Lieutenant (2 page)

Mr. Banes nodded. “You were a good boy, Robert. And now you’re a great man. But I don’t ever make the mistake of envying you.” Then he turned back to me. “You’ve made me proud, David!” he reassured me. “And I’ve no doubt in my mind that you’ll keep right on doing so. Be strong, lad, as you’ve been so many times before. Give it your best, and you’ll find that excellence can be its own reward.” Then he bowed to Lord Robert, smiled at me one last time, and left.

For a long, long moment the room was filled with silence, as both of us stared at the floor. Then Lord Robert sighed and clapped me on the shoulder. “We need to talk, son. Might as well get it out of the way right now, if you’re up to it.”

“Of course,” I agreed. “The sooner the better. For
both
of us, I expect.”

3

Lord Robert’s office wasn’t half the size that his elder brother’s had been. Partly that was because this wasn’t Marcus Prime, where Milord had been in effect the head of the planetary government as well as a private empire. But it was even more because of Lord Robert himself and who he was. He’d hoped never find to himself head of the Marcus clan, people said. And I believed it was true. He still wept sometimes at the mention of his dead sibling, and looked forward to the day when he could retreat to his own private estate high in the beautiful mountains of Marcus III. But like every other Marcus I’d ever met Lord Robert took his duty seriously whether it was to his own family, his monarch, or the best interests of humanity as a whole. The desk I was looking at him across had witnessed the makings of decisions that affected billions of lives and trillions of credits. Even though the office was smaller and Milord was dead, this was still the nerve-center of all things Marcus. Although my uniform breast-pocket was adorned with a fire-lily, it was still a humbling place to be.

“First, David,” Lord Robert explained as we settled ourselves in, “I want to echo what Mr. Banes just told you. You’ve done extraordinarily well under impossible conditions, again and again and again. I’m extremely proud of you, and couldn’t possibly be more pleased with what you’ve accomplished and who you’ve become. You’ve exceeded all our highest aspirations. I speak for the entire family in this.”

There wasn’t much I could say, so I just bowed my head and felt my ear-linings turn red.

He smiled, for the first time since the ceremony. “In some ways, I suppose, it’s a measure of how successful you’ve been that so much effort was put into ensuring that you’ll rise no further. Captain Withers is retiring in a few weeks. So are his deputy and his chief-of-staff. In fact, practically everyone responsible for your assignment will soon be re-entering private life. That’s no coincidence, David. It’s the mark of a carefully thought-out plan woven together over a period of many months. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure you wouldn’t get a good assignment. Consider it flattery. Because it actually is, you see.”

I nodded. “But… Who? And why?”

Lord Robert sighed. “It’s all terribly complicated, and I won’t ever have enough information to know everything for certain. But it’s a combination of factors. One of them you’re already familiar with- the fact that you’re a Rabbit, one that’s proven he can excel in the most difficult of human environments.”

I nodded. “Some people would rather die than accept that.”

“That’s sadly true,” the Marcus family head agreed. “And it’s a factor that should never be underestimated. But in this case there are even larger forces at work.”

My brow wrinkled. “How so?”

Lord Robert sighed and leaned back in his expensive leather chair. “It’s an open secret that James has a good claim to the Throne. You already knew that, I expect?”

I nodded.

“Our current king is from the House of Kandoro. Back in the day when the monarchy was established, Kandoro was riding high. Its power and influence was rooted in the mineral wealth of Africa, back on Old Earth itself. But Kandoro’s power peaked long ago. Today it controls only three worlds, two of which are economic basket cases. And the third is this one, which serves as the capitol. It’ll go to the new ruling House. Should the crown leave the House of Kandoro, so does most of its wealth and practically all its influence.”

“I see,” I said slowly.

“Kandoro’s been vulnerable for decades,” Lord Robert continued. “It almost makes one believe in destiny, David, the way their fecundity has faded with their wealth. Even with modern techniques… Well, the Queen was sterile, you see. Save for a single youthful indiscretion which produced my brother, His Majesty is childless. But it’s not just him. James and his brother aside, the next-nearest heir is a fifth cousin.”

“But…” No one ever mentioned Stephan anymore—he was a vegetable, after being mistreated by the Imperials.

