stealing from.”
“Whatever,” the captain replied. He fozzled Nestor’s ears, then squeezed him up close to his side for a moment before releasing him to me. “But keep in mind, Middie, that Nestor is a good bunny. I don’t want to hear that you’ve let the others abuse him. And hurry, will you? He’s to serve me my dinner, and I don’t want to eat it cold and late.”
Nestor’s eyes were wide with terror as we boarded the main lift together, then went wider still when I hit the manual override and halted us between decks. “Sir!” he blurted. “I didn’t… I mean I don’t…”
“I know you don’t,” I answered. Then I sighed. “Nestor, of all the ship’s Rabbits I've had the least contact with you. And yet I’m going to have to ask you to trust me.”
He licked his nose. “How so, sir?”
I raised my eyes and met his. “First, I want you to know that none of the other Rabbits have found out about… What the captain expects of his personal servant. Nor will they ever, from me.”
Nestor blinked, but said nothing.
“Second, I’m going to make you a promise. At the moment there’s nothing I can do to help you. It’s just how thing are, for us both. But someday, just as soon as I can, I’m going to see to it that Captain Holcomb never hurts you again. Or any other Rabbit either, if I can manage it. You have my sacred word on that as an officer, and as a Marcus.” I smiled slightly. “As a fellow Rabbit, too.”
For a long, long time Nestor said nothing. Then a single large tear flowed down his cheek. “I want to kill him sometimes,” he whispered. “Rip his throat out, claw his… his…” Then he shook his head and met my eyes again. “I hear you’re teaching the others to read. And lately about how things like the government works, too. All the stuff the Masters never bother telling us. Because they think we don’t care.”
I nodded and smiled. “They seem to enjoy it. And I do too.”
Nestor looked back down at his feet. “Please, sir. Will you teach me to read too? Once… After, I mean…”
“Of course!” I answered him. “Personally, if at all possible.”
“Then I can stand it, I guess,” Nestor replied with a scowl. “Until forever, if I have to.” Then suddenly he was hugging me. It went on for several long minutes, until finally the little black-and-white bunny slave pulled away and began claw-grooming his fur back into shape. “I have to go get the captain’s dinner,” he explained. “He’s always cross when it’s late.”
“Yes,” I replied, re-energizing the lift. “That’s how things have to be, for now. But someday…”
Nestor smiled; it was the first time I could ever remember seeing him do that. “Someday,” he agreed as the door slid open on the galley deck. “Thank you, sir! This is the first good someday I’ve ever had.” Then he squeezed me one last time and was gone.
10
The first thing a Graves Registration unit always does upon arrival at a former battlefield is to examine and document everything. While keeping records is important in its own right, the delay was also vital to our success and safety. The fighting had left precisely one million, one-hundred and seventy-two thousand, four hundred and twelve bits of detectable debris floating about in the immediate vicinity of Zombie Station. Many of them carried quite a high relative vector, and it’d be some time before the Sweeper could gather up all the ferrous bits. While we’d always have to consult the computer in order to determine where we might work on any given day in relative safety, at first we were pretty much shipbound anyway. So we manned the sensors and did the best job we could.
It was never wise to place much trust in Imperial war-bulletins, but in this case they were the only clue we had as to what’d taken place during the recent battle. According to them, they’d brought in their main line-of-battle ships and blasted Zombie’s turrets into scrap
“Whatever,” the captain replied. He fozzled Nestor’s ears, then squeezed him up close to his side for a moment before releasing him to me. “But keep in mind, Middie, that Nestor is a good bunny. I don’t want to hear that you’ve let the others abuse him. And hurry, will you? He’s to serve me my dinner, and I don’t want to eat it cold and late.”
Nestor’s eyes were wide with terror as we boarded the main lift together, then went wider still when I hit the manual override and halted us between decks. “Sir!” he blurted. “I didn’t… I mean I don’t…”
“I know you don’t,” I answered. Then I sighed. “Nestor, of all the ship’s Rabbits I've had the least contact with you. And yet I’m going to have to ask you to trust me.”
He licked his nose. “How so, sir?”
I raised my eyes and met his. “First, I want you to know that none of the other Rabbits have found out about… What the captain expects of his personal servant. Nor will they ever, from me.”
Nestor blinked, but said nothing.
“Second, I’m going to make you a promise. At the moment there’s nothing I can do to help you. It’s just how thing are, for us both. But someday, just as soon as I can, I’m going to see to it that Captain Holcomb never hurts you again. Or any other Rabbit either, if I can manage it. You have my sacred word on that as an officer, and as a Marcus.” I smiled slightly. “As a fellow Rabbit, too.”
For a long, long time Nestor said nothing. Then a single large tear flowed down his cheek. “I want to kill him sometimes,” he whispered. “Rip his throat out, claw his… his…” Then he shook his head and met my eyes again. “I hear you’re teaching the others to read. And lately about how things like the government works, too. All the stuff the Masters never bother telling us. Because they think we don’t care.”
I nodded and smiled. “They seem to enjoy it. And I do too.”
Nestor looked back down at his feet. “Please, sir. Will you teach me to read too? Once… After, I mean…”
“Of course!” I answered him. “Personally, if at all possible.”
“Then I can stand it, I guess,” Nestor replied with a scowl. “Until forever, if I have to.” Then suddenly he was hugging me. It went on for several long minutes, until finally the little black-and-white bunny slave pulled away and began claw-grooming his fur back into shape. “I have to go get the captain’s dinner,” he explained. “He’s always cross when it’s late.”
“Yes,” I replied, re-energizing the lift. “That’s how things have to be, for now. But someday…”
Nestor smiled; it was the first time I could ever remember seeing him do that. “Someday,” he agreed as the door slid open on the galley deck. “Thank you, sir! This is the first good someday I’ve ever had.” Then he squeezed me one last time and was gone.
10
The first thing a Graves Registration unit always does upon arrival at a former battlefield is to examine and document everything. While keeping records is important in its own right, the delay was also vital to our success and safety. The fighting had left precisely one million, one-hundred and seventy-two thousand, four hundred and twelve bits of detectable debris floating about in the immediate vicinity of Zombie Station. Many of them carried quite a high relative vector, and it’d be some time before the Sweeper could gather up all the ferrous bits. While we’d always have to consult the computer in order to determine where we might work on any given day in relative safety, at first we were pretty much shipbound anyway. So we manned the sensors and did the best job we could.
It was never wise to place much trust in Imperial war-bulletins, but in this case they were the only clue we had as to what’d taken place during the recent battle. According to them, they’d brought in their main line-of-battle ships and blasted Zombie’s turrets into scrap
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