Captain (15 page)

I wasn't really sure what to do next; if there was a protocol for such things nobody'd ever found the time to educate me. So I improvised by executing a formal salute with my Sword and holding the blade aloft until my muscles trembled with fatigue. The gesture felt right and proper, since His Highness was after all who'd given it to me along with so much more. Then finally I fear I did break down and sob for a time, and to hell with the ever-watchful cameras recording the ceremony for posterity. "Oh my king!" I wept. "Oh my beloved and wise king! How much I loved you!"

Then it was time to go, and I backed out of the chamber as reverently as I knew how. Martijn was there waiting for me; suddenly my knees buckled, and if he hadn't caught me I'd have collapsed all the way to the floor. "It's all right, David," he whispered. "I fear that it had the same effect on me."

I was terribly moved—perhaps in some twisted way only now could I mourn my father as well as His Majesty, and all the deeply-submerged emotions were pouring out all at once. Still…

…it wasn't until I vomited both deeply and very completely that anyone including me realized there was more to my sudden weakness than mere grief.

"What in the world?" Martijn sputtered as he flinched from the sudden mess I'd made of his beautiful black mourning robe. "I mean…"

Then Nestor was hovering over me, teeth bared in fierce concentration as he began unbuttoning my dress uniform jacket. "It's poison!" he hissed. "Probably in the makeup, and meant for James!" Then he turned to face Martijn. "We've got to find help for him, right
now
!"

31

Rabbits are incapable of pouring out large volumes of sweat, but other than that our reactions to poisons are pretty much the same as those of humans—we're brother mammals, after all. So the first thing I did after trying to sit up and failing was to begin trembling all over. "I…" I tried to say, but my lips were too numb and suddenly swelling as well. "Urgh!"

"Be quiet, sir!" Nestor urged, looking every bit as terrified as he had the night I'd rescued him from Captain Holcomb's bed. That did more to make me appreciate how serious my situation was than everything else combined—my aide did
not
frighten easily these days! Then, scowling intently, he ripped off his shirt and dabbed at my lips, attempting to remove what residue he could. "Hold still!"

I submitted meekly, then tried to speak again when he was finished. "Kh-kh'all 'ames!" I directed.

"Martijn's calling someone," Nestor reassured me. "I don't know quite who, but he's looking for help." Then he frowned and levered me upright just as the marine from the front desk entered the room, blaster drawn.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

"Someone's tried to assassinate David," Nestor answered. "And he's damned likely to succeed, too." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Holster that blaster!"

The sergeant scowled, then pivoted to fire at me. We Marcuses weren't the only ones with connections in His Majesty's inner circle, it seemed. But before he could get off the shot Nestor practically levitated up off of the ground and slammed into his groin, hard. The weapon went flying…

…and then the sergeant was standing gaping at the tip of a ceremonial spear protruding outward from his chest. Without another word he collapsed in a heap and died.

"I…" I said, reaching up towards Martijn. "I…"

"Shut up," he ordered bluntly. "Try not to move a muscle." Then, with surprising strength he lifted me up and flung me over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "His Majesty's personal clinic is just down the hall," he told Nestor. "Even as things are, it should be manned around the clock in case of staff emergencies."

"Right," Nestor agreed with a nod. He opened the door and stepped out—

—into a hail of blaster fire!

"Damn!" he cursed, ducking back in minus the tip of his right ear. "It's an ambush! They’ve already driven away David's personal guard. We're cut off!"

"We don't have time to wait for the cavalry!" Martijn raged.

Nestor frowned. "Is there any other way out?"

"The throne room exit. But they'll have that covered too—it's one of the most famous doorways in the galaxy. Beyond that… Just the servant's entrance." I felt him nod towards it. "They'd have major problems trying to block that—only Rabbits use it. Anyone else sort of stands out in the crowd."

Nestor yanked my blaster from its holster, then dashed over and opened a Rabbit-sized door. "Where does it lead?" he demanded.

