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perforce going to have to be led by the lowest-ranking officers in the entire navy. I vaguely suspected some sort of underlying purpose in this—His Majesty remained intent on overhauling and reforming his fleet despite his recent victory, and I knew from his own mouth that he thought no more of his officer corps as a group than I did. But the king was operating at a far higher level than I was—in the end I had a job to do and limited resources with which to perform it. That was all that could matter to me, for the foreseeable future at least.
     
    “Is this where you used to live?” my old friend Heinrich asked. He was still a midshipman, but couldn’t remain one for very much longer now. All of my top-achieving classmates—or most nobly-blooded classmates, in some cases—were being promoted these days. While Heinrich had graduated at the very bottom of our class, it hadn’t been because he lacked potential. Being part of the academy’s wargaming team—or, more precisely, participating in our tournament against the Imperial equivalent-- had changed his whole outlook on life. Where once he’d been slovenly and brilliantly defiant, now his jet-black Royal Marine uniform was always immaculate and his shoes brightly polished. While Heinrich wasn’t the mathematical genius that his father was, he remained the only classmate I could enjoy discussing Field theory with despite his lack of any sort of formal certification. He too had sought to become an engineer and found something very different instead, and perhaps this was part of why I liked him so much. The fencibles could never begin to be as structured and disciplined an organization as the marines—they’d remain civilians at heart, and it’d be best to accept this up front and go with the flow as much as possible. But we’d still need some of Heinrich’s iron discipline here and there in the organization. I planned to tap it in full, along with his hopefully still-fresh memories of what it’d been like to rebel against said discipline. A middle ground needed to be worked out, and I couldn’t think of a better man to help me find it.
     
    “The next hanger over,” I said, jerking my chin in that general direction. “Dad’s dirtside office was there. He and I lived in back. I… I mean…”
     
    Fremont sighed. “I’ll go first if you like, David.”
     
    I smiled at my fellow Rabbit. Fremont might be getting on, but the former slave still had a few good working years left in him. He and Snow—who I’d left in charge of my estate back home for the moment, as he was still recovering from the psychological trauma of leading one of the bloodiest assaults in Royal history—had begun to emerge as leaders back on Zombie. Along of course with poor Devin, who’d died along the way. Both Fremont and Snow were key pieces of the puzzle, though I still wasn’t quite sure how they fit in. Many if not most of the ordinary crewmen aboard the vessels that would someday make up the fencibles would be Rabbits. It was important that I somehow be able to show the others that they could achieve and grow in the navy too, that I wasn’t a special and unique case. Fremont and Snow were just the Rabbits for that. Neither held formal ranks; our society hadn’t yet progressed enough to allow for that. But not having a rank could be made to cut both ways at need, and if worst came to worst, well… God help the human that attempted to abuse Fremont, after all he’d already been through!
     
    “Or I could go,” Nestor suggested with a big smile. I’d offered him the caretaking job back home on a permanent basis, with the intent that he take over once Snow was fully recovered. But he’d begged me to keep him on as my personal attendant instead. Of all the Zombie Rabbits, Nestor had ultimately proven the most literate and interested in learning. He read constantly these days, and took such formal classes as were available to him. Just on the way out from Earth Secundus