Commander by Phil Geusz

encountered.
     
    She was also, in a very real sense, my creator. For she’d designed not only me, but my father and mother as well.
     
    “Say ‘ah’ again,” she insisted for the third time, still peering down my throat. I didn’t at first understand why she insisted on starting our meeting with a complete medical evaluation—I offered to forward her the results of my last navy checkup, but she insisted on doing it all herself, employing her own nearly-antique instruments. I felt pretty awkward at disrobing in front of a female doctor—it was an unseemly profession for a woman, and I’d never met another. But I survived the ordeal somehow, including twice as much poking and prodding as I was used to. The process seemed to mollify Dr. Cunningham a bit, too—the longer it went on, the less abrasive she became. In fact, by the time she had me look at pictures and tell her stories about them she’d grown downright smug. “Very good, David!” she praised me as if I were a halfwitted kit. “Very good indeed!”
     
    Then she retired to her office, as imperious as His Majesty exiting the throne-room. I caught up with her a few short minutes later after putting my uniform back on. “You’re perfect, David!” she said with a smile as soon as I walked in. “Functioning exactly as planned. Except for the bad stomach, of course. I’m sorry about that! How could I foresee that you’d ever be stuck someplace without plenty of nice sweet hay to eat? You’ll recover, though. In fact, you’re well on your way already.”
     
    I didn’t know what to say to that. So instead I smiled and sat down. “Dr. Cunningham,” I began, trying to be diplomatic despite all I’d been through. “Uncle Robert tells me that you’re the finest gengineer in the universe.”
     
    Her face brightened. “I have to be,” she explained. “Because if one happens to be a female in our society, merely being very good at something isn’t enough to earn any respect.” Her head cocked to one side. “As a Free Rabbit, perhaps you understand?”
     
    “Perhaps,” I allowed. Then I changed the subject again, not being particularly comfortable with the current one. “I’ve been wondering. How in the world did you and the rest of the Marcus gengineers survive the Imperial occupation? I mean… This institution is a unique resource. No one else anywhere is half up to your level.”
     
    “We’re the economic and political heart of the House,” she agreed immodestly. “We designed the slaves, develop new medicines… You name it. That fire-lily you’re wearing on your tunic really ought to be a double-helix, you know.” She smiled. “It was easy, though things got a little hungry sometimes. We simply grabbed all the datacubes and vanished. The remaining House people formed an underground, and they helped us disappear.”
     
    I nodded back. Glassware and machinery could be replaced. Decades of data and highly-skilled human assets, not so much.
     
    “Anyway…” she continued, peering at me intently. “I’ve been instructed to answer every question you ask me, as completely and honestly as possible. If you want to know why your ears are bit on the short side compared to those of other Rabbits your size, it’s because the trait is hard-linked to some neuro-chemical processes and structures that amount to what might be loosely termed ‘moral courage’. I wanted for your eyes to be gray to match your fur. But I had to settle for blue because they’re linked in Rabbits to mathematical skills. You’re a whole series of compromises, David. It’s a lot of work to custom-design a being from scratch, I’ll have you know. In fact, it’s so difficult that I doubt we’ll ever attempt it on anything but a tiny handful of embryos. The cost-benefit ratio just isn’t there for gengineering anything but the most special of cases.”
     
    I gulped. Father’s eyes had been blue, too. So were Frieda’s. But my mother’s were gray,