"The kitchen, the linen closets, the cupboard, the—"

"Not to the clinic?" my aide demanded.

"No," Martijn answered. "Exactly the opposite direction, in fact. But… Have you a better alternative?"

Nestor argued no more. "Let's move, then!"

The servant's area was remarkably plain and simple compared to the ornate splendor of His Majesty's living quarters. I liked it rather better. Perhaps if I died in such a plain, ordinary place my body wouldn't end up looking all shrunken, as His Majesty's had. Soon I vomited again. It showed up even worse on Martijn's robe than the original stain, seeing as how what I expelled this time consisted largely of blood. The sputum I was coughing up was bloody, too; with my head upended the crimson mixture flowed almost continually from my nostrils. I had to sort of gasp for every breath; my guess was that I'd inhaled a bit of the poison and maybe swallowed a trace as well, and this was why my lungs and stomach were complaining so much. Heaven only knew what havoc the dose I'd absorbed directly into my bloodstream was raising. It was growing harder and harder to turn my head enough to see anything but Martijn's black mourning robe. I probably shouldn't have tried at all, and conserved my energy. But the longer things went on the more I felt in my bones that I wasn't going to make it and, well… If things went badly I'd be seeing nothing but black for a very long time to come. So perhaps I couldn't be blamed for taking in the scenery while I still could.

Soon Martijn picked the pace up to a rapid jog; either he was convinced by now that there was no ambush awaiting us or else he decided it was worth the risk regardless. Nestor must've been running ahead of him, because once I heard him cry out. "We're still going the wrong way! When does this turn around?"

"I have no idea," Martijn answered. "I've never been back here before."

Then we moved into the servant's quarters and began to encounter Rabbits by the ones and twos. It was late, so the few that were out and about were all night-shift types either going on or coming off shift, half-dressed in many cases. From my awkward position all I could see of them seemed to be pairs of oversized frightened eyes looking after us. I tried once or twice to reassure them, to smile and wave. It wasn't of any use, however; all I managed was to spill more crimson drool down Martijn's back.

"Wait!" I heard a Rabbit plead from behind. "Please!" But neither Martijn nor Nestor paid any heed.

"There's
got
to be a side entrance soon!" Nestor complained. "I've never seen anything like this setup in my life!"

"There'd better be," Martijn replied, huffing and puffing slightly. "David's not moving anymore. I think we're losing him."

"Urgh!" I tried to protest; that Rabbit behind us sounded as if he knew what he was about. But just then the corridor finally made a right-angle turn to the left. "Thank
heavens
!" Nestor declared, thrilled at the change in our fortunes. But soon he was more despondent than ever. "There's
still
no doors into the main building! I can't believe it!"

"I don't know," Martijn answered, stopping at last. "We could be at this for hours and still not—"

Just then, a Rabbit came dashing around the corner at a full sprint, moving many times faster than poor hunched-over Martijn could carry me. "Please!" he gasped. "Let me help David!"

Martijn finally turned around. "How do we get out?" he demanded.

"How can we get to the Royal Clinic?" Nestor echoed.

"You passed the nearest way out a long time back," he replied. "But—"

"Where does it exit to?" he demanded.

"The main hall," he replied. "Almost a mile from here. But—"

"No!" Martijn moaned. "We'll never make it!"

"B-b-b-but…" the Rabbit stammered. Then, moving like lightning he dodged around the Herald and jabbed an autoinjector into my left thigh.

"You bastard!" Nestor screamed, raising my Imperial blaster and taking aim. "You're with them too!"

"No!" the Rabbit replied, terrified beyond all measure. "That's the antidote!"

For an endless moment Nestor stared at the slavebunny over his weapon. Then, very slowly, he lowered it. "Excuse me?"

