Once I accepted that this was what my bunnies really wanted even knowing they could never win, suddenly the situation was rich with new tactical possibilities. I spent my days poring over Station schematics and charts of the Zombie cluster, issuing what must often have seemed like senseless orders and gulping down cup after cup of Nestor’s wonderful tea. It was amazing how instantly and unquestioningly I was obeyed, including by the chief and his men. Apparently I was now regarded as some kind of miracle-worker. Certainly my human crewmates made it a point to snap-to and salute me nowadays, even though I’d long since suspended formal military courtesy due to everyone’s excessive workloads and our unique situations. It was a tremendous compliment, especially when it came from the chief himself. “We’re all going to die, sir,” Petty Officer Bryant explained to me one day. “We know that. But because of you we’re going to die fighting and proud, for something worthwhile. Everyone’s grateful as hell, including me.”
