Rules of Engagement

"I understand you had an . . . er . . . disagreement with the Speaker’s daughter, Brun Meager."

As if she didn’t know who it was; as if she did not know with whom she had quarrelled. And could this be what it was about? A simple quarrel?

"Yes, sir."

"The . . . er . . . surveillance recordings indicate that you criticized Sera Meager on grounds of her moral failings . . ."

"Sir." Certain phrases came back to her memory for the first time in days, as if highlighted in flame.

"Do you really think that was appropriate professional demeanor, Lieutenant?"

"If you have the tapes, you know why I said what I said," Esmay said. She wished she’d been more tactful, but it was petty of Brun to have reported their argument.

"Let me put it another way, Lieutenant." The voice was a shade cooler; Esmay felt it on her skin, like a cold breeze stiffening the hairs of her arms. "Whatever the provocation, do you think it is appropriate for a Fleet officer to lecture a civilian—a prominent civilian—as if they were rival fishwives?" Before Esmay could think of anything to say, he want on. "Because, Lieutenant, I can tell you that I do not consider it appropriate. I consider it an embarrassment, and I am quite seriously disappointed in your performance. Allowances have been made for your background—"

Esmay stirred, but he held up a warning hand and went on.

"Your background, as I said, would be some excuse, if you were not from a prominent family on Altiplano, and if you had not previously commented on the greater formality of manners there. I hardly think you would have spoken to a civilian guest of your father’s in such terms as you used to Sera Meager."

"No, sir." She wouldn’t, because no young woman of family would have behaved like Brun Meager. She tried to think of an equivalent crime, and couldn’t. But no use explaining . . . that never did any good.

"And then to make comments where someone in the media could hear you—!"

"Sir?" She had no idea what that was about.

"Don’t tell me you don’t know about that!" He glared at her.

"Sir, after the argument with Brun, I finished packing and then left on the field exercise. I didn’t talk to anyone else about anything at all; I didn’t talk to anyone about her during the exercise, and I just got back from medical . . . I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know what you’re talking about."

He looked slightly taken aback, someone in a righteous rage who had stumbled over an inconvenient contrary fact.

"You spoke to no one?"

"No one, sir."

"Well, you must’ve been loud enough for someone to overhear, because it certainly made the news."

There would have been no media on a military installation on Altiplano. It wasn’t fair to blame her because they’d let media follow Brun around and poke into every cranny.

"You of all people should know that Fleet is under great suspicion at this time—between the mutinies and the Lepescu affair—and the last thing we need is some wild-eyed young officer accusing the Speaker’s daughter of immorality. That does us no good with the Grand Council, or for that matter with the populace at large. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"I wonder. You are an intelligent officer, and supposedly talented in tactics, but . . . in all my years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen as egregious an example of bad judgement. You’ve embarrassed me, and you’ve embarrassed the Regular Space Service. If you didn’t have such a good record previously, I would seriously consider having you up for conduct unbecoming an officer."

All she had done was tell a rich spoiled brat the plain truth . . . but clearly some unpleasant truths were not to be told. Brun was the one who had done wrong, and now she was in trouble. Her head was pounding again.

"Let me tell you what you’re going to do, Lieutenant. You are going to avoid any interviews on any topic whatsoever. You are going to make no comments whatever about Sera Meager, to anyone. If asked, you will say you lost your temper—which clearly is the case—and you have no more to say. I would have you apologize to Sera Meager, except that she chose to leave this facility—and no wonder—and I doubt she wants to hear from you anyway. Is all that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Esmay saluted and withdrew, angry with both herself and Brun. She shouldn’t have said what she said—all right, she could admit she’d been too angry to think straight. But Brun had taken advantage of her, time and again—and to go complain to authority was . . . was another proof of her childishness.

She was supposed to meet Barin—he’d left word on her comunit—but she really wanted to crawl into her bunk and sleep another twelve hours. At least, she thought, he wouldn’t waste their time talking about Brun.

Brun was the first topic he brought up. "You were pretty hard on her," Barin said, after mentioning that he’d seen the newsflash along with everyone else in the class. "She’s not as bad as all that . . ."

