Midshipman (3 page)

I blinked, then looked up at Mr. Banes.

“It’s a mere formality, David,” he explained. “According to ancient tradition, a captain
must
be court-martialed upon the loss of his ship. Even when he loses it most gloriously, under completely honorable circumstances.”

“As Captain Blaine unquestionably did,” the admiral added. “No one is in anything even remotely resembling trouble over
Hummingbird
’s final action, David. Least of all Blaine or yourself.” He smiled evilly. “Except possibly a certain Imperial cruiser captain I could name. But we’ll let him deal with his own service in good time.”

“The admiral is going to put you under oath, David,” Mr. Banes continued. “Which means that you’re obliged to be totally, completely honest. As the admiral said, you’re in no trouble. But… You
must
tell the truth, son. As fully and as completely as you can. On your honor.”

Captain Xiang mumbled something. I had no idea what it was, except it was about Rabbits and honor. But the admiral apparently heard it just fine. “Belay that!” he snapped, suddenly angry. “The Tribunal has ruled; you’ve no further standing to question it. The boy is free, and he’s quite thoroughly earned the right to swear an oath. So we’ll be hearing no more about the subject, Captain. Will we?”

Captain Xian’s face was pale and pinched, but he nodded sharply and the admiral let it go at that. Barton helped me into bed while the seals on the recorder were verified, and then Admiral Bennett was leaning over me.

“David Birkenhead,” he began. “Do you hereby swear…”

4

And that was pretty much all the interesting stuff that happened for the next few days. Though answering the admiral’s questions wasn’t hard, I had some really bad dreams about them. Sometimes I woke up screaming, trying to explain to the hard-eyed Captain Xian that no, I hadn’t known the healing foam was conductive when I attempted the second hookup, and that yes, it’d truly been my own idea to move sternwards down the
Sword’
s hull in order to head off a possible counterattack. He never believed anything I said no matter how hard I tried, and at first Admiral Bennett seemed pretty dubious as well. But my dreams were far worse than the reality had been. The captain screamed and called me a liar and held a blaster to my head until the muzzle grew so huge I feared it’d swallow me, while Admiral Bennett drifted slowly away in a cloud of vaporizing blood. Rather surprisingly it was old Patrick who did me the most good when I woke up screaming, telling me to hush and that everything was going to be all right and holding me close until I stopped shaking. He smelled a lot like Dad, and I guess that was part of it.

James had to quit coming by, though he continued to send daily notes. His security threat-rating had been raised, he explained, and it wasn’t as easy for him to move around anymore. I understood, of course, and when I wrote him back I encouraged him to be careful. One day Lord Robert dropped in unexpectedly to make sure that all was well. I didn’t think anything was wrong, but he scowled at my chart and soon a physical therapist was coming by every day to help me grow strong again. She was really nice and explained up front that she’d never worked with a Rabbit before. I liked her a lot, even when the things she did hurt me. Lord Robert also happened to be there when Patrick was finally released and his owner came to pick him up. I’d asked several times why the farmbunny had only been a given a new liver when he needed so much more, and my new patron wasn’t able to offer a good answer. There was a terrible argument out front when they met, and afterwards Lord Robert didn’t speak to anyone for half an hour. I decided it wouldn’t be nice to ask about the matter anymore after that, though I sure hoped old Pat would be all right.

Meanwhile, Barton grew easier and easier in my company.
Too
easy, in fact. One afternoon he disappeared for almost three hours, during which time I really could’ve used his help with a bathroom run. After thinking it over for a while, I reminded him that even though he was a slave someone had to pay for his food and stuff, and that he really ought to be grateful for good treatment. At first he got all snotty about it, then I reminded him that I’d been a slave myself for almost as long as him. After that he never brought the subject up again, nor did he vanish for long periods without asking first. But there was a new barrier between us. It hurt that we couldn’t simply be friends, and it hurt badly. What was so terribly wrong with the world, that we two young Rabbits couldn’t just be Rabbits? It got so bad that Barton’s mere presence made me feel guilty. Or perhaps more correctly, a little bit dirty inside. Things grew even worse when I learned that he was pocketing little items and trading them for liquor. I wanted, even
needed
to discipline him. For his own good, he needed to be disciplined. A thieving, alcoholic Rabbit is of no use to anyone, including himself. And yet… And yet…

