sir."
"I was wrong to do that," he continued. "How wrong I'm only now beginning to appreciate. Hearing about Blaine's apology made me want to get that off my chest, David. I'm sorry to have done that to you."
I smiled a little. "In the end it came out okay."
He smiled back. "Indeed it did." Then the expression faded. "You've transcended your Rabbithood, David, at least within the navy. Those men out in my waiting room—they're good officers, most of them. They've commanded ships, made life-and-death decisions… Some have killed almost as many Imperials as you have. Yet they were as giddy as schoolgirls at the prospect of meeting you. And this knowing full well that you'd been moved ahead of them in line—many have been waiting weeks to see me. They didn't resent it at all, because, well… I'm not sure there's even a word for where you stand with them." He shook his head. "No ex African slave ever accomplished anything even remotely like that, David—if they had, I'd know. Some achieved remarkable things, yes—Frederick Douglas, for example, is one of my personal heroes. But… There's something special about winning victories, particularly during a losing war. It makes a man a hero in a way that nothing else can." He looked me up and down. "Or a Rabbit, perhaps."
I felt myself blushing again. "Sir, I—"
Once again he cut off my words. "David, your fellow officers used to mutter and curse about you—that doesn't surprise you, does it?"
"No, sir," I admitted.
"Today," he continued, "if I were to remind the mutterers of this they'd be deeply ashamed. You should know that there's a sort of unwritten rule on the subject these days. Everyone is allowed to claim they believed in you from the very beginning, even when we all recall quite clearly that they didn't." He smiled again. "Success has a thousand fathers. Not many officers will be as bighearted or as honest as Blaine, David. They won't admit their mistake. But they will respect you, and the Rabbits who come after you. Of all the services you've performed for your sovereign, I'd consider that the largest and most important."
I worked my lips, but no words came out. The subject was making me acutely uncomfortable.
"Anyway," Admiral Panetta declared. "I just wanted to get that off my chest." Then he leaned back in his big leather chair and took another sip of rye. "So, we've dealt with the past. Now comes the larger question. What of the future?"
I wriggled my nose in thought for a moment before replying. "The truth is… I haven't thought much about that, sir."
He raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?" Then he looked down at the folder on his desk— my folder, I suddenly realized. Over which he was all-powerful. "His Majesty has commanded that your life not be risked again—a decision with which I completely concur, by the way. We agree that you're far too valuable for that. And, that you've faced enough danger."
I gulped. "I'll gladly go wherever I'm ordered, sir."
"Of course, David." He smiled. "I'm not in the slightest doubt of that." He idly flipped a couple pages. "When I make this sort of decision, I usually try to balance two factors—the needs of the individual and the interests of the service. So let's look at those first." He flipped a couple of pages. "Officers of your age and length of service are almost always in need of some sort of resume upgrade. Administrative officers tend to be short on field-command experience, while those who've captained small vessels as lieutenants or commanders tend not to have held responsible positions in long-term developmental projects." He closed the folder. "But once again you're unique, David. While there was a lot of doubt about your fencibles in the beginning—and once again, I was on the wrong side of the argument!—today there are thirty-eight fencible vessels devoted to convoy escort alone. We've even taken them interstellar, where they were originally
"I was wrong to do that," he continued. "How wrong I'm only now beginning to appreciate. Hearing about Blaine's apology made me want to get that off my chest, David. I'm sorry to have done that to you."
I smiled a little. "In the end it came out okay."
He smiled back. "Indeed it did." Then the expression faded. "You've transcended your Rabbithood, David, at least within the navy. Those men out in my waiting room—they're good officers, most of them. They've commanded ships, made life-and-death decisions… Some have killed almost as many Imperials as you have. Yet they were as giddy as schoolgirls at the prospect of meeting you. And this knowing full well that you'd been moved ahead of them in line—many have been waiting weeks to see me. They didn't resent it at all, because, well… I'm not sure there's even a word for where you stand with them." He shook his head. "No ex African slave ever accomplished anything even remotely like that, David—if they had, I'd know. Some achieved remarkable things, yes—Frederick Douglas, for example, is one of my personal heroes. But… There's something special about winning victories, particularly during a losing war. It makes a man a hero in a way that nothing else can." He looked me up and down. "Or a Rabbit, perhaps."
I felt myself blushing again. "Sir, I—"
Once again he cut off my words. "David, your fellow officers used to mutter and curse about you—that doesn't surprise you, does it?"
"No, sir," I admitted.
"Today," he continued, "if I were to remind the mutterers of this they'd be deeply ashamed. You should know that there's a sort of unwritten rule on the subject these days. Everyone is allowed to claim they believed in you from the very beginning, even when we all recall quite clearly that they didn't." He smiled again. "Success has a thousand fathers. Not many officers will be as bighearted or as honest as Blaine, David. They won't admit their mistake. But they will respect you, and the Rabbits who come after you. Of all the services you've performed for your sovereign, I'd consider that the largest and most important."
I worked my lips, but no words came out. The subject was making me acutely uncomfortable.
"Anyway," Admiral Panetta declared. "I just wanted to get that off my chest." Then he leaned back in his big leather chair and took another sip of rye. "So, we've dealt with the past. Now comes the larger question. What of the future?"
I wriggled my nose in thought for a moment before replying. "The truth is… I haven't thought much about that, sir."
He raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?" Then he looked down at the folder on his desk— my folder, I suddenly realized. Over which he was all-powerful. "His Majesty has commanded that your life not be risked again—a decision with which I completely concur, by the way. We agree that you're far too valuable for that. And, that you've faced enough danger."
I gulped. "I'll gladly go wherever I'm ordered, sir."
"Of course, David." He smiled. "I'm not in the slightest doubt of that." He idly flipped a couple pages. "When I make this sort of decision, I usually try to balance two factors—the needs of the individual and the interests of the service. So let's look at those first." He flipped a couple of pages. "Officers of your age and length of service are almost always in need of some sort of resume upgrade. Administrative officers tend to be short on field-command experience, while those who've captained small vessels as lieutenants or commanders tend not to have held responsible positions in long-term developmental projects." He closed the folder. "But once again you're unique, David. While there was a lot of doubt about your fencibles in the beginning—and once again, I was on the wrong side of the argument!—today there are thirty-eight fencible vessels devoted to convoy escort alone. We've even taken them interstellar, where they were originally
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