Free Commodore by Phil Geusz Page A

Imperials could out-drill us, I reminded myself. That was their specialty, after all. But they couldn't even begin to match what was coming next…
    "Special detail!" Heinrich ordered. "Ad— vance !"
    As if by magic, our hand-picked group of twenty fencible Rabbits—fifteen marines and five able spacers—stepped forward two rigid paces.
    "Detail… Present arms !"
    Like machines, the hard-faced marine-bunnies went through the most elegant, florid drill in the manual. In a series of carefully choreographed yet distinct motions the Rabbits raised their blaster-rifles from the deck, spun them a turn and a half a turn each way, then held them at port-arms for inspection. Meanwhile, in elegant counterpoint, the unarmed sailor-bunnies saluted by hand. It was beautiful to behold, and the crashing and slapping noises were sharp and perfectly synchronized this time. Though of course this was far easier to accomplish with twenty participants than a hundred and fifty, so that in a sense we were cheating. My chest swelling with pride, I stole a glance at the Imperial officers.
    To a man, they were staring in slackjawed shock. Indeed, those whose complexions were revealing of such things were turning white. All except for Sir Jason, that was. He stood stoic and calm as a statue. The corners of my mouth twitched upwards a bit, though not so much that I thought anyone could tell. Well , I told myself. You wanted to make an impression, and it certainly seems that you've succeeded.
    There was a long, long moment of silence before Sir Jason returned the salute. "Two!" Heinrich roared, and the special detachment stepped back into place. I wasn't sure if a human could tell or not, but it was obvious to me that the fencibles were fully aware of the sensation they'd just created and feeling very, very proud as a result. I made a mental note to commend them individually in writing later.
    "Well," Sir Jason declared after another awkward moment of silence. "That was… Impressive!"
    I let my potential smile become real. "Thank you, Captain," I replied formally. "We're very proud of our Rabbit servicemen."
    "I'd never have…" Sir Jason's executive officer Hans spluttered. "I mean, it's…"
    My smile widened. The Imperials—Sir Jason excepted—were clearly enraged as much as astounded. And well they should've been, from their own  of view. While Royalist culture was—to my way of thinking, at least—absurdly status-conscious, the Imperials not only took the trait to the nth degree but also folded in a militaristic bent that was downright toxic. In the Royal world an inventor or poet or businessman could achieve at least a degree of social success and regard despite humble birth. Service in the army or navy was considered to be honorable, but nothing terribly special. By contrast, the Empire was all about bloodline and service-rank and not much of anything else.  For them to see mere Rabbits elevated to the dizzying heights of being privileged to bear arms, well… When it was just myself, they were able to sort of label me a special case in their minds. Forced to confront the reality of my unquestionable personal competence as an officer, they sort of dealt with me as a one-off—in essence a fellow human cursed with fur and a tail. Certainly, I couldn't be like those other Rabbits. As a singular exception, in other words, I wasn't much of a threat to their world-view. Line up twenty well-drilled Rabbits in front of them, however, and suddenly the universe took on a sinister new aspect. One they didn't care for at all ! By their mere acceptance of me as a competent fellow officer, something that my credentials rendered absolutely unquestionable to any thinking being, in theory at least they had to accept the horrifying possibility that other Rabbits might be capable warriors as well. But the theory had never been anything but dry intellectualization; it was something they'd carefully conspired together to not think about without having to so