It was a great relief when Mr. Banes came and took him away. By then I was mostly able to fend for myself anyway, so life became a lot simpler. I didn’t rat Barton out to his face, though maybe I should’ve. But after considerable soul-searching I wrote my tutor a note and let him know about the drinking and the thefts and how I wasn’t sure if I’d handled the situation properly. His reply was short and to the point. My tutor thought that I’d pretty much made the right choices all the way through, and it wasn’t my fault that things hadn’t gone well. In the same note he also gave my very first school assignment. I was, he explained, to write a paper of whatever length I chose explaining the differences from an ethical point of view between a slave and an employee as well as between an owner and an employer, and in said paper also to lay out and define the responsibilities and moral obligations of each party. Writing something like that really made my head hurt—Dad’s assignments were never anything like this!—and I was sure I must’ve gotten it all wrong because it came out that a master owed far more to a slave than he did to a voluntary employee, and that an employee owed far more in return than any slave. This
couldn’t
be right; it was all backwards! Yet no matter how long I scratched my head it kept coming out the same way. Mr. Banes gave me an “A” for my efforts, complete with a big bunny-eared and buck-toothed smiley-face drawn atop the grade. It was “well reasoned”, he claimed, and showed that I was “sensitive to my obligations to others”. The whole thing affected me pretty deeply; over and over again for many years I found myself looking back on the whole episode and thinking that somehow I’d failed to learn a very important lesson. It was only much later in life that I finally grasped Mr. Banes’s true intent, though perhaps it sank in at a subconscious level long before then. What my tutor wanted me to learn from the experience was that the higher a person climbs in life and the more power they accrue, the greater their obligations towards others become and the less personal freedom of action they enjoy. Life cannot in fact be lived any other way without becoming a mockery of itself.

If the individuals involved have any honor, that is. Or empathy.

5

I was terribly glad to leave the hospital when the Big Day finally came, even though I had to wear a coat and tie for the first time in my life. The garments were hideously uncomfortable, probably as much because I wasn’t used to them as the way they kept rubbing my fur the wrong way. While a few servant-buns wore formalwear such as tuxedos and gowns on the job, even they were glad to strip down to normal slave-gear when off duty. I’d never worn more than a pair of simple, cheaply-made shorts in my life until Dad had my apprentice-engineer’s coveralls made, while all the Rabbit-girls wore little bikini-thingies. While whoever made my new clothing clearly had experience in dressing lapines—the tail-hole, for example, was as comfortable as could reasonably be expected—I felt half-choked and overheated to boot. I could take it, I knew—anything the servants could tolerate I ought to be able to handle as well. But still… Mr. Banes seemed like a reasonable person. Maybe I could explain to him about fur and clothing, so that at least around the house I wouldn’t have to feel like I was dying all the time? Even if he didn’t, however, well… The fire-lily embroidered on my jacket pocket made it all seem worthwhile. For it, I’d put up with anything. It appeared only on the clothing of milord’s blood-relatives and closest, most trusted staff. Even Dad hadn’t worn one.

Rather to my surprise nobody I knew personally came to the hospital to pick me up. Instead, they just sent a limo. The driver was all smiles and extra-nice; he asked me what was mine (almost nothing) and what stayed (practically everything). Then he insisted on carrying my stuff for me! It was terribly embarrassing—I’d never had a human do that for me before, or at least not when I wasn’t in a Tank and therefore totally helpless. But before I was halfway down the hall I was glad for the assistance. My legs were ready to give out on me by then, and my back was cramped from the stress of holding me upright. I’d asked Mr. Banes for a little bit of money so that I could buy a thank-you present for the vet and his staff. He gave me more than I’d requested without so much as blinking, and I bought my caretakers an artificial flowering plant that grew and bloomed just like a real one but never needed care. Neatly tucked into the pot alongside it was a nice little card with a small-“r” rabbit’s picture on it. They were terribly embarrassed at the nurse’s station; the woman I gave it to stammered and blushed and wouldn’t look me in the eye. I wasn’t exactly their favorite patient, I knew—my mere presence as a non-enslaved Rabbit upset their routine and created all kinds of extra work for them, while Lord Robert’s interference must’ve been even worse. In return I’d tried to be nice to them and not to trouble anyone for anything I didn’t genuinely need.