"She is," Esmay said. It was too much; she was not going to let Brun get away with ruining this, too. She saw his face change, his expression harden against her. Sorrow cut through her, but her anger pushed her on, forcing her against the blade of his disapproval. "She had no right to come after you; if she had one scrap of morality—"

"That’s not fair," Barin said. "She does. It’s just that—that someone like that—"

"The richest girl in the Familias Regnant? The rules are different for the rich, is that what you’re saying?"

"No—yes, but not the way you mean it." The slight emphasis he put on "you" stung; he had meant it to, Esmay was sure.

"The way I mean it is that people who have her advantages ought to have used them for something more than personal pleasure."

"Well, had you told her that we were . . . anything to each other?"

"No, I did not." Esmay could feel her own face getting stiff. "It was none of her business. It has nothing to do with me and you; it has to do with her assumption that anyone she wants should climb in bed with her . . ."

"Anyone!" Barin looked startled, then amused, then alarmed. "She didn’t try to get you—?"

"No!" Esmay shook her head, which was beginning to throb in the old way. "She didn’t, of course she didn’t. It’s just that she went after you, and you’re an officer of Fleet, and younger than she is—" Too late she remembered that she herself could not be simultaneously older than Brun and co-equal with Barin. Her voice wavered; she gulped and went on. "It was—was—unseemly. Chasing junior officers."

"Esmay, please." Barin reached out but drew back his hand before touching her. "It was perfectly natural. And all she did was ask. When I said no, she didn’t bother me. Perfectly polite, perfectly within the bounds of courtesy."

"You said no?" Esmay managed to get out around a dry lump in her throat.

"Of course I said no. What do you think?" His heavy Serrano brows drew together. "You thought I slept with her? How could you think that?" Now he was angry, black eyes flashing and a flush coming up in his face.

Esmay felt panic rising in her. He hadn’t slept with Brun? Had Livadhi lied? Misunderstood? Not known? She could say nothing. Barin, glaring at her, nodded sharply as if her silence confirmed some dire suspicion.

"You thought I did. You thought just because I shared a few meals with her while you were busy, just because we talked, just because she’s a rich girl, that I’d leap into her bed like a tame puppy. Well, I’m no one’s pet, Esmay. Not hers, and not yours. If you really cared for me, you’d know that. I’m sorry you understand so little, but if you want to succeed in Fleet, you’d better get off your moral high horse and start dealing with reality."

He was gone before she could say anything, and long before anyone could have suspected what she had once worried they might suspect. She made it to her quarters at last, and spent another night not sleeping, staring at the ceiling over her bunk.

When they met in class the next day, Esmay could do nothing but stare miserably at the back of Barin’s head. He did not turn to look at her. When called on, he gave his answers in his familiar crisp voice; she found that she could do the same, though she wasn’t at all sure how her brain could keep working when her heart was lying in a sodden heap somewhere below her navel.

She had never been in love before. She had heard others describe similar symptoms, but had thought they exaggerated. They did not exaggerate, she decided; in fact, they had not begun to describe the misery she felt. They had all lived through it; she supposed she would too, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

To her surprise, she received a high score on her field exercise. It did not make her feel better, though her subdued acceptance of the certificate seemed to please Lieutenant Commander Uhlis. She could feel the subtle withdrawal of her classmates, even those like Vericour who had been friendly all along.

Anonymity had been a lot easier than disgrace.

On the day Barin was due to leave, she made her way to the exit area; she felt she had to make some contact with him, or she might as well jump off a tower. Her hands were icy; she could feel her heart pounding as she spotted him across the room.

"Barin—"

"Lieutenant." He was coolly polite. She didn’t want coolly polite.

"Barin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you." That came out in a rush, almost all one word.

"No apologies necessary," he said, almost formally. She thought she saw a bit of warmth in his eye, but nothing more. He wasn’t going to reach out for her, not here in public, and he showed no signs of wanting a more private conversation.

"I just—don’t want us to be enemies," Esmay said.

"Never!" He took a breath. "Never enemies, Lieutenant, even if we can’t agree." A long pause, during which Esmay heard what he did not say aloud—or what she imagined he was saying. She didn’t know which. "Goodbye, Lieutenant, and good luck on your first assignment in command track. You’ll do fine."

