by Phil Geusz
“Captain Sir Leslie Blaine! David Birkenhead! Front and center!”
Suddenly I felt all small and scared and even a little sick—being a Rabbit I wasn’t supposed to have to go up front and get medals and stuff. Plus the crowd was murmuring now, and not entirely in a happy way. They knew that Rabbits weren’t supposed to get medals, too! For a moment, I froze and just sat there with my mouth hanging open. Then James kicked me under the table hard enough to hurt. “Ow!” I complained, glaring at him. But that was enough to break the spell. I looked next at Lord Robert, who solemnly nodded and waved me forward.
The thirty or so feet to where Captain Blaine was standing were perhaps the longest and hardest I’d ever traveled—certainly they were worse than when I’d clomped roughly the same distance down Sword’s hull on charred feet. When I arrived next to Sir Leslie he clearly hadn’t decided yet on what he should do. The man liked me well enough by now, and had even called me brave and capable to my face. But... I was still a Rabbit, and there was all that nasty murmuring going on! Finally he came to a decision, smiled, and fozzled my ears. But when the murmuring grew worse, he yanked the hand away.
The governor missed none of the interplay, but apparently chose to ignore it. Instead he turned first towards Sir Leslie. “A captain,” he began, “is always responsible for what happens aboard his command. It is right and proper that he be held accountable when things go badly. Thus it is equally right and proper that he should be rewarded unstintingly when things go well.”
This time the governor went on and on and on, detailing Captain Blaine’s actions in the battle. Some of it I’d never heard before, like how when Percy had gotten bogged down in Sword’s hull Sir Leslie had personally led a small group of spacers he’d held in reserve for just such an emergency into a flanking attack. I’d already suspected that, silly and ineffectual as he was in certain ways, my former commanding officer was no coward. Until it came to standing up against disapproving murmurs, that was…
“...hereby recommend to his Royal Highness that Sir Leslie be elevated to Knight of the Most Honorable Order of the Garter,” the governor continued, “and be awarded the Staff of Hercules.”
My jaw dropped again, and so did Sir Leslie’s. James had told me long ago that I should expect Captain Blaine to be knighted— it was standard practice after victories against far lesser odds. But… The Staff of Hercules was a great distinction indeed! Only the Sword of—
“And now we’ve finally come to you,” the governor said, smiling down at me. “You’re very young, David. How old, exactly?”
“Th-th-thirteen,” I finally sputtered.
“Thirteen!” the governor repeated, smiling wide and looking about the now-silent room. “And a Rabbit.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just looked down at my toes.
“David Birkenhead,” the governor continued. “I’ve been forced against my will to accept that you’re a very extraordinary young Rabbit indeed. Unique among your kind, perhaps.” He sighed, then turned to the people sitting at the table. “Let’s be bold here, and cut to the chase. Everyone here knows—and soon everyone in the universe will know!—what David Birkenhead did during the Hummingbird-Sword action. Don’t we?”
There was a long, sullen silence.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” the governor replied. “Now… Is there anyone here who feels that a human crewperson who knowingly volunteered for the most dangerous of duties despite a lack of training and proper gear would deserve recognition? A human who suffered horrific, agonizing injuries in the course of performing said duties, and then not only willingly exposed himself to the risk of further pain, making victory possible in the process, but who also then despite his wounds went on to play a key part in the boarding action itself? Who here, I ask, dares to say they wouldn’t place a human who did the exact same things that this young Rabbit unquestionably did among the highest rank of heroes?”
Again, there was silence.
“Good,” the governor continued. “Then let no one who was unwilling to object to my face show David Birkenhead the slightest disrespect. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not twenty years from now. He’s done far more than his duty and served his sovereign with great honor. To snub him is to snub me.” Then he turned back to me and smiled again. “David,” he said softly. “You did well, son.”
