an obsolete design, but for small improvised warships of the sort we fencibles were interested in the facilities would be more than adequate, once repaired. There was also a hanger complex, three hardpoints and a well-designed taxiway network; even enough open space for us to set up barracks and classrooms for as many as a couple hundred trainees at a time. With luck someday we’d outgrow the facility, but for getting started it was just about perfect. The only drawback was the price—I winced as our purser wrote out the indent, but it was a good investment in the long-term. Land values on Marcus Prime would only rise as the recovery progressed. Uncle Robert suggested that perhaps the House might apply a little pressure on the owner to be more “reasonable”, but I vetoed that from the beginning. If the fencibles were to succeed, they needed the goodwill of the populace behind them. And nothing bred bad feelings more quickly than arm-twisting on financial matters.
Good will was so important that I decided to go ahead and exploit my own celebrity status as well. While of course I’d already received dozens of offers to endorse products and appear in movies and such, I’d made it a point never to so much as acknowledge any of them. It was deeply wrong, I felt, to cash in on the trail of dead bodies I’d left in my wake. Even the Imperial ones. But here on Marcus, where I was legitimately a member of the ruling House as well as a hero, well… For the fencibles, I made exceptions. Soon I was wandering the planet, appearing at schools and festivals and such. I even gave speeches sometimes, though Uncle Robert was a bit vexed that I kept them short and never said much of substance. Mostly I told them that I considered them heroes for surviving the occupation, assured them that their leaders knew of their suffering and were doing all they could to alleviate it, and that the fencibles along with the regular army and navy were going to their best to prevent such a catastrophe from ever happening again. Furthermore, I added, they could help by supporting the fencibles. Humans and Rabbits alike found plenty to cheer about in these words, and once I found myself being carried about on the shoulders of a dozen mixed Rabbits and humans for half an hour as thousands chanted “David! David! David!” After that, however, I reluctantly accepted the navy’s offer to pay for a squad of Dogs to act as my personal security detachment, separate from the fencible budget and meant to last the rest of my life. Dogs were pleasant enough creatures, if a bit smelly—I had nothing against them. But it grated me deeply that they were necessary whenever I appeared in public. From then on events had to be scheduled and carefully planned; nothing could be spontaneous.
Fortunately, in my private life things were better. Without even asking me, James and Uncle Robert had warned the local journalists that I was a very private Rabbit who needed a little space. Special favors, they implied, would be few and far between for any media outlet that pestered me in my home range. This worked surprisingly well at first; so long as I offered them a formal interview now and again the local Marcus reporters were wise enough to pretty much leave me alone. Since for a long time access to Marcus Prime was tightly restricted, this allowed me to settle in nicely. But once the travel bans were lifted, the paparazzi flowed in with a vengeance. They were fairly easy to outfox, however, especially since my fellow Rabbits understood perfectly well why I considered them so irritating. Soon I found myself walking to work every day in slave shorts with a shipping box containing my uniform hefted on my shoulder. Sometimes other Rabbits carrying similar containers and gardening tools walked with me, so that it appeared I was part of an ordinary work-gang. It was absolutely amazing how effective this disguise was, and I laughed myself silly every time an off-planet
Good will was so important that I decided to go ahead and exploit my own celebrity status as well. While of course I’d already received dozens of offers to endorse products and appear in movies and such, I’d made it a point never to so much as acknowledge any of them. It was deeply wrong, I felt, to cash in on the trail of dead bodies I’d left in my wake. Even the Imperial ones. But here on Marcus, where I was legitimately a member of the ruling House as well as a hero, well… For the fencibles, I made exceptions. Soon I was wandering the planet, appearing at schools and festivals and such. I even gave speeches sometimes, though Uncle Robert was a bit vexed that I kept them short and never said much of substance. Mostly I told them that I considered them heroes for surviving the occupation, assured them that their leaders knew of their suffering and were doing all they could to alleviate it, and that the fencibles along with the regular army and navy were going to their best to prevent such a catastrophe from ever happening again. Furthermore, I added, they could help by supporting the fencibles. Humans and Rabbits alike found plenty to cheer about in these words, and once I found myself being carried about on the shoulders of a dozen mixed Rabbits and humans for half an hour as thousands chanted “David! David! David!” After that, however, I reluctantly accepted the navy’s offer to pay for a squad of Dogs to act as my personal security detachment, separate from the fencible budget and meant to last the rest of my life. Dogs were pleasant enough creatures, if a bit smelly—I had nothing against them. But it grated me deeply that they were necessary whenever I appeared in public. From then on events had to be scheduled and carefully planned; nothing could be spontaneous.
Fortunately, in my private life things were better. Without even asking me, James and Uncle Robert had warned the local journalists that I was a very private Rabbit who needed a little space. Special favors, they implied, would be few and far between for any media outlet that pestered me in my home range. This worked surprisingly well at first; so long as I offered them a formal interview now and again the local Marcus reporters were wise enough to pretty much leave me alone. Since for a long time access to Marcus Prime was tightly restricted, this allowed me to settle in nicely. But once the travel bans were lifted, the paparazzi flowed in with a vengeance. They were fairly easy to outfox, however, especially since my fellow Rabbits understood perfectly well why I considered them so irritating. Soon I found myself walking to work every day in slave shorts with a shipping box containing my uniform hefted on my shoulder. Sometimes other Rabbits carrying similar containers and gardening tools walked with me, so that it appeared I was part of an ordinary work-gang. It was absolutely amazing how effective this disguise was, and I laughed myself silly every time an off-planet
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