"David's been exposed to claricidin," the Rabbit replied, a stream of urine flowing down one leg. "It's an insecticide we use here in the Palace all the time. It's perfectly safe after drying to a powder, but you don't want to so much as touch the stuff until it's set up. I don't know
how
David could've possibly come across any of it still wet, especially at
this
hour. The stuff dries almost instantly and we're extra-careful because it's even more deadly for masters. But it's so effective and the risk is so small that, well…" He shrugged and held up the autoinjector. "We exterminators keep these handy, you see. Just in case. And we're trained to recognize the smell when someone gets dosed. David absolutely
reeks
of the stuff."

Nestor relaxed ever so slightly. "I see."

The Rabbit lowered his head even further, then turned towards Martijn. "I'm so sorry I stepped out of my place, Master! Honest and truly, I am!"

There was a long silence, during which I realized I was feeling distinctly better. "T-T-ank ou," I managed to mutter.

"He still needs urgent treatment, Master," the exterminator-bunny who'd just saved my life continued. "I… I… I know I'll be punished for speaking without permission, but it'd be really, really bad for everyone if David died, you see. There's a vet's office about two hundred yards back the way we came. There's no sign on it or anything, but I know exactly where it's at and the vet's assistant takes emergency calls all night. He's just a Rabbit, but he knows his stuff regardless. For sure, he'll know what to do about claricidin. The medical staff gets special training too, you see."

"I'm a fool," Nestor finally muttered.

"No," the Herald replied. "You've just been around us masters too much of late, is all. It's natural enough that our mindsets and subconscious prejudices have begun to rub off on you. Though I fear it's all to your loss in this particular matter." He sighed, then looked down at the exterminator. "What's your name, Rabbit?"

"H-H-Hank, sir."

Martijn smiled. "Well then, Hank. First of all, of
course
you won't be punished for helping us. If I have my way, in fact, you'll never be punished again. And secondly… Yes, we'd very much like to visit this vet's assistant of yours, if you'd be so kind as to lead us to him. Somehow, I have a feeling that we couldn't find a more trustworthy medical professional anywhere on the planet to treat David for us tonight." 

32

Recovering from a bad case of claricidin poisoning wasn't exactly a cakewalk, I soon learned. Even though I received the finest care available, it was almost three weeks before I was able to clamber out of bed and stagger around my sickroom with the aid of a walker. During all that time I was prone to skull-splitting headaches, sudden and uncontrollable bouts of deep sleep, and vertigo so severe that when I closed my eyes I imagined I was lying in a centrifuge. Worst of all, the stuff re-injured my recently-healed stomach, so that I could consume little but hay and plain water. But I survived regardless, even though at times I felt that it might've been more merciful if I'd not.

Predictably, there was no shortage of visitors lined up outside to see me whenever I felt up to receiving them. It could be a bit frightening, actually—the Second Space Lord, for example, sat outside my door with a bouquet in his hands for nineteen hours spread over three separate days before I was up to seeing him, instead of performing any one of the thousand duties that his august position should've demanded in the midst of inner turmoil and external war. Nor did he complain, when finally admitted, that Nestor had allowed several delegations of Rabbits in ahead of him. At the time I was still muzzy-headed enough not to really think much about that, except that perhaps he and my doctors had wanted to keep my stress level down and see to it that I was surrounded only by fuzzy, smiling faces and pure, simple hearts. I finally got to hug Hank the exterminator and thank him for saving my life, as well as congratulate him for the manumission Martijn had been able to engineer for him as a more substantial reward. And I was also able to thank Debra, the vet's-assistant who'd pumped me even fuller of antitoxin and stabilized me so that I could be moved to the Academy hospital where I was now. But then dozens and dozens more Rabbits I didn't even know had followed, all quiet and respectful and even a bit worshipful until I was able to convince them that my feet were just as oversized and furry as theirs were. This continued until I finally complained that the stress of making them feel at home was wearing me down, which was really remarkable since I spent far too little time with Rabbits as a rule and in general much preferred their company to that of humans. Then the flow was cut off as if a switch had been thrown, leaving me to wonder why I'd been subjected to such a flood of unfamiliar lapines.