I felt myself blushing, thought I was finally able to look up and meet his eyes. “Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you, son. For if you hadn’t stepped forward and done what practically no one would’ve thought possible, well…” He waved his hands, indicating the whole room. “All these crewmen would be dead. We wouldn’t have an Imperial cruiser complete with fully intact databanks to analyze. And, I can assure, no one in the entire kingdom would have much of anything to celebrate right about now.”
I gulped. “Yes, sir.”
He smiled again, then turned back to the others. “And that is why I must—must!—accept the recommendations of the Admiralty and petition His Royal Highness to award David Birkenhead the Sword of Orion.”
7
Over the next few weeks I was largely able to make myself forget about being awarded a Sword. It was something I didn’t like to think about, though I wasn’t sure quite why. Mr. Banes helped a lot by giving me so many standardized tests to take that for a while I thought I was going be the first Rabbit in the history of the universe to die of multiple choice. It was terrible—he gave me math tests, reading tests, history tests, IQ tests… Every single afternoon, by the time he was done with me my head was spinning like a carnival ride.
There were still some good times, though. My room was right next to James’s, and we often sat and played videogames or studied together. At long last, Mr. Banes sat us down after dinner and declared himself satisfied with our overall progress. “Your academic background is patchy,” he explained to me. “But given how far you’ve advanced in mathematics and allowing due credit for your engineering apprenticeship, well…. I can’t say I’m displeased. Far to the contrary, in fact, given the limitations of your background. Your overall results are far above your grade level. You owe your father an even larger debt of gratitude than you realize, son.”
All I could do was look down at the ground. Mr. Banes probably didn’t know it, but Dad had died saving my life as well as that of James. So I knew exactly what I owed him. Everything!
My tutor reached out and clapped me on the shoulder in satisfaction. “The papers you’ve done for me are promising as well. Overall, we’re very fortunate indeed.” Then he turned to James. “And you, of course, are as always at the top of your class. Though I suppose it helps that it’s a class of one.”
James smiled back—it was an old joke between them. I’d overheard Mr. Banes use the word “prodigy” to describe James more than once when he thought neither of us could overhear him. But he really shouldn’t have worried. My friend knew just exactly how smart he was—when someone’s that intelligent things can hardly be otherwise—and I wasn’t under any illusions about myself, either. Frieda and I had always been the smartest Rabbits in our school by a very long shot, yet I wasn’t anything even close to where James was. Except in math, of course—I was ahead of him there. But I’d had special help from Dad for as long as I could remember, so it didn’t really count.
“Therefore,” Mr. Banes continued, eyeing us both up and down. “I suppose it’d be all right if you put aside the books for a while and worked at strengthening your bodies.” He looked at me. “You’ve been terribly ill, David, and you’re still nowhere close to being as fit as you once were. We need to remedy that, and now’s as good a time as any.” Then he turned to James. “And you, young sir—” he sank an index finger into my friend’s belly—“are getting chubbier every year!”
James blushed—he truly was sort of fat, which was natural enough for someone who spent as much time reading as he did.
“It’s time for you both to get some exercise,” our tutor decla
red. “Fresh air, sunshine, all of that rot. We have thirty-four days before we up-ship for Earth Secundus, and I propose that we make the most of them.”
I felt my ears perk up at the idea of exercise and sunshine, but James wasn’t at all pleased by the prospect. “Aww!” he complained. “You’re not sending me to camp again, are you?”
Mr. Bane’s face hardened. “Your body is the sustainer of your mind,” he countered. “Neither can be truly healthy without the other. And besides…” His eyes narrowed. “Before you know it, it’ll be time for you fulfill your obligation and head off to the Academy.”
I blinked at that, and the tutor must’ve seen me. “Military service is one of the basic obligations of all male nobles, David,” he explained. “The House of Marcus traditionally serves in either the navy or the marines. Though milord was an army man, as befitted his generally contrary nature. It was something he never outgrew.” Mr. Banes smiled gently, and suddenly I appreciated that I was being educated by the same man as… Finally I just gulped and nodded.
