Captain, page 7
I clenched my fists, feeling totally powerless. "What would we do if they did?" I demanded. "The House, I mean?"
"I haven't even begun to think that through," he replied. Then he began to pace slowly. "And of course it'd be James's decision, ultimately."
I closed my eyes and sighed. "But what would you advise?"
"As I said, David. I'd have to think it through. However, there's obviously only two approaches. Well, three really. But the last one isn't a viable option, so I'll toss it aside up front." He crossed his arms behind his back, which somehow made his Lordly robes appear even more dignified. "The first is to accept the inevitable and cut the best deal we can. I mean, it's clear now that we're unlikely to ever get enough votes to crown James. So we could accept the cousin with a smile and play the long game as is our tradition. I can tell you right now that this is what Wilkes and Hashimoto will expect of us. Indeed, they'd see anything else as utter madness." He smiled, though the expression didn't reach his eyes. "And what a fine deal we could make, I assure you! If we play ball there'll be trade concessions, cash payments, desirable slots in the government... James would very likely even emerge as foremost amongst the House-Lords, like his father before him. After all, once we acquiesced on the key issue there'd be little left to squabble about. All the interests of the Houses would be aligned once more, and it'd be back to business as usual."
"Their interests would be aligned upon fattening themselves and fiddling while Rome burns!" I countered. "The Imperials will win for sure if we do that!"
"Eventually," my uncle agreed with a pleasant nod. "In a few decades, at the rate they're going. By that time the sitting emperor will be dead. Who knows—perhaps his son might be easier to get along with? And even if we succumbed… We'd hold no more real power—none of the Houses would. But so long as we cooperated, based on what we've seen, we'd be allowed to maintain the wealth and trappings in exchange for serving as regional administrators. His Imperial Majesty has taken a few heads, yes. But only from those House-Lords who were foolish enough to believe they still had the right to think for themselves. James is smart enough to know better—he'd be fine, and one may safely assume his son probably would be as well."
My lips curled in disgust. "And the second choice?"
His smile vanished. "Fight," he replied. "Crown James in an independent ceremony and declare him the One True Monarch despite lacking enough votes to make it stick. There'd be an immediate civil war, naturally—the other Houses could never accept such a mortal insult without resorting to war." He turned to me again. "Our partner-Houses would stand with us, I think. If they did, then… We'd do well, I suspect. In theory the Wilkes-Hashimoto faction isn't far short of a match for us—indeed, they probably imagine that they're the stronger. But they're not, because we'd be unified and decisive while they're the same old stick-in-the-mud curmudgeons that keep preventing us from defeating what should be an overmatched Empire."
"And what about the Empire?" I asked. "What might they do if a civil war breaks out?"
"Normally they'd wait until the right moment and come flooding in to clean up the exhausted remnants. But just now they're exhausted themselves. It'd take them at least two or three years to put together a new offensive worthy of the name." His brow furrowed. "It's just possible that we could defeat the Wilkes-Hashimoto faction before the Empire can intervene in any more than a symbolic way. If we fought hard and dirty, that is. We're the real military heart of the kingdom. In some ways we'd actually be stronger without our brother Houses' continual interfering nonsense." He looked at me. "Plus we'd have some truly effective leaders on our side. I doubt they'd be able to say the same."
I gulped, then changed the subject. "You said there was a third option? Which you rejected out of hand?"
He smiled. "Break away ourselves and ally ourselves with the Empire," he replied. "But we'd never even consider that."
"Of course not," I replied. "That'd be unthinkable." Just like ignoring His Highness's final will and testament in the first place would be unthinkable, I didn't add aloud.
16
I was supposed to dine with Professor Li of the Academy that evening, but the poor man fell down his back stairs late in the afternoon and had to cancel. This was especially ironic, given that he was the Academy's ballroom dancing master. "I'm terribly sorry!" he repeated over and over again from the emergency room where his fractured ankle was being treated. "I was so looking forward to seeing you again!"
This made me smile—he certainly hadn't appreciated my company very much back when I was a snotty with two oversized left feet. Yet I had to give the man credit for trying to put things right. "Of course!" I answered. "We'll reschedule another time. I hope you heal up both quickly and well!"
That left me with one of the rarest of all gifts; free time that I didn't have to feel guilty about. It felt so wonderful that Nestor and I decided to remain in our city rooms instead of heading home, so as not to waste any of it. And it was wonderful! Instead of being forced to eat overly rich human-style food and listen to someone complain about trivialities, as was usually the case with professorial dinners, Nestor and I sat around in the living room munching hay and raw veggies, each of us with a reader plopped in our laps. How much better could it get? I was just losing myself in the rosy glow of a particularly nasty third-order Field equation exercise when Nestor finally broke the silence.
"So," he asked. "About when do you expect all hell to break loose?"