"Thank you," Esmay said. "And good luck to you." Her throat closed on the rest of what she wanted to say: We could stay in touch. We could plan . . . No. She had ruined what they had, and that was it.

They shook hands, formally, and then saluted, formally, and then he moved over to the line forming for his shuttle. Esmay did not wait to see if he would turn around and wave. She was sure he wouldn’t.

She had not been outside the gates of the facility before, but now she found herself wandering out to Q-town in the kind of numb misery she thought she’d never feel again. She didn’t want to see anyone from her class in the mess hall, but she had to eat before leaving, or she’d throw up. Someone had said—who was it? She couldn’t recall, someone on Koskiusko—that while she was on Copper Mountain, she’d have to visit Diamond Sims. She spotted the sign down the street, and made for it.

"Lieutenant Suiza!" The man in the hoverchair called to her almost as soon as she cleared the door. "I’m glad you came. I’m Sam—I run this place."

Someone was glad to see her? She glanced around, recognizing with a strange shock what this bar was about, and made her way toward the back.

"We’re honored you came by," the man said. "Major Pitak said you might, if you had time."

"Sorry it took me so long," Esmay said. "I was doubling courses—"

"Yeah—we keep track of people at the school, so I knew you were busy. Didn’t expect you before now, and didn’t know if you’d have time. When’s your shuttle?"

"About five hours." Esmay took the seat he indicated.

"You in trouble about that Meager woman?" he asked.

Brun again. Esmay managed a nod, and hoped that would indicate she didn’t want to talk about it.

"It’s partly my fault," the man said. "She came in here hopping mad that night, and shot off her mouth in front of the whole room. We think what happened is that one of the newsies on her tail got it with a spike-mike from out on the street. Least, nobody that was here will admit to telling it."

"It’s—not worth worrying about," Esmay said. "It happened; I can’t change it now."

"You sound like someone who needs a steak," the man said. He raised his hand, and a waitress appeared. He glanced at Esmay. "Steak all right? Onions?"

"No onions, thanks." Not with a shuttle liftoff. But she nodded to the rest of his suggestions, and soon the sizzling platter appeared.

When she had started eating, the man went on chatting. "She’s a pretty thing, but stubborn as a stump. A good argument against letting civilians train at our facilities, no matter whose children they are. It does no good to mix with the Families. They employ us; they cannot be us."

For some reason—perhaps the energy imparted by the steak—Esmay was moved to argue. "She had a lot of talents we could use—"

"Oh, certainly, if she had any discipline at all . . ."

"She did pull off some good stuff I heard about," Esmay said. "Helping that old lady—she worked hard on that."

His eyes twinkled. "You’d make a silk purse out of any sow’s ear, would you, Lieutenant? A good attitude for a young officer, but you’ll find some of ’em smell of pig no matter what you do. So where are you going now?"

"I’m not sure," Esmay said. "They’re supposed to have my assignment ready by the time I get to sector HQ. They may bury me in paperwork—"

"No, I don’t think so," the man said. "Even if you’re in trouble now, it will pass, and they’re not going to waste a young officer with real combat ability."

"I hope not," Esmay said.

Junior Officer Assignment Section, Regular Space Service HQ

"We’re going to have to find something else," the admiral said. "I know what we thought we were going to do with Lieutenant Suiza, but we certainly cannot reward her performance with a plum assignment."

"We needed her the way she was—" the commander said.

"The way we thought she was. Thank any deity you like that we brought her in for training before assigning her permanently to command track. Imagine the mess she could’ve caused as a cruiser captain, if all this had slid by."

"I still find it hard to understand. There was nothing—nothing—in her record to indicate that kind of character flaw, rather the opposite."

"There was nothing in her record to indicate her ability in combat until Xavier," the admiral said. "If she could hide that kind of talent, and she did, then this is no more difficult. And after all, she’d never been in contact with any of the Families before—Altiplano has no Seat in Council."

"There is that." The commander looked thoughtful. "I wish we knew whether there was anything more to it."

"More? Verbal assault on the Speaker’s daughter isn’t enough?"

"Well . . . is it just personal, or is it political? Is she the spearpoint for something?"