“I guess,” James replied, though I could see that he was deeply unhappy. He’d told me many times that he wanted to be a philosopher or novelist or maybe even a journalist when he grew up. I hadn’t realized that these were unattainable dreams for him.
“It’s only five years,” Mr. Banes replied, smiling even though I could see he was hurting almost as badly as my friend was. “After that you can have your brother recall you to help run the fiefdom—heaven knows he’ll need you, what with him inheriting so young.” Then the tutor scowled and turned away, and I frowned too. It was an open secret that nothing had been heard from Benjamin Marcus or his mother since the day of the invasion. Either they were in deep hiding somewhere, or…
“Five years!” James whispered, as if it were a death sentence. Then he squared his soldiers and straightened his back. “All right, then. What must be, must be. I’ll do my best to start getting in shape for it.”
“That’s the right stuff!” our teacher replied, smiling and nodding. “Besides, I think you’ll like this camp. It’s way up in the New Alps!”
8
Mountains were definitely pretty, it didn’t take me long to decide. But they were also cold even in summer, and terribly difficult to tramp up and down. Which was pretty much all we seemed to do most days over and over again, the routine interrupted only by impromptu geology lectures and long scrambles in pursuit of local wildlife.
It wasn’t so bad at first. Mrs. Pruett, who Mr. Banes had left in charge of us, wasn’t by nature a cruel woman. She lived at Camp Zurich year-round, instructing kids like us in skiing and sledding and even mountain climbing. You can’t do something like that for a living without genuinely liking children, at least deep down. And at first she was really nice to us. We swam in the heated pool and walked endlessly around a nice, level track. But soon…
It was a lot harder on James than it was on me. We Rabbits were gengineered for hard labor, which when you think about it describes hiking in the mountains pretty well. Yes, I was soft and weak from my time in the Tank. But my leg-muscles bulked up noticeably every day, and I never did have any problems with the thin air. But poor James was another story entirely. He gasped and wheezed endlessly, so much that even Mrs. Pruett looked worried sometimes. Nor did his body adapt nearly so quickly—it took his legs at least a week to manage as much firming-up as mine accomplished overnight. It was sort of eye-opening, really; I’d never imagined that humans were so fragile and helpless. More than once my friend broke down and seemed right on the edge of giving it all up. Then, his face a rictus of determination, he’d clamber back up onto his trembling legs and stagger on, while Mrs. Pruett nodded in approval.
At night when he thought no one could hear, he sometimes cried.
Still, we both survived. And when on the last day we hiked up the Krestenberg and James planted his fire-lily flag on top, well… He was proud indeed. “I…. I….” he declared, huffing and puffing. “I promise… Never to let… Myself get so soft again.”
I nodded and smiled, not even seriously fatigued but trying not to let it show. “You’re very determined, James.” I observed.
He smiled back, the little droplets of sweat on his face glittering in the sun. “Pig-brained stubborn’s more like it,” he replied. “Runs in the family.” Then he shook his head. “But all in all, I’d rather be gengineered.”
The next evening Mr. Banes loaded us onto the Cherry Blossom, one of the quickest and most luxurious liners in space. Lord Robert had, I was shocked to discover, reserved an entire quarter-deck of first-class staterooms for his entourage. So James and I got a room of our own. It must’ve been horrendously expensive, but when I sort of hinted at the subject Mr. Banes peered down at me over his glasses and pointed out that operating Broad Arrow hadn’t exactly been cheap, either. I’d never thought about it that way before, but still… I wasn’t exactly accustomed to studying at a mahogany desk made on Old Earth, or eating with golden utensils. And it weirded me out a little when Rabbits kept appearing all the time asking us if we needed anything. I made up for it by sneaking out now and then to explore the ship. I wandered her from stem to stern—no one ever questions a busy-looking young Rabbit wearing slave-shorts who looks like he knows what he’s about—and got to know quite a few of my fellow lapines along the way. Most of them were nice to me, especially an elderly doe named Flora. She was assigned to clean our cabin sometimes, and I made it a special point to thank her for taking such good care of us one day when I ran into her while off exploring. The old Rabbit’s face absolutely lit up when I did that, then she hugged me like I was her own kit and explained how all the ship’s Rabbits were so proud of me being free and a hero and all that. I thought we’d were well-taken-care-of already, but after that little incident James and I got even better service than Lord Robert did!