I wished they’d liked me better.

When I was finally seated in the limo and we were rising into Nova Europa’s clean blue sky, the driver activated the intercom. “Sir,” he said softly. “There’s a message for you loaded on the screen. I’ve been instructed to ask you to view it.”

I nodded, then activated the panel. Sir Robert’s face appeared. “Good day, David,” he greeted me with a smile. “Congratulations on your escape from the clutches of the medical community!” Then, still smiling, he nodded slightly. “While nothing would’ve made me happier than to liberate you personally, I fear that urgent business has delayed both your tutor and myself. Indeed, the business is so important that we’re not going to be able to meet you at our townhouse either. So instead, we’re going to rendezvous somewhere else. I hope you don’t mind!” He smiled again. “Oh! And lest I forget James will be there too. So will Pedro and some of your other old friends. You’ll be able to eat dinner together, if you like, and share most of the evening.” His smile widened. “Some of it will be boring, I’m certain. But I expect you’ll mostly have a good time regardless.”

6

Nova Amsterdam was named for its numerous canals and waterways, as well as its prominence as an interstellar center of trade. Of course the canals served no economic function in a modern economy; they were just there for looks and so the townspeople could putter about town in brightly-painted gondolas when the weather was nice. But how the locals loved them! Everywhere I turned, once we grounded and were rolling along instead of flying, there were immaculate little waterways lined with perfectly-planned flower beds that seemed to be eternally in bloom. I’d never seen anything like it! Even back home on Marcus Prime where fire-lilies were held in such high esteem, you didn’t see half so many blossoms! And everywhere there were patient Rabbits to be seen, weeding and feeding and seeding and performing all the other stoop-labor that kept things so perfect for everyone. They smiled a lot, and I supposed there were worse lives to be lived than working the soil and making possible such incredible beauty. But still… For perhaps the first time in my life, I wondered if this was really how things should be.

As we worked our way downtown—Nova Amsterdam was a provincial capital as well as a trade center, so private personal air traffic was prohibited in the city core—I began to see that the residents loved other things besides waterways and canals. The planet was under direct Royal rule, and it showed. The closer we came to the Governor’s Palace, the more flags and patriotic banners I saw. “Down with the Imperial upstart!” read a slogan hung above a large tavern, while a hotel ran “God bless
Hummingbird
! Glory to the King!” in flashing letters over and over again above their main entrance. It was the war, I supposed. Humans took such things very seriously indeed, though Rabbits tended to only be at best vaguely aware of politics. I mean, we Marcus-Rabbits loved and supported milord with all of our hearts, but that was mostly because we knew that he actually, for-real cared about us and let us live better lives than anyone else did. Even Dad hadn’t been able to tell me much when I showed him a newspage headline predicting war and asked why the emperor was angry with our own monarch. “It’s better not to worry about such matters, son,” he’d replied with a smile. “War is like bad weather; it just happens. Instead of wasting time and effort on things you can’t control, you should work at mastering your trade.”

I didn’t like his answer very much at the time, but somehow I’d never worried much about the matter afterwards except when someone was actually shooting at me. And the Rabbits of other Lords were even less interested in politics than we Marcuses! I bet Lord Robert knew all about what the fighting was over, though! And James and Mr. Banes too, though if I asked the latter he’d probably make me write a bazillion-word report on the subject.

We kept driving on and on into older parts of town, until I began to wonder exactly where we’d end up. Lord Robert had mentioned a townhouse but by now all that I could see were government buildings, blocks and blocks of them stretching in every direction with only an odd tavern or lunchroom here and there to break the monotony. Nova Amsterdam was the administrative hub for dozens of planets. So it was natural that the government needed lots of space. But still… I was a little overawed at the sheer scale of it all.