"I don’t know, and at the moment I don’t care. We’ve wasted entirely too much money and time on this young woman, and we’re going to have to figure out a way to get repaid without risking the welfare of the Fleet." The admiral looked around the table. "Someone had better have an idea how."

Down at the far end, a lieutenant commander raised her hand. "Sir, she’s elected to take both the basic level Search and Rescue as well as Escape and Evasion, right?"

"Yes . . ."

"SAR is chronically short of junior officers for both ship XOs and SAR team leaders, and those are command track billets. There are at least three openings for lieutenants in Sector VII alone."

The admiral thought a moment. "Relatively small ships, elite crew, operating independently for the most part—yes. She’d be under really close supervision; if she messes up, or tries to foment some kind of action, her captain would know for sure. Good. What have you got?"

"Shrike, I thought. Podaly Solis is commanding it, and his exec just applied for family leave."

"Mmm. I don’t know about having her second in command . . ."

"My thought was, it puts her more directly under the captain’s supervision than she would be as a team leader. And we have no doubts about Solis; he helped us clean out that mess at Sector HQ, as I’m sure the admiral recalls."

"Yes, that’s true. Probably the best we can do. Blast the girl; why couldn’t she have been as good as she seemed?"

Sector VII HQ, Aragon Station

Esmay arrived at Shrike’s dock area to find it in perfect order; the guard saluted crisply and checked her orders.

"I’ll just let the captain know—we didn’t expect you until early next shift."

"Gossamer came in early," Esmay said.

She wondered what her father would think now, both about her promotion and the trouble she was in. She was sure he’d followed her career as best he could from Altiplano; her promotions and awards were matters of public record, and the news media had covered the Koskiusko affair. Her thoughts drifted to her great-grandmother—so fragile, so embedded in her culture’s past. What would she think? For an instant, she wished she could sit beside that low chair, and pour out the whole story. Surely her great-grandmother would understand about Barin; surely she would feel the same way about Brun.

Captain Solis greeted her with reserve; she did not know whether it was his habitual mood, or whether he had been informed of the trouble she was in.

"You’re quite inexperienced to be taking over as number two," he said. "I understand you have a distinguished combat record, especially considering that you were not in command track at the time. But the executive officer of an SAR—that’s asking rather a lot of you."

"I’ll do my best, sir," Esmay said.

"I’m sure you will. Your experience on a DSR will be some use, and I see you stood well in your classes in both search and rescue and escape and evasion. Still, it will be a stretch, and you might as well be prepared." He gave her a long look. "Now, about this other problem—your quarrel with the Speaker’s daughter." He shook his head. "If I’d been your CO, I’d have had you up for conduct unbecoming. He didn’t, and so far you have no record here, but I warn you—I will not tolerate disrespect for the civil government of the Familias Regnant. Officers do not play politics. We serve; we do not interfere."

Esmay wanted to say that Brun was not her father, and had no official position of her own, but she knew she must not. Why did they keep thinking that her opinion of Brun’s behavior had anything to do with her loyalty to the Fleet? "Yes, sir," she said.

"You will find no support for any Family games on my ship," he went on. "And no room for grandstanding, either. You do your job, and do it well, and you’ll get the appropriate credit in your fitness reports. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Yes, sir."

"I’ll expect you back here in two hours for a briefing. Dismissed."

It was cold comfort that her duffel was all in her compartment when she got there. At least her new position ensured a compartment, even on so small a ship. She glanced around. Bunk, storage lockers, desk, cube reader, and—to her surprise—a row of display screens above the desk. Esmay inserted her datawand into the slot, and these screens flashed to life. One displayed the orders of the day; another gave the status of the two SAR teams and their vehicles; yet another listed stores, crosslinked to consumption rates.

Esmay stowed her gear in the lockers—she had nothing to put in two of them—and changed into a clean uniform. She did not look forward to the next meeting with her captain.

He was, however, slightly more affable. "I hate losing Colin," he said. "But his wife was killed in a traffic accident while she was downside arranging for their children to change fosterage. It’s going to take him quite a while to sort everything out . . . the kids have outgrown the grandparents, and the retired uncle who was going to take them was killed in the same accident." He shook his head, then smiled at Esmay. "You’ll find we have good teams, Lieutenant. And a tour on an SAR is always interesting. We deal with problems that the big boys ignore—everything from private yachts stranded by jump-drive blowouts, to collisions. You will learn a lot. And since we didn’t expect you until tomorrow, you’re not on the watch list yet, which gives you time to poke around and start learning your job."