“Ah!” Lord Roberts replied. “You begin to see! If Stephan ascends to the throne, a lifetime Regency will be required. And who knows what House the Regent might be from? While if James is chosen, well…” He shook his head. “It’s already clear that he’s intelligent, able, and disposed to make his own decisions. Plus, the House of Marcus has been on a long, slow rise for a very long time now. We’re easily the richest and most influential of all the Dukedoms—and we’ll be a Dukedom within two years, I assure you! It would’ve happened long ago, but Milord felt it was wiser to keep a low profile. This proved to be one of his few tactical errors.”

I nodded again. “So… You need all your influence right now to put James on the throne.”

Lord Robert’s face fell. “Baldy put, I suppose that’s accurate enough. But there’s more involved—far more! For example, the Empire was born due to a similar schism between the Houses. What a tragedy it’d be if we were to split up humanity yet again! And that’s exactly what I foresee if Stephan is crowned. A Regency isn’t a lifetime position, you see. There’d be endless infighting and squabbling—we might go through a dozen Regents a year! Even if it doesn’t split us, it’d leave us terribly vulnerable to the Empire.” He sighed and looked down again. “So…”

“So,” I replied. “I
must
go to Graves Registration, for the good of the entire Kingdom.”

Lord Roberts nodded, looking a bit relieved. “You have my solemn word, David, that I’ll get you out of there the minute I can. If it goes on too long… Well, it’d hardly be an optimum outcome. But once you’ve served your five years we can always find an honorable, important place for you here in the Family.” His mouth hardened. “You have my sacred word of honor that you won’t be forgotten. Nor will James forget you, I’m certain, should anything happen to me.”

I bowed my head again. “I owe the House of Marcus everything. For you, I’d serve in the hottest firepit of hell.”

“I know,” Lord Roberts replied, his face softening into a smile. “For you’ve already served us—and served us well!—in circumstances every bit as awful.” He looked off into the distance for a moment, then nodded as he came to a decision. “David,” he said, opening his top desk drawer. “I have something for you.”

My ears perked up. “Sir?”

“I’ve always meant to give you
something
when you reached your majority, but here and now, well… This
feels
right.” He reached far into the back and pulled out a signet ring. It carried a single large ruby, and there were fire-lilies cast into the gold band. “James wears his father’s ring,” Lord Robert explained. “As is right and proper. This one, however, last belonged to a certain Elijah Marcus. Are you familiar with him?”

I shook my head. “No sir.”

“Actually, he was
Dr.
Elijah Marcus. This ring is well over three hundred years old, David, so I’m not surprised that you’ve never heard of him. Long ago, the House of Marcus was nothing more than a wealthy family from Mississippi. That was a region of Old Earth noted primarily for its poverty and backwardness. Elijah and his twin brother Moses, however, believed in the future. So they invested heavily in space travel and biotech. It’s because of Moses that we got into the space colonization game early. And Elijah, well…”

“He invented slavebunnies,” I guessed. “Didn’t he?”

Lord Robert nodded. “I see you’ve already heard about that part of our history.” He sighed and looked away. “Colonizing gained us territory, David. It was an important part of our rise. But it was slavery that made us the richest of all the Houses. Even today we’re still entitled to a small royalty on every Rabbit born outside our own borders. It’s the only significant income stream that I’m eager for us to lose.” He looked down at the ring. “Elijah died childless, David. In recent times we found his ring in the back of a vault, utterly forgotten. It took us years to figure out who it’d belonged to. But once we found out… Well, since then it’s been seen as something of an albatross. A reminder of a matter we’d sooner forget. I’ve kept it here in my desk to help me remember that we’ve done your kind a great wrong. One that to our credit we’re attempting to right, but which remains far from undone. And now…”

He slid the ring across the table to me. “This is yours, David. We can’t legally adopt you just yet; with the laws being what they are it’s smartest for us not to even try. But you’re the proper heir of this ring and all it represents. For you’re the first Marcus able to wear it without shame.”

My jaw dropped. “Sir…”

“
Uncle
,” he corrected me. “
Uncle
Robert, from now on. Though had my brother not found you first, you’d be my own.” He smiled. “Now… You’ve an unpleasant task before you, my nephew. But for all it lacks in terms of glory it remains an important job, worthy of your finest efforts. Our fallen deserve the best we can give them. For now, at least, it’s your sacred duty to give them all you’ve got.”

