again. "It's loud and piercing. And I'll need to be at my sharpest. So, no one is to wash so much as a single dish that night until I grant permission. Is this understood?"

  He blinked. "Sir?"

  "Furthermore," I continued, rising from my chair and pacing back and forth, "Well… Let's take advantage of this situation and turn it into an opportunity. No one is to launder any table linens, pre-soak a single piece of flatware… I'm rated as a steward's mate, you know. My qualification is still current, or at least it was the last time I checked. I think this'd be a good time for me to look into how these matters are handled aboard Javelin, don't you? And maybe even see if I still have the touch. So, not a single glass or dish is to be washed, no linens laundered… Nothing is to be cleaned up any more than is absolutely unavoidable without my personal order. New dishes are to be brought out, but the old ones will simply be set aside unless I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?"

  Poor Mr. O'Toole's jaw dropped. He must've thought I was going mad—after all, my time was so valuable these days that more often than not I was delegating my inspections of Javelin's turrets and engine room to various subordinates. And suddenly I wanted to play steward-bunny? "Y-y-y… Aye-aye, sir!"

  I nodded and stared deep into his eyes. "Not a single dish!" I warned. "And for that matter… Don't scrape the plates, either. I want to personally oversee the entire cleanup process, from start to finish. Got it?"

  "Yes, sir!" he repeated, eyes bugging.

  "Good," I replied, my smile renewed. "This is a very important matter to me, son. I'd advise you to make sure your Rabbits are one-hundred percent clear on what they're to do, and then personally make certain they do it."

  13

  It was a lot more pleasant to play host than to be a guest, I decided as the Imperials stepped through the airlock to receive their salute. Or at least it was more pleasant when one was at war. Indeed, it was simply amazing how much easier it was to relax and have a good time when one didn't continually fear capture, possible torture, and then death at any given moment.

  "Tench-hut!" Heinrich bawled; he'd insisted on personally giving the command, being the senior marine in the task force. As one a hundred and fifty pairs of heels clicked together. Or almost as one, I couldn't help but note. There was a bit of "fuzz" to the sound, meaning that the execution was slightly less than perfect. I wanted to scowl, but held my face impass
ive regardless. So the Imperials could out-drill us, I reminded myself. That was their specialty, after all. But they couldn't even begin to match what was coming next…

  "Special detail!" Heinrich ordered. "Ad—vance!"

  As if by magic, our hand-picked group of twenty fencible Rabbits—fifteen marines and five able spacers—stepped forward two rigid paces.

  "Detail… Present arms!"

  Like machines, the hard-faced marine-bunnies went through the most elegant, florid drill in the manual. In a series of carefully choreographed yet distinct motions the Rabbits raised their blaster-rifles from the deck, spun them a turn and a half a turn each way, then held them at port-arms for inspection. Meanwhile, in elegant counterpoint, the unarmed sailor-bunnies saluted by hand. It was beautiful to behold, and the crashing and slapping noises were sharp and perfectly synchronized this time. Though of course this was far easier to accomplish with twenty participants than a hundred and fifty, so that in a sense we were cheating. My chest swelling with pride, I stole a glance at the Imperial officers.

  To a man, they were staring in slackjawed shock. Indeed, those whose complexions were revealing of such things were turning white. All except for Sir Jason, that was. He stood stoic and calm as a statue. The corners of my mouth twitched upwards a bit, though not so much that I thought anyone could tell. Well, I told myself. You wanted to make an impression, and it certainly seems that you've succeeded.

  There was a long, long moment of silence before Sir Jason returned the salute. "Two!" Heinrich roared, and the special detachment stepped back into place. I wasn't sure if a human could tell or not, but it was obvious to me that the fencibles were fully aware of the sensation they'd just created and feeling very, very proud as a result. I made a mental note to commend them individually in writing later.

  "Well," Sir Jason declared after another awkward moment of silence. "That was… Impressive!"

  I let my potential smile become real. "Thank you, Captain," I replied formally. "We're very proud of our Rabbit servicemen."

  "I'd never have…" Sir Jason's executive officer Hans spluttered. "I mean, it's…"

  My smile widened. The Imperials—Sir Jason excepted—were clearly enraged as much as astounded. And well they should've been, from their own of view. While Royalist culture was—to my way of thinking, at least—absurdly status-conscious, the Imperials not only took the trait to the nth degree but also folded in a militaristic bent that was downright toxic. In the Royal world an inventor or poet or businessman could achieve at least a degree of social success and regard despite humble birth. Service in the army or navy was considered to be honorable, but nothing terribly special. By contrast, the Empire was all about bloodline and service-rank and not much of anything else. For them to see mere Rabbits elevated to the dizzying heights of being privileged to bear arms, well… When it was just myself, they were able to sort of label me a special case in their minds. Forced to confront the reality of my unquestionable personal competence as an officer, they sort of dealt with me as a one-off—in essence a fellow human cursed with fur and a tail. Certainly, I couldn't be like those other Rabbits. As a singular exception, in other words, I wasn't much of a threat to their world-view. Line up twenty well-drilled Rabbits in front of them, however, and suddenly the universe took on a sinister new aspect. One they didn't care for at all! By their mere acceptance of me as a competent fellow officer, something that my credentials rendered absolutely unquestionable to any thinking being, in theory at least they had to accept the horrifying possibility that other Rabbits might be capable warriors as well. But the theory had never been anything but dry intellectualization; it was something they'd carefully conspired together to not think about without having to so much as utter a single word on the subject. Now, however, I'd rubbed their noses in the reality of the matter and the comforting conspiracy was no more. If all Rabbits could be warriors, then… My smile widened as I watched my guests' heads spin on and on and on, their rational minds and irrational prejudices duking it out before my very eyes. The sight was…

  Rewarding, I decided. Damned rewarding! Especially after such a long, hard struggle.