"All I’ve had was the basic SAR course, sir," Esmay said. "They assigned me before I had time for the advanced . . ."

"Better than nothing," he said. "And if you know you don’t know, you’ll ask questions instead of blundering around causing trouble. Now—the duties of exec on this ship are different than on line ships. That’s because our mission is different. There’s the basic stuff, of course—but I’d like you to look at this—" he handed over a data cube. "And of course you’ll want to meet everyone—we’d planned a get-together this evening, at 1900—"

"That’s fine, sir," Esmay said. "I can get unpacked, have a chance to look this over . . . unless you have something now."

"No, that’s fine. We’re not kicking out of here until day after tomorrow anyway. There’s a meeting tomorrow, which you’ll have to attend as my representative—you haven’t been with the ship quite long enough to take over full prep."

Alone in her cabin—her name was already on the door, she noticed, with the permanent engraving Executive Officer underneath—inserted the cube the captain had given her into the reader. She knew what an exec did—or thought she did. Run the ship, basically, under the captain’s command. But on a Search and Rescue ship, the exec also had the responsibility of supervising all rescue efforts, while the captain concentrated on ship security—of both this ship and the rescued one. She blinked at the listing for the security detachments—she had not realized that an SAR ship would carry marines, though it made sense. Most of the time when ships needed rescue, it was the result of some deliberate act, and the troublemakers might still be in the area.

And she’d had only the basic course . . . so it was definitely going to be a case of "sergeant, put up that flagpole" if they had a rescue call before she had learned the rest of the stuff she needed. Which meant she had better make friends with the sergeant equivalents.

She scrolled quickly through the headings of her job description to the ship’s table of organization, and began to figure out who would do the actual work, while she "supervised." These were the key people she must have on her side. The words in the leadership manuals were fresh in her mind. The five rules of this; the seven principles of that. She reminded herself where the cube of those manuals was. She would review it as soon as she’d finished the captain’s cube. She knew she could lead, when she let herself remember it.

Shrike mounted two complete rescue teams, cross-trained in both gravity-field and zero-gravity work. Like most of the smaller SARs, the gravity-field training specialized in low-pressure and vacuum work. Most of their calls would be to space stations or ships in deep space. A forensic team and a lab full of analytical gear suggested that SAR might include something more than accident assistance. And the medical support team was substantially larger than a ship this size normally carried, including both major trauma regen tanks and two surgical theaters, with all that implied. Again, it reminded her of a miniature of Koskiusko.

Rescue One was commanded by a lieutenant she remembered from the Academy as a clown of sorts, Tika Briados; he didn’t seem clownish now, as he led her around the ready room with its racked suits and equipment. It all seemed a jumble to Esmay, though an orderly one—she recognized only about half the equipment and wondered how long it would take to learn the rest. Rescue Two’s commander was a jig she’d never met before, Kim Arek; she was eager and energetic, busily explaining things that Esmay hoped she could remember. She kept nodding, and found herself liking Jig Arek for her single-minded enthusiasm.

Going through both rescue team areas had taken hours, she found when she finally got away from Arek, and she needed to get ready for the meeting with the other officers. She did hope they weren’t all going to mention Brun Meager.

The wardroom was crowded when she got there.

"Lieutenant Suiza—glad to meet you." The blocky major who thrust out his hand reminded her of Major Pitak. "I’m Gordon Bannon, pathology."

"Officers—" That was Captain Solis, who stood; the others quieted. "This is Lieutenant Esmay Suiza, our new executive fficer. Some of you have heard of her—" There were murmurs that Esmay hoped referred to her earlier exploits. "She’s fresh out of Copper Mountain, with the basic course in SAR, so I’m sure you’ll all cooperate in educating her into the real world." He sounded friendly enough; this was clearly an old joke, for their chuckle had no edge to it.

After that, the others came up one by one to introduce themselves. Esmay began to relax as she chatted with them; they were clearly more interested in how she might perform here than in anything which had happened in her past.

