by Phil Geusz
"It'd be humorous if it weren't at the same time so sad," James told me in private after Nestor gave his little presentation before the Royal Council, complete with worries and protestations of inadequacy. "I mean, here the little guy is suffering from precisely the same ground-in absence of self-confidence that he so earnestly seeks to cure in his fellows, and he can't even see it." He shook his head. "David, how can your kind ever forgive us?"
"We'll manage somehow," I replied to my brother. "Because we must." And now as Nestor sat brooding on my bunk, I realized that despite my own accomplishments and the immense responsibilities I'd borne, well… I was almost as plagued by self-doubt as Nestor was. Did it come from having been born a slave myself, I wondered? Or was something deeper involved, something laid down in the basic code of the Rabbit genome? Either way, I decided, it was a bunch of tommyrot nonsense and something to be gotten over as quickly as possible. If I was going to be a Prince of the Realm, then by heaven the least I could do was be a confident one!
"We'll reform the House of Lords," I promised my best friend. "And the entire governing structure of the kingdom. Not right away; it's a big undertaking and just now finishing off the Empire is all we can effectively manage. Then I smiled. "And I mean 'we', Nestor. You and I and James, with tons of staff support. It'll keep us busy in our old age."
Very slowly Nestor tilted his head to the left. Then he flashed one of his rarest expressions, a heartfelt smile. "You know what?" he answered. "When I hear that coming from you, I can almost believe it."
I smiled back. "Believe, Nestor. Because you're right. Everyone knows the system's an anachronistic throwback. It's just that they're afraid to monkey with it, for fear of what might go wrong." Then I reached out and patted him on the shoulder. "Someone's got to write up new rules for the game, Nestor. So why not a Rabbit?
"And more to the point… Why not you?"
7
As was so often the case on a deep space mission, our force didn't find its mission or for that matter its soul until we actually entered enemy space and began our work in earnest. I'd very carefully chosen Vargus Three as our first "customer". Its location was many Jumps away from any higher Imperial administrative center, which probably endowed the locals with a certain sense of independence. Besides, our best intelligence estimates claimed that the economy was an especially-nasty basket case. This dated back several years, to when the men of Richard and I had destroyed the mining center that supplied the most crucial metals for all of her many heavy industries. Apparently we'd done our jobs even better than we hoped, for the first renewed trickle of metals had just begun flowing in when our victory at Wilkes Prime and the subsequent Imperial retreat had in effect isolated them once more. All in all it must have been very frustrating to be an Imperial government official on Vargus Three, which was music to my ears.
On the night before our final Jump, I gathered my entire working staff together in Javelin's wardroom. This was a much larger group than I'd have liked, so large in fact that I still hadn't memorized everyone's name. This part of moving up the food chain was more distressing to me than perhaps it should've been. I was accustomed to making decisions about who to assign where based on personal contact and impressions, but had finally hit the point where I needed so many subordinates that I couldn't possibly select them all myself. Still, I at least knew the key individuals pretty well. Nestor was my Chief of Staff, of course, and I'd brought my old classmate Jean Le Vorsage along as well to sort of ride herd on all the Royal Governor candidates. There were forty-four of them, all of the bluest of blood and highest of social rank. Jean wasn't in the navy anymore—the provisional marine unit he'd commanded in the mountain stronghold of Wilkes Prime had taken seventy-five percent casualties, almost all cave-in fatalities, and the figure had been eighty percent among officers. He'd received a Sword for his efforts—as had Heinrich posthumously—and been promoted to commodore, whereupon his family decided that enough was enough. They pulled him back to his hereditary duties while he was still in one piece, so he was now assisting me solely in his role as a future House Lord. While in theory I didn't need that kind of support anymore in society, the reality was that both he and James had been raised to wield real power where I most emphatically had not. For this reason I leaned heavily on him for advice regarding how to interact with my fellow nobles; one day he so perfectly demonstrated in private how I should snub someone well-deserving of the dishonor that I shuddered at the very idea of being on the receiving end of such impressively regal disdain. No matter how long I was stuck with my prince's crown, I'd never be able to comport myself with the proper level of pomp and dignity. It was apparently something best absorbed with one's mother's milk.
So Jean was the Chief Courtier and High Chamberlain of my little traveling Court, and of course I had to drag all the rest along with me as well. I had footbunnies out the yingyang, several Royal Tailors still actively outfitting me with everything I might be called upon to wear from ermine-collared robes to simple undress uniforms… even my own personal group of aspiring Heralds. James had insisted on these, though I'd begged him not to subject either they or me to the indignity. After all, Heralds were selected from among the very brightest minds of their generation while they were still young and flexible. No society ever had enough of those to go around! Would-be Heralds spent months and years as apprentices learning the personalities and motivations of "their" monarchs, some of it under the influence of psychoactive drugs. "I don't need any Heralds!" I tried to explain to James. "After all, half of the point of this "prince" nonsense was to make it possible for Royal decisions to be made on the spot, in this case by me. All I am myself is sort of a supercharged version of a Herald, in other words. And Heralds don’t need their own Heralds! Besides, in case you've forgotten it just so happens that I'm a Rabbit. What human can possibly come to think like a Rabbit? And how much damage will be done when they try regardless?"