I winced, though I didn't let my friend see it. In truth, politics was what I least wanted to think about just then. Yet Nestor had a right to know. He was as thoroughly invested in the ongoing struggle as I was, and carried all the same clearances. Besides, he was my friend. So I owed him my truthful opinion on the matter. "At any of several potential flashpoints," I answered. "His Majesty has already hung on far longer than expected. His death, for example, could precipitate a crisis at any moment."
Nestor nodded and put his reader down. "Because then the Final Testament will either be read or suppressed," he agreed. "And there must be an immediate successor."
"Exactly," I agreed. "Another danger-point would be if a peace-vote were mooted in the House of Lords." My hands formed little half-fists. "We'd lose that one, if it were held tomorrow. Suing for peace requires only a simple majority. The main reason it hasn't happened yet is because our opponents understand how deeply we Marcuses feel about the matter, and aren't willing to provoke us while so much else is at stake." I looked Nestor directly in the eyes. "Uncle Robert has business all locked up until James arrives anyway. My guess is that they'll push the peace proposal within a week or two after he gets here, though. After enough time has passed for him to settle in and then for them to realize we're still not yielding them an inch on anything."
"We're not?" Nestor asked, his ears pricking. "Or we won't, I mean?"
"Not if I know James," I answered with a sigh. "Or for that matter Uncle Robert." I told him about the conversation my uncle and I had earlier in the day, in which he'd laid out our House's three viable alternatives. "You should've seen his face while he was considering the implications of backing down and accepting a royal cousin on the throne." I shook my head. "No. It just won't happen. Hashimoto and Wilkes are misreading us; they're perceiving the situation through their own lenses, and don't have enough imagination to appreciate how different our viewpoint has become. There's no way Uncle Robert's going to kowtow—he'd resign in protest first. It's even worse than a Regency." I shook my head again. "Not that he'll have to—James won't accept such an outcome either. It's not just about him, you see. If it was, he'd bow out to save the bloodshed—he'd probably even feel a little relieved at ducking the burden of the Crown, deep down inside. But he understands that it's about the future. Everyone's future!"
Nestor met my gaze calmly. "You don't seem to think much of going down the reconciliation path either," he observed.
"Not on the Wilkes-Hashimoto terms, I don't." I sighed and leaned back in my chair—suddenly my head was pounding. "I mean… It's not just about me, either. Sure, if James is crowned it's good for you and I; there's no point in even trying to deny the fact. But it's better for everyone else, as well. His Majesty had a vision, you see, one that James and Uncle Robert share. A vision of a better future for us all. That future includes things like doing whatever it takes to defeat the Imperials once and for all, so that all men can live without fear. Of eroding, if not downright terminating, the special privileges of the nobility. And freeing the slave-species as well." I sighed and lowered my ears. "My friend, our kind makes up almost half the sentient population of the universe. Yet all but a tiny handful of us are slaves! Owned! Bought and sold, kept ignorant and submissive and laboring our precious lives away in order to serve the needs and interests of others! It's easy to forget just how awful that fact is; even we forget sometimes! Our stolen lives are the end result of the most evil and morally corrosive practice in the entire universe; the institution's only credible rival for sheer blackheartedness is the Empire. James is dead-set in opposition to both of these abominations to everything that's just, and as far as I can see crowning him is the only real hope of doing anything meaningful towards ending either of them."
Nestor nodded. "David… A lot of good people are liable to die if there isn't some sort of compromise. Rather horribly, many of them."
"A lot of good people are liable to die if we do compromise!" I countered. "At least on anything even faintly resembling the terms offered. Probably even more of them, though over a much longer period of time. And we'll be just as much to blame for the one as the other, though most people won't see it that way. Because the choice to fight or not for what's right belongs solely to us, this time around. There won't be any frightened old men terrified of change holding us back at the best point of decision."
Nestor nodded slowly. "So… You're saying our hands can't be clean, no matter what."
I shook my head. "Sadly, no. I fear that's the dilemma of holding power in a universe peopled by beings capable of war. Even the mere threat of violence skews all moral rationality so badly out of true that there aren't any good answers anymore. Everything turns gray—there's never any pure white left to be found."
My friend turned away. "I'm very sorry that this is happening to you, David."
"It's the nature of power," I answered, though I wasn't very enthused and my voice showed it. "I told you recently that it was time for us to grow up and take our true places in the grand order of things. Dirty hands, at least in this sort of situation, are part of the cost. For it seems we Rabbits are pretty good at making war too. Therefore our souls can never be truly clean either. Once we cease being slaves and accept responsibility for ourselves, that is."
"So," Nestor said eventually, his voice very soft. "You think that we must fight? That's there's no other likely outcome?"
"We should fight," I answered, nodding. "And when James asks me for my opinion that's exactly what I'm going to tell him. As I suspect His Majesty would've advised him as well. Even more, I fully expect him to agree. It won't take him long at all to come to the decision." I turned away. "I'd welcome another outcome, Nestor. So long as it meant real progress towards the larger goals, that is. But I just can't see how any other course can take us to where we need to be."
