Admiral

Admiral

The David Birkenhead Series

Book 7

Phil Geusz

First Printing November, 2012

Published by Legion Printing, Birmingham, AL

Copyright Phil Geusz, 2012

Cover Art by Octavius Cook

ISBN:

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.  No portion of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without explicit permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

1

"I still don't know if this is a good idea," Nestor muttered as the Palace's holographic specialists strapped him into the same specially-made chair I'd just climbed out of. "I mean..."

"Hogwash!" I replied with a half-bitter smile. "You were there too, and stood in the very same wet concrete I did. That's how it happened, that's how it's portrayed at the Royal War Museum, and that's how it'll be commemorated here as well."

Nestor's eyes fell and his ear-linings darkened. Back when he'd volunteered to become my steward, the poor bunny had been far too unsophisticated to grasp what he was letting himself in for. Had the shy little creature he then was been able to foretell the future, he'd probably have run away screaming. Now, however, it was a good decade or so too late to back out. "I'll be right outside," I reassured him in the exact same tone I'd employed back when Nestor was still illiterate and having a difficult time adapting to his new role in the wider context of life beyond the navy. Then I smiled at the technicians. "You're in good hands."

"He certainly is, sir!" one agreed as the other upended Nestor's chair so that the soles of his feet faced the holocamera. "We'll be done in a jiffy."

"Good," I replied, stepping out. My schedule was very tight indeed these days, as tight as I'd ever known it. Everything was planned virtually to the minute. It'd been that way ever since I'd arrived home sitting in my wheelchair on the bridge of the captured battleship
Equalitie
right alongside the proud Captain Blaine, who after torpedoing no less than three separate Imperial battlewagons had been awarded the honor of bringing both our finest prize and myself safely home. First there'd been interviews, then victory parades that'd turned into wild celebrations in the streets, then the endless and inevitable after-action reports... I was also going to be court-martialed again, I supposed. That was, if anyone could work up enough energy to try me when even Admiral Beckendorf was putting the best face possible on the whole affair and admitting he'd been wrong not to order the charge himself. He and I had shaken hands on the issue while I was still in
Nightingale
's sick bay and not expected to live—it'd been very good of him to make a special trip just to apologize.

"You realize of course, sir, that we'll have to work up a whole new design," the Lord Privy Seal, chief of the Mint among his many other duties, muttered darkly. All the rest of the Mint's coins carried the images of dead men; he wasn't accustomed to having his subjects giving him lip. "It'll all have to be thrown together in two weeks if we're to have anything ready for the Emancipation Proclamation."

I shrugged—once upon a time I'd have stood in open-mouthed dread before a genuine Lord of the Realm. That'd been a very long time ago, however. "I'm sure you'll manage something." Then I smiled as the holographer snapped one image after another of the soles of Nestor's feet.

"Our larger denomination coins usually require months of preparation before we introduce a design change," the Privy Seal continued, his scowl unabated. "Even years. Yet everything is rush, rush, rush! This is a whole new series, a hundred-credit gold coin portraying a pivotal event in our history. Not just the battle, but that a
Rabbit
did so much to win it. Such an occasion
deserves
better than this! I mean... What are we going to accomplish in two weeks? Sir... You've upset
everything
!"

I shrugged again. "It's an easy fix. You won't have to change the obverse at all. Just the back. If worst comes to worst, you can unveil only that one side."  The "century's" face was going to portray me in my commodore's uniform, Sword drawn, with torpedo cruisers and destroyers arrayed in ranks behind me as if I were leading their charge. I hated the image with a passion, but James had all but Commanded me to pose regardless. I drew the line, however, when I learned that the Mint planned to put my footprints on the back in commemoration of the Imperious raid, neglecting Nestor as if he'd not even been there. That was intolerable, not just because of who Nestor was and what he meant to me but also because his footprints would convey the very important message that I'd not been alone, that never once during my career had I ever accomplished a single thing without the help and support of a multitude. In fact, I'd been forced to grow a bit stubborn about the matter. Which had meant sparing precious minutes out of an overcrowded schedule first for the argument itself and then to holograph Nestor's feel as well as my own. But... Damnit, this was
important!

"Do we have a firm time estimate yet, sir?" Henry asked smoothly from behind my right shoulder. "The Royal Chamberlain's called again."