But His Majesty would have none of it. "All right," he conceded. "I'll see to it that the volunteers understand the risks—you're certainly right about that much. And maybe some of the rest as well. But…" He sighed. "David, it's not that you need Heralds so much as the kingdom needs to see that you have them. I'm trying to make you nearly co-equal with me in every way, you see, so that we can get twice as much work done and the Throne Room won't be such a chokepoint in government anymore. Even if you never send them anywhere to handle anything for you—and I'll bet you a dinner invitation that before long you'll be appointing more because they're so helpful!—I need for my subjects to see that you've got all the Royal perks and powers." He smiled. "That's why I'm also assigning you a Royal Cobbler, even though we both know you'll never wear anything on your feet except sandals ever again for the rest of your life."
I had to admit that he was right about the sandals; the first Command I issued my cobbler was to make up some formal-looking open-toed shoes suitable for me to confront the Emperor comfortably in. He did a pretty impressive job, too—the results were currently stashed somewhere not far from the ermine-collared robes. But the Heralds—I couldn't imagine them ever becoming useful enough to make up for all the trouble they were causing me. Due to their unique, privileged position they were permitted, even encouraged, to pummel me with an endless stream of questions both in person and in writing. Sometimes it felt like I spent half my working days merely informing them that no, I hadn't played hookey during my apprenticeship as a ship's engineer; Father had been much too demanding for that. Or that I didn't especially care for okra even though yes, most Rabbits loved the stuff to death whether it was stewed, boiled, made into a soup—whatever. They also had the right to look in on me via the holocameras in my quarters, night or day. Someday it'd fall to one of them to prepare my body for burial—you can't get much more personal than that! But at least someone had shown enough common sense to warn them never, ever to ask me about either gengineering or Frieda. That was nice in a way, but it also made me wonder. How much did they already kno
w? And how much more could they infer, being as intelligent as they were? It was nerve-wracking, sometimes.
Still, James was right after all. It was pleasant indeed to be able to turn to a Herald and say "Please go ask Lord Nestor to free me up half an hour this afternoon to see Jean about an issue with one of the Governors. You and he rearrange the schedule the way I'd choose, if you'd be so kind." It was even nicer to know to a high degree of probability that the young man would get it right as well. So, who knew? Maybe it'd end up being worth the effort after all?
There were some other nice things about having such a large staff along, too. Captains and commodores are empowered to fill empty posts; admirals and Princes of the Realm can create empty posts. While I didn't abuse the privilege too awfully, I did ensure that a certain ex-midshipman I'd grown fond of on the Wilkes Prime mission—and who'd survived a terrible rockfall only by being thrown into a Tank within seconds after being crushed beyond recognition—received a berth aboard Javelin along with a well-earned promotion. Lieutenant Kevin O'Toole had been offered the choice of either a plum assignment in Javelin's gunnery department or else the opportunity to supervise all logistics-related matters involving my own personal staff. The latter job implied that I meant to keep him with me in some capacity or another once the current mission was over, and I was quite pleased when he accepted what on the face of things might've seemed the lesser offer. Though I was a workaholic, James and others had persuaded me over the years that I needed a little rest and recreation as much as the next officer. So, several nights a week all the ex-members of the Academy Wargaming Team currently aboard Javelin—including Kevin—met and played this or that for a few hours in my private suite. I hadn't had the chance to game so much in years, and found it both restorative and mind-sharpening after being away for so long. It was particularly nice during our first weeks out to watch my fellow gamers try and fail to cope with the Yan brothers at a poker table—some things never changed, it seemed, even as our temples began to grow a bit gray.
Oh, didn't I mention that the Yans were aboard? They were "trade specialists", representing the kingdom's mercantile interests. This was more easily accomplished than it might at first seem, given that their father was growing wealthier by leaps and bounds these days and was seen as a sort of de facto leader by the merchant class. He knew their true role, of course, and was intensely proud of them both—I'd made it a special point once to look him up and very privately thank both him and his lovely wife in the name of the kingdom for sparing us the services of their two exquisitely-gifted sons. While I didn't have any idea if they'd be called upon to perform their real function at any point, well… I felt a lot better having them along, and James didn't have any other skulking of great importance that needed to be done right at the moment anyway. So for the moment they were mine.