Nestor's ears drooped. "I see. And for what it's worth, I'm with you all the way to the very end. But I hope you already knew that."
I smiled, then got up and walked all the way across the room to hug my friend in the long, slow Rabbit fashion common between close friends. "Of course," I replied. "I've never doubted you for a moment."
"Thank you," he replied as we wrapped our arms around each other. "For that, and many, many other things." Then, when we were finally finished he stepped back and looked me directly in the eye. "David?" he asked.
"Yes, Nestor?"
"Now that you've decided there's liable to be an insurrection and civil war, well… Shouldn't you and I be figuring out how to win it in the best, least-bloody way possible? Instead of just sitting around the living room reading books, I mean?"
17
Nestor was right, of course. I'd had my priorities wrong for some time now, and it was time to get them straight. My first step was to make another appointment with Admiral Panetta. One cannot win wars without warships, and warships are controlled by the men who command them. Men, in turn, were controlled by the Second Space Lord. Besides, I needed a small favor in the short term as well. "The last time we met," I said gently once we got down to business, "you told me that the navy didn't support a regency. You were very firm on the subject. And supportive, as well."
The admiral nodded. "Yes, David. We're absolutely opposed. Privately, of course—it's not the sort of thing that we can be open about."
I nodded back, choosing my words most carefully. It wasn't an easy thing, feeling out a superior officer regarding a proposed act of treason. "Because you feel that it'd impair the war effort," I continued.
He nodded again. "In theory, it's not our place as officers to make decisions about when and where to fight. On the other hand, it's us and our men who are doing the suffering and dying. And the army too, of course." His scowl intensified. "We're forced to fight with one hand tied behind our back. Then, just about the time we're about to make some genuine progress despite the handicaps, the House Lords shut us down and give the Imperials a chance to regroup and recover. His Majesty's interventions were criticized in some circles, but never by me. Or for that matter by the brighter, more effective officers. The real combat leaders, in other words." He paused and stared coldly into my eyes. "Surely you of all people can see this; I should hardly have to explain."
"In that case," I continued, my voice low and calm, "I suppose that you'd consider it an even less desirable outcome if Lord Juri Hashimoto were to be crowned? Or perhaps Lord Donald of the House of Wilkes?"
He paled noticeably. "No!" he gasped. "I mean…"
I looked down at his smooth, clean desktop. "There are those," I said carefully, "who suspect that this is exactly what's being attempted. Solid, responsible men. But we lack hard information." I reached into my breast pocket and removed two official navy forms, then slid them wordlessly across the desk. The less actually said out loud, the better.
The admiral picked up the paperwork and studied it carefully, then once more met my eyes. "You don't ask for much, do you?" he observed.
I shrugged. "Would you trust anyone else with this sort of business?"
"No," he replied. "That I wouldn't. I never told you this, mind you. But their career has, in its way, proven as extraordinary so far as your own. I'll never like them, but I've come to respect them tremendously." He pulled out a pen and signed the forms, then stamped them with his ring of office. Finally, he moved them to his out-basket for immediate action. "They happen to be on-world and immediately available, David. I expect they'll report to you sometime tomorrow."
I nodded back. "Thank you, sir."
He shook his head and sighed. "No, David. Please don't do that. Because the last time someone in my position made a decision even faintly resembling this one, well… He retired soon after, you see. Deep inside the Empire. As a wealthy nobleman with his own private planet."
"It's all a terrible mess," I agreed. "And a most regrettable one, as well. No one wants this to come to pass, I assure you. And yet, it's appearing more and more likely." Then I met his eyes one last time. "Sir?"
"Yes, David?" he replied.
"Just so you know, I fear that I'm going to be back for more special favors. I won't unless I absolutely have to. But… You might start thinking ahead and making your own plans. Because if I'm reading things correctly, your future decisions are going to be even more difficult than this one was."
18
Sure enough, the next day proved to be the bringer of many happy meetings. The first was the most unexpected, however. Nestor knocked softly at my door just as I was almost finished dressing. "Yes?"
"Sir," he said softly. "I know that you're booked up solid until noon, and, well… There's someone out here that I'd like you to meet."
"All right," I agreed, smiling in the privacy of my bedroom. This was certainly unusual, Nestor introducing someone to me instead of the other way around. Refreshing, almost. And probably good for his ego as well. Indeed, I was still smiling as I stepped out into the hall. "Yes?"
My aide was standing in the living room with a well dressed young man next to him. "Sir,"
Nestor continued, "This is Henry Lambert. Henry, Commander Birkenhead."
Henry was certainly an early-riser, I decided as I reached out to shake his hand, whoever he was. "Pleased to meet you," I said, looking up at him. "What brings you this way so early in the morning?"
He started to speak, but Nestor cut him off. "He's your ex-professor's son," my aide explained. "The one you think so highly of. And, he's really here to see me. But I thought you ought to meet him too."
I blinked, a bit confused. Then I turned back to Henry. "I admire your father enormously."