In the next few days, she threw herself into her work, loading her scheduler with everything she could think of, or that anyone suggested. When Shrike left the base, she was just beginning to think she had a handle on her assignments. Shrike would patrol alone through the sector, ready to assist in any emergency that fell within its mission statement. According to those who had been aboard longest, days might go by with nothing happening, or disasters might overlap . . . there was no way to predict.

"The ship’s a part-container, part-bulk hauler that lost power on insertion . . . the insystem drive’s functioning at maybe twenty percent. They say it’s fluctuating, and they can’t make orbit. We’ve advised them that there’s a registered salvage company in this system; the captain sounds unhappy with that. Says he’s had trouble before with salvage companies."

The first emergency since she’d come aboard. Esmay listened to the précis of the problem, and tried to remember which protocol this fell under.

"He wants Fleet assistance." Captain Solis looked at Esmay. "We have a responsibility in such cases, but we must also consider our responsibility to the whole area. So I want an estimate on the time it will take us to skip-jump over there, rig grapples, and put him in tow, then sling him back toward the orbit he wants. He’s not an emergency."

"Sir." Esmay ran the numbers quickly. "Sixty hours, allowing a safety margin for rigging the grapples; he should have standard tug connections, but just in case."

"Well, then . . . let’s go catch us a freighter."

Esmay watched the approach plots carefully on the bridge displays. External vid showed a bulbous, almost spherical ship with rings of colored light indicating tug grapple connections.

"Ugly, isn’t it?" asked Lieutenant Briados. The Rescue One commander was on the bridge to watch the approach. "You’d think they could design big freighters with some character, but they all look pretty much alike."

"It would hold a lot of soldiers," Esmay said, the first thing that came into her mind.

Briados laughed. "I can tell you’re off a warship. Yeah, it could, but it hasn’t got insystem maneuverability worth spit. Even with the insystem drive working."

"How do they even know where to mount the drives? What’s the drive axis?"

"Well, they want low-speed maneuverability near stations, so they mount two, usually, out near the hull and separated by sixty degrees; the drive axis is the chord perpendicular to the chord between the drives, in the same plane." It took Esmay a moment to work that one out, but she nodded finally.

Captain Solis turned to her. "All right, Suiza—let’s see how you handle this. Just pretend you’ve been doing it for years."

Her stomach churned. She nodded to the com watch, and picked up the headset to talk to the freighter captain, explaining that a team would be boarding.

"We just wanted a tow," the captain said. "I don’t see why you want to board."

"It’s R.S.S. policy to board all vessels seeking assistance," Esmay said, repeating what Captain Solis had told her. "Just a routine, sir."

"Damned nuisance," the captain said.

"Think of it as practice," Esmay said. "If we didn’t practice close-hauling and boarding, we might not be quick enough for someone with a serious emergency. After all, it might be your ship . . ."

"Oh, all right," he said. "Just as long as you’re not planning to practice cutting holes in my hull."

Shrike deployed standard tug grapples, backed up by its military-grade tractor. In this instance, the grapples homed neatly on the freighter’s signal, and locked on as Shrike maintained matching course and velocity. The tractor snugged the SAR ship closer still. Esmay gave the orders that sent Jig Aran and her team across a few hundred meters of vacuum to the other ship.

Rescue Two made its way in and out of all the holds, while Shrike boosted the freighter gently on its way, then returned before Solis ordered the grapples retracted.

"Captain—what were they looking for?" Esmay asked.

"Just practicing," Solis said.

She looked at him; finally he grinned at her.

"All right. You might as well know. Sector’s concerned about possible shortages in the munitions inventory. We think some stuff’s being diverted from Fleet to civilian use. So the admiral says to check every ship that asks us for a boost. It is good practice, including the use of the warhead detection equipment."

"What’s missing?" asked Esmay.

Solis spread his hands. "I’ve been told I don’t need to know, but since they specified the equipment we were to use looking for it, I’d say someone’s misplaced some of the more effective nukes."

"Ouch."

"Exactly. If our stuff’s being transshipped on civilian freighters, it could be going anywhere. To anyone. Probably not the Benignity—they have their own munitions industry, and plenty in stock. But any of the lesser hostile powers, or domestic malcontents . . ."

"Or simply pirates," Esmay said.