I looked down at my feet and sighed. There'd been a time when if I wanted to see James all I'd had to do was open my bedroom door and shout across the hall. Nowadays, even though I still spent half my nights in a bedroom perhaps fifty feet from his own he might as well have been living on another planet. Which in turn meant that if we were to accomplish a rendezvous our orbits had to be carefully calculated in advance. Clearly, my little tantrum about the footprints had ruined everything. "Tell them half an hour," I muttered to my number-two aide, who by now ranked just under Nestor in my little circle of personalities. Professor Lambert's son had proven to be bright, capable, and perfectly willing to accept even common labor-bunnies as his social equals. What more could I ask? He'd done so well managing my affairs while I was off on my mission to Wilkes Prime that I'd given him a raise. Not only were there now full-time schools running year-round on my now-crowded little fiefdom full of manumitted Rabbits, but he'd actually begun work on a university as well. The least I could do in return was to offer him the kind of personal access and interaction he so badly needed to write the books he someday hoped to author. So Henry was now handling my schedule and business affairs. Besides, Nestor needed the break. "At most it'll be forty-five minutes. Please add my personal apology to His Majesty, and explain that I consider the matter to be of great importance."

Then it was a matter of waiting while the holographers covered all the angles and took not one but a dozen backup shots of each. This was likely the only chance they'd ever get and they knew it. From the point of view of those who had urgent business with us, Nestor and I might as well have been made of pure unobtainium these days. His chair was hardly returned to the upright and locked position before I barged across the room and shepherded him out, hardly giving him a chance to collect his wits. "His Majesty is waiting," was all the explanation I had to offer. James, after all, was probably the only man in the universe more difficult to book an appointment with than I was. Though somehow we still managed to spend more time together than we really had a right to.

Fortunately we weren't being summoned to Court—instead we were merely meeting James in his private chambers. For anyone else that'd still mean a brand-new uniform and freshly-polished brasswork, but James and I had wrestled in mudpuddles together as kids and he'd asked me not to change a thing about our relationship during our unofficial time together. So I merely tossed my Sword, hat and tie onto my bed as I passed by my part-time quarters and actually unbuttoned my tunic as I waited for James to emerge from the throne room.

It didn't take as long as I expected—the instant my tail touched the seat directly across from the Royal office chair that wasn't exactly a throne but in which no one else ever dared sit regardless James came striding in through the back door in full ceremonial makeup and regalia. He bore a thundercloud on his brow. "Hello, David," he greeted me, though he clearly had something else on his mind. "Pour me some icewater, would you, while I take these damned hot robes off? Would you like some tea?"

"Not just now," I replied as I got out a tumbler and filled it with ice. A footbunny waited in the next room ready to answer our every beck and call, but this was more of James doing his best to keep our friendship as normal as possible, something of which I heartily approved. I handed him his rapidly-chilling drink just as he plopped down into the overstuffed office chair. "Aaaah!" he exclaimed as he took his first sip. "So help me I'm going to have someone install chilling coils in the Throne, and precedent be damned."

I smiled back but made no comment. James loved Court ritual and even being king, though he'd never admit it. "Having a rough day?"

His grin vanished. "It's that damned Lord Arthur again. He wants a dukedom, and come hell or high water he means to get it." James shook his head. "It's out of the question, of course. Our entire political system is both archaic and a little bit ridiculous. It's a miracle it works at all, and damn me if I'm going to bloat it more and inflate the value of a noble title even further." Then he sipped his icewater again and sighed. "Titles should be a matter of merit, if we're to have them at all."

I examined my adopted brother warily. "You're not turning into a Republican, are you?"

He sighed and waved the idea away. "No, of course not. We couldn't make democracy work properly for even a single country of any great size, much less in a situation like this one where communications are so slow and distances so great. But still…" He scowled. "He practically
begged
me for a dukedom, David! Can you
imagine
a House Lord begging for
anything
? It's… Undignified."

I sighed and looked down at the floor. David hadn't changed the carpeting—it was still the same as it'd been when I'd met with his predecessor, King Albert. My feet hadn't changed much either.

"Anyway…" James continued, shaking his head. "We've far more urgent business at hand, you and I." He smiled. "First… Are you fully recovered from your wounds yet?"

The question was a mere formality, I knew. James was updated on my condition every morning. "So long as I carry an inhaler around with me, yes. And I won't even need that for very much longer."

He nodded. "Good." Then his voice grew more formal. "I'd like to grant you more leave-time, David. You deserve it, and more. Besides, I think the work you do with your manumitted Rabbits is almost as valuable as what you accomplish on active duty. But this is a critical period in our history."     

I nodded again—the Empire had lost the bulk of their fleet at Wilkes Prime, plus practically all of their support facilities. The war was effectively won, yet in the absence of a capitulation the fighting went on and wearily on.

"You're to win the final victory, David," he continued. "I'll give you carte-blanche in terms of ships, support— anything you want." His face hardened. "But the peace is to be
final
. When you're finished, there is to be no more Empire. You may show individual mercy or not at your discretion—even the Emperor's head means nothing to me, in and of itself. And as far as reconstruction goes… Well,
some
sort of noble House will have to be in local charge out that way. The Three Seats are still empty. I'll not object if they're reclaimed by their former owners, so long as it ends the bloodshed."