  "Well!" I said to Captain Tallsdale, still smiling wide. "My chefs don't have anything nearly as wonderful as Imperial lobsters to serve as raw material, but they've done their best." I wriggled my nose theatrically. "Our wardroom smelled divine when I was last there. Shall I lead the way?"

  ******

  The dinner itself could best be described as "interesting". We went all-out to match the Emperor's-own-table-grade lobsters. Not being human myself I could never know whether we succeeded or not, but it was clear from the long silences broken only by the clicking of cutlery that we'd at least run them a respectable race. I pulled out all the stops, including asking Jean—who was a noted gourmand—to help with the menu and maybe even raid his own private larder in the common interest. The result was predictably French in tone; heavy on the truffles and cheese-sauces. This in turn meant that I could share even less than usual with my fellow diners. It might have been awkward had I not set a precedent aboard Will of the People. Once again a liveried and black-dyed Nestor served me simple hay and lightly-boiled greens, so as to preserve the integrity of his cover-story.

  Eventually, just as we were finishing dessert, it was the Will of the People's first officer who broke the silence. "I must say," he declared as he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, "that I feel a bit of a fool." He shook his head and gestured around him. "This ship," he explained, "has presented the Empire with more nasty surprises than any other single vessel in all the history of our long wars." Then he turned to me. "And you, Captain Birkenhead, have similarly, ah…" He smiled. "How shall I say it? You've been a most worthy foe, sir." He shook his head again. "And yet, somehow I never foresaw that when I came to confront the both of you together on your home turf that you'd find a way to shock me to the core."

  I smiled. "We've hardly kept the existence of the fencibles a secret. Or for that matter the role of the Rabbits and Dogs in them. As a matter of fact, I seem to recall spending rather a lot of my time actively publicizing the whole affair."

  The Imperial's chief engineer nodded. "Oh, we knew all right! Just as we knew that Richard was a fencible ship, and that many of your garrison at Zombie were slaves. But…" His head shook. "I… I mean—"

  "You mean," Sir Jason interrupted his engine room chief, "Does the Royal Navy seriously intend to arm Rabbits and other slaves on a large scale?" He pointed at me. "And there the answer sits, of course. Absolutely, they're serious! It'd take a blind man not to see what's coming—the fire-lily on Captain Birkenhead's tunic—not to mention his personal relationship with His Highness!—says it all."

  Jean nodded. "Marcus Rabbits are the freest in all human space, and have been for several generations. Indeed, they're as free as Royal laws allow, to the point that in many ways their slavehood is more a technicality than anything else." He turned to Hans, the Imperial first officer. "I've known David since we were both boys, sir. He tutored me in math at the Academy—I still owe him enormously for that. Through him I've learned what Rabbits can accomplish and become when given the chance. In my role as a future House Lord in my own right, I've studied the Marcus experiment in the academic sense as well." He shook his head. "My heavens, what an efficient economy they have compared to ours! Compared to anyone's! And their attitude towards Rabbits is, I think, a large part of why." He sat his cup down on the table and seemed to come to a decision. "When I ascend to my Dukedom, Vorsage's Rabbits will similarly be freed as much as the law allows. It may happen even before then—Father isn't totally opposed to the idea himself." He smiled. "I don't mind if the Emperor knows that."

  Sir Jason's eyebrows rose, and there was another long silence as everyone was served after-dinner cocktails. It was the usually closed-mouth Heinrich who eventually spoke up.

  "I was born in the Empire," he said in the slow deliberate manner he'd adopted as an adult. "My father defected, you se
e." He met Sir Jason's eyes. "So I feel that I know your culture and society better than most." He shook his head. "Sir, perhaps I'm speaking out of turn here. Maybe even being a bit impolite, as up until now we've managed to dine together as fellow officers while leaving politics and hard feelings aside. But I'd be doing you and perhaps all humanity a disservice if I didn't speak up here and now." He paused and looked down into his drink a moment before continuing. "Jean and David and I are all Academy classmates. His Majesty as well, for that matter. We remain to date the only class to ever graduate a Rabbit, and we consider it our honor. In part because of this, Jean and I have devoted large parts of our careers to the fencibles. More specifically, we've specialized in training Rabbits and Dogs and beginning the long, difficult process of incorporating them into the navy."

  Heinrich paused again, and I took advantage of the moment to glance around the room. Our guests were hanging on his every word. "Well," he said eventually. "What I'm trying to say is that times are changing. Because Rabbits make superb sailors and marines, you see. Better than I ever dreamed! Yes, they suffer from certain limitations. But these are mostly reflections of the role they've been forced to accept in society. Their educations are limited, sometimes even pitiful. Many lack a sense of initiative as well. Almost none have any personal ambition. Yet, considering what's been done to them…" He shook his head. "Only a handful will ever make good officers, and David here… He's a rare breed even among humans. My point, however, is that they're brave, effective fighters. Especially the ones raised under the Marcus system." He shrugged. "In a generation or two and given a little encouragement… All I can say is that if were in charge of warship design I'd already be enlarging the hay lockers."

  "Rabbits make up almost half the population of the known universe," Sir Jason pointed out.