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nodded back, then sat down in my undersized chair. Our office was a single cramped room with barely enough room for two desks and three spare seats. All of our equipment, right down to our single working data terminal, had been salvaged from the wreckage of the hangers. My desk had a huge crack running down the middle, while Jean’s was scorched and so warped out of true due to a nearby fire that none of the drawers would open. Of all our furnishings only my personal chair could be described as being in good condition, and that was probably because it’d been purpose-built for a Rabbit. I couldn’t see the Imperials—or even most Royals, sadly—making such nice stuff available to their slaves. Therefore it was useless to the invaders and had been tossed on a junkheap. Nestor had found it still brand-new in its crate while exploring the hangars one afternoon, and it’d been mine ever since. Though I had to admit to a qualm or two—I seemed to recall Father requisitioning some furnishings for me in my new role as his apprentice just before our last flight together. There was no way to know if it’d been meant for me all along—the shipping tag was missing. But it was comfortable, and I wasn’t about to let such a treasure go to waste whatever its pedigree. In fact, I planned to take it with me wherever I went.
     
    “We must work with the tools we have, not the ones we wish for,” Fremont said, meeting my eyes and grinning. I smiled back—it was an old saying of mine that I’d had much occasion to use aboard first the Beechwood, then Zombie Station. And he and I had done exactly that together, over and over again.
     
    “True enough,” Heinrich agreed. “But still…” He sighed. 
     
    “I spoke to James earlier this afternoon about the ships he’s going to buy,” I replied. My friend had already promised me that every single House-owned ship and crew would be made available to the fencibles—if the Imperials ever tried to occupy Marcus Prime again, he intended to put up a far better fight than his father had been able to. “Jean, you and Heinrich are both going to accompany the purchasing teams when they get rolling. It shouldn’t be more than a few days. We all know what we’d like to see in a fencible ship—ideally it should be fast, modern, low-maintenance, have a standard powerplant, and so on. The Marcus buyers will be instructed to take your advice under the strongest possible advisement, though you’ll have to keep in mind that they’re on a budget too. Do your best for us.” I smiled as their jaws dropped—I’d warned them that they’d be given responsibilities far above their nominal ranks, but until that very moment perhaps they hadn’t realized just how far above. “That’ll be our first priority, along with getting our support infrastructure in place. Which’ll also take time, and lots of it. We Rabbits will work on that little matter.”
     
    They nodded. “Aye-aye, sir,” Jean replied for them both.
     
    I looked at the clock. “It’s almost five,” I observed. “And heaven knows we’ve all got our work cut out for us over the next few decades or so. How about we take it easy while we still can and knock off early for the day?”
     

8
     
    It wasn’t often that I quit work so early—usually I remained at my desk until seven or eight at night. But just this once, it was pleasant to leave the cramped little office before dark and revisit the scenes of my youth. While I’d been offered a power-scooter for my own exclusive use—my rank as a Marcus was the reason why, as otherwise no mere naval lieutenant could aspire to such luxury—I’d declined it and asked the motor-pool people to forward the thing to the relief effort instead. As a child I’d wandered up and down the streets of Rabbit Town all day long without difficulty on my own two feet, and surely I could manage the same as an adult. Nestor had found us an old shotgun house with an intact roof that was