Commander Read Online Free Page B

Javelin far behind enemy lines would enliven his conversations for the rest of his days. But Marcus Prime was about to be freed, and returning it to its former state of wealth and beauty would require the full-time attention of its proper owner. Thus James entered the fleet reserve at the age of twenty-one after a ceremonial elevation to the rank of commander. Someday as king he’d become an admiral in much the same way. But it wasn’t the same and he knew it better than anyone.
     
    During this period I also moved into my own house on my own land. The papers made a huge fuss over it, since legally I wasn’t entitled to own so much as a square inch of real estate. They were on my side, however—the articles pleaded with the House of Lords to make a special one-Rabbit exception for me. This wasn’t at all what either His Majesty or I had in mind, however—at least not in the long term. We wanted property rights for everyone , and so far as I could see the best way to subtly keep pushing for them was to remain in open, gross violation of the law as it stood and dare the authorities to try and enforce the statutes against me. Part of me didn’t like this hero-based strategy very much; late at night I still wondered sometimes if I’d have been found guilty of Captain Holcomb’s murder if my Rabbits and the rest hadn’t gone on to do so much damage to the Imperials. On the one hand I still couldn’t see how I could’ve done anything any differently and still performed my higher duty, but on the other it was clear that I’d at least to a degree been whitewashed simply due to who I was. I didn’t like that I was exploiting my public status in order to subvert the legal system—it seemed to me that if there was a law against Rabbits owning land then I simply shouldn’t have any. But the cold fact was that this was clearly the best way to advance the cause of Rabbits everywhere, whether it was the most ethical course or not. Maybe politics were like war, a special case where the normal rules of right and wrong not only didn’t apply but couldn’t even conceivably be made to apply?
     
    It was a depressing thought, one that darkened what should’ve been a very happy moving day. After living in Uncle Robert’s cabin for so long I decided that I very much preferred primitive over palatial living. While I could’ve afforded either—the still-free serfs of Marcus, meaning those not under the Imperial yoke, took up a huge interstellar collection to help set me up in my new home—I chose to build a simple cabin very much along the lines of the trout lodge. Being a primary residence it had to be considerably larger, of course; someday I’d be entertaining important guests and the like. And for the same reason I also included indoor plumbing and a hardpoint capable of supporting the launch of small Field-driven spacecraft. But otherwise my new home was rustic in the extreme. Both inner and outer walls were made of genuine dead-tree logs, and the heat came from fireplaces and stoves. I was also forced to try and find an estate manager to take care of the place when I was gone—which would be most of the time, given the nature of my career and next assignment. At first I was perplexed when no one answered my ads—I’d offered what I thought was quite a generous salary for not much work. Then one day the truth struck me and I realized that no human wanted to be employed by a Rabbit, no matter what he’d accomplished for his kingdom. So I visited the Zombie Rabbits and asked them if they’d be willing to take the job on for me. The whole gang volunteered before I could even name the salary—my old friends were going insane with boredom by then. So I installed Fremont and Snow as estate supervisors and put the rest of the Rabbits to work under them, allowing them to build their own homes pretty much wherever they liked.
     
    “I encourage you to settle in and start families,” I explained to them on the day they