4

Graves Registration duty had its advantages, I had to admit. I got my own apartment, for one thing; aboard a warship I’d have had to share a stateroom half its size. Discipline was relaxed and informal, as well. “Show up about tennish,” Commander Pollard advised me the day I arrived. “Unless you have some urgent personal business, of course. Then just call in—it won’t be a problem, so long as you’re spic and span for the ceremonies.”

That was the focus of my new life, of course, or at least it would be until I had more training under my belt—endless ceremonial. While I did have other duties, such as verifying that my petty officers had ordered the Rabbits to mow the proper areas, the truth was that aside from funerals my entire workday was no more than twenty minutes long. And even the funerals themselves only took about an hour and a half or so, for us honor-guard types anyway. Every afternoon about one I’d assemble my men, inspect them minutely, and then ride with them in a civilian van to grave number whatever. There we’d set up and stand at attention until the appropriate moment, when we’d present arms and fire a salute of however many blanks the rank of the deceased merited. My bugler Sam would then play ‘Taps’ as all the civilians hung their heads and wept. Then afterwards we’d stand around and offer comfort to any mourners who wished to speak with us. That didn’t happen very often, though sometimes people who didn’t know how to read rank insignias complained to Sergeant Keldron about how terribly wrong it was for the navy to include a Rabbit in an honor guard. The sergeant always turned red when that happened—he was a kind-hearted man even when drunk, which was most of the time. Then he’d politely explain that I was an officer, not a Rabbit, and that the fancy sword I’d saluted the departed with was in fact the embodiment of the highest honor that it was within the power of His Majesty to award. That usually shut them up, though once someone complained that a Rabbit shouldn’t be allowed to carry such a dangerous weapon regardless.

So Graves Registration was easy duty, really. Many hard-working men in the fleet who were risking their lives every day would probably have envied me. Sergeant Keldron had spent most of the last several years trying to get transferred to an honor guard, and he’d only made it because two wars back he’d won a Royal Citation for almost single-handedly repulsing an Imperial attack during the legendary siege of Firebase Newton on Mattabon Three. That’d been almost thirty years ago, and it was difficult indeed to find even a trace of the brash young hero in the corpulent, alcoholic sergeant of today. “He’s coasted through his entire career on the strength of that one incident,” my new CO explained to me on the day I took over the squad. “No one’s dared dress him down since, because you just don’t
do
that to a bonafide hero.” He glanced at the little ribbon on my blouse that indicated I’d won the Sword of Orion, and looked away. “A lot of our best men go to seed in very similar ways, and most of them seem to end up here. Sergeant Keldron only has sixty days or so left to serve, Middy. He keeps his uniform neat and shows up on time. Don’t press him, for the sake of the great thing he did genuinely once achieve. That’s an order, son.”

And so it was with the rest of the men of my little detail. Corporal Sam Geisler, the bugler, was mentally deficient. He’d just barely passed the Corps entry tests at a time when the marines had been so desperate for men they’d take practically anyone. He too was near retirement after a lifetime spent shining shoes and cleaning weapons and digging latrines for reasons that lay eternally just beyond his comprehension. The other men helped him along, as they always had, or he couldn’t have functioned at all. Nor could he play a bugle note to save his life; his instrument was equipped with a gadget that played a slightly-imperfect version of ‘Taps’ upon the push of a button, while he puffed his cheeks and pretended. To my knowledge none of the bereaved had ever tumbled to it. It was standard practice, real buglers being as scarce as they were.

The rest of the honor guard was all the same—misfits and screwups one and all, though more of the to-be-pitied type than scoundrels. Private Madsen was continually in and out of the mental hospital, and had been ever since watching the rest of his platoon being burned alive by an Imperial flamethrower. Parts of Corporal Stuart’s brain had been so badly damaged in a training accident that sometimes he was unable to speak aloud for minutes at a time. No one suffering from such a handicap could ever be used in combat, but his father had died winning a Sword of Orion of his own and the corporal wanted to remain in the corps worse than anything, even though he was entitled to a pension equivalent to his full pay. He could march, present arms and salute satisfactorily, so why
shouldn’t
he serve on an honor guard? My men were all like that, every last one of them—has-beens or never-weres with nothing in their futures but a long slow decline and someday an honor-guard of their own to fire a few blanks as they were lowered into the ground.  It was downright depressing, it was.