Mr. Banes probably knew I that was sneaking out and visiting with the other Rabbits—it was pretty much impossible to hide something like that even on the largest of liners. I was breaking at least one of his rules along the way, too. After a long, earnest discussion regarding how uncomfortable human-style clothing was for me, we’d agreed that until something more tolerable could be worked out I was allowed to wear shorts in our private block of staterooms. Outside of that area, however, I was always to grit my teeth and put on full dress. But Mr. Banes never said a word about my rule-breaking. I was glad, because it was amazing how much better I always felt after talking to a Rabbit or two on equal terms. When I told James about it, he just grinned and said he wasn’t surprised in the least to find out that I “needed to let my hare down” sometimes.
Overall the trip wasn’t an unpleasant one, nor was it particularly long by interstellar standards. A hundred and twelve days was just long enough for me to write six or seven papers on history and science to Mr. Banes’s exacting standards. He also arranged for the Cherry Blossom’s third engineer, Jiro Asahi, to help me along with my math. At first Jiro was obviously angry—even I could see that he was reluctantly following orders after strings far above his head were pulled. So I tried to be extra-nice and smiled a lot. And maybe it also helped that when he saw how far along I already was he realized that something useful might come of his efforts after all. By the final week of the voyage we were drinking tea together at all hours in the Blossom’s engine room, and I was a junior watchstander in all but name. I had to be careful, however, to show up only when Jiro was in charge. The other engineers chased me out with curses and shouts when I tried to help them. On our last day together Jiro administered my final academic examination, and I couldn’t believe I actually passed! Because he was a certified journeyman, it was official and everything! Dad wouldn’t have called me even half-ready yet, I knew. Besides, I still couldn’t legally be certified as a journeyman because I was too young and didn’t have enough watch-hours logged yet. But the academic test was the hard part—everyone knew that! It was too bad that Jiro had to make me promise not to tell anyone—he was afrai
d that if anyone ever found out he’d be run out of the Guild. Even so… At least my tutor knew, and through him my record was officially updated. That was what was really important. Mr. Banes somberly shook my hand and told me how impressed he was, while Lord Robert (who Mr. Banes must’ve informed) presented me with a gold pen that’d once belonged to his grandfather.
That made me cry a little. I hoped that somewhere, wherever he was, Dad was proud too.
9
Earth Secundus was a Garden of Eden by any standard one cared to apply. Practically the entire planet had a mild, pleasant climate, and there was no ice anywhere except near the poles, where the mountains were just high enough to make for perfect ski runs. Even better, there’d been a native ecology similar enough to Earth’s in chemical terms that the soil and stuff was rich and fertile and perfect to plant ornamental gardens in. Best of all, Secundus’s native plants and animals were all so primitive that even the most delicate and overbred of Earth flowers pushed them aside with ease. It was difficult to conceive of a planet more perfect for colonization, and thus it was no surprise that the monarch had snapped it up for himself back when the Kingdom of Man was first reaching for the stars. There weren’t even any insects on Earth Secundus, except for the beneficial ones. Secundus had never evolved anything so advanced as an earthworm, while we’d been very careful indeed to leave the mosquitoes and such back on humanity’s world of birth.
While Secundus was a king’s world, the noble families were all allowed small holdings there. The House of Marcus maintained the most significant. It extended across the heart of the largest continent, New Africa. This choicest of all land had been awarded to our House, James informed me, after a brief civil war two hundred years back over the Royal succession. “We Marcuses aren’t as loyal as people sometimes think,” he explained. “But we are amazingly good at picking the winning side.”