At any rate, my staff was overly large and perhaps even excessive by some standards—certainly I'd have left three-fourths of them or more at home had I felt there was any real likelihood of serious combat. As things were, however… Except for the way the Herald-trainees weirded me out sometimes and the prima-donna attitudes of some of the soon-to-be Royal Governors, well…
I felt more than merely lucky. I was downright blessed!
"Gentlemen!" I summed up, raising my voice slightly for attention from my seat at the head of the table. "I think we've covered everything of substance. Tomorrow we're going to ah… 'Make the enemy an offer he can't refuse,' as milord Nestor put it so succinctly." My friend's ear-linings darkened—he'd always had a knack for coining phrases. "We've got all the details hammered out. Any questions?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," a diplomatic expert replied. "I still think you should make the proposal in person. It'd go over better with the general populace. According to our best information, well…" He lowered his eyes. "You're a rather popular figure even here. Especially in certain circles."
I smiled back, but my—thank heavens!—one and only protocol expert shook his head firmly. "It's not the place of Royalty to address anyone way out here as an equal, as simply must be implied if His Majesty were to open negotiations himself." He shook his head again. "It's absolutely unthinkable! After they surrender, then perhaps he might—or might not—deign to allow the local authorities to present themselves."
"That's the proper course to set!" Jean agreed, and that was that.
"Anything else?" I asked after another long silence had set in. I turned to the Yans and smiled. "Would you two like to have a high-priority shipping analysis worked up so that you can calculate your trade figures as early as possible?"
Yan Ho's face remained impassive as he replied for them both. "No, Your Majesty. We can wait our turn like everyone else. We have nothing on our plate that requires any special handling at this time."
"Excellent!" I replied, and as I stood everyone in the room rose with me. They'd remain standing, I knew, until they were certain that I was gone. No matter how long I was a Prince, I suspected, I'd never get used to that sort of thing. At least I could still let my hare down among the other free Rabbits back on my fiefdom—we'd been very careful not to teach them a lick of this sort of protocol nonsense. "Then I wish each and every one of you a good night. Tomorrow, with any luck, we'll bring an entire planet back into the kingdom without spilling a drop of blood."
8
Well, it didn't work out to be entirely bloodless, though we certainly tried our best to make it so. One of the local Imperial revenue cutters must've been commanded by a true fanatic, because when Javelin led the way into Vargus space the damn fool tried to attack even though he found himself suddenly under our guns at point-blank range. "You bloody idiot!" Captain Blaine personally shouted into the intership circuit after receiving two nearly harmless popgun salvoes while withholding his response. "Can't you see that my beacon is showing a white flag? I'm here to parley, not fight!"
"Long live the Emperor!" was the only reply, so my old friend was forced to vaporize the fool and his crew with a single broadside. It wasn't either the reception I'd hoped for nor the first impression I'd wished to convey, but what was one to do when confronted with sheer lunacy? Blaine behaved exactly as I would've in his shoes, and eventually I so endorsed his report on the incident.
But that was later, of course. Much, much later. The orbital batteries accepted our flag of truce, so at least we were spared the much bloodier task of silencing them. They also accepted the white flags of the dozens of smaller warships and then over a hundred merchantmen that followed us as well, with what must've been steadily widening eyes. My Third Fleet was more an interstellar trading caravan than fighting force, and I made sure that the eight heavy ore-haulers I'd designated specifically for this world remained tantalizingly near the front of the formation, where they couldn't help but be noticed.
"Greetings, people of Vargus Three," Jean declared from his special seat next to that of Captain Blaine. "This is Jean le Vorsage, Heir to the House of Vorsage and Royal Chamberlain to the Court of Prince David. I bear a message from His Majesty for your planetary leader, whoever that might be."
The transmission was acknowledged, but then there was a long, long pause. Finally a thin, elderly voice replied. "This is Lord Sebastian Vargus," it answered. "I know your father, young Jean, and hope that he's well. Under different circumstances we might've become good friends. But please, explain to me again to whose Court you are Chamberlain?"
"To Prince David Birkenhead, Prince of the Realm and adopted brother of His Majesty King James." There was a long pause. "Apparently you haven't received much news lately, my Lord?"
"Neither news nor much of anything else of value," the tired old man replied. "Please forward my respects to your newly-crowned Prince; it's rather a surprise but on second thought perhaps it was inevitable. As is much else."
Jean frowned. "Prince David is present, aboard Javelin. In his mercy, he would offer you a proposition. Will you hear it?"
There was another long silence. "My workshops are silent.
My serfs starve, and my once-docile Rabbits run amok and won't listen to reason. The Emperor's navy is far away while that of His Majesty sits on my doorstep. What sort of fool would I be, not to at least listen to propositions?"
