Rules of Engagement

by Elizabeth Moon

  Brun nodded; Esmay got up when Thornbuckle did, and he walked her to the door. “I’m officially still Smith,” he said ­quietly.

  “I understand, sir.” She understood more than she wanted to, or than he expected. She was glad to get back to her own quarters, where she could deal with her memories of her father in privacy. There, she found a stack of study cubes in the delivery bin, and racked them into the cube reader’s storage. Some looked much more promising than others; Leadership for Junior Officers made sense, but why did she have to study Administrative Procedures for Junior Staff? She didn’t want anything to do with admin­istration.

  * * *

  Brun curled up on her bunk under her very non-regulation afghan and pretended to nap until her security detail had finished whatever it was doing and gone to stand outside. As if she were a prisoner. As if she were a naughty child. As if being shot at were her fault.

  Her father had done it again. She would have been fine, if he had only been somewhere else, if only she had had time to get well before he showed up. But no. He had to come here, still unsure she should be doing things like this, and embarrass her in front of a roomful of professionals . . .

  In front of Esmay Suiza.

  She rolled over, and picked up her remote, then flicked on her cube reader, cycling through the selections until she found the one she wanted.

  Back on Xavier, while she herself was drunk and incapable (as her father had mentioned more than once), Esmay Suiza had survived the treachery of her captain, the mutiny that followed, and then saved everyone-including Brun-by blowing up the enemy flagship. Brun had followed the court-martial of Despite’s crew in the news; she had wondered over and over how that calm young woman with the flyaway hair managed to do it. She didn’t look that special-but something in the expression, in the eyes that never wavered, caught at her.

  And then the same young woman had been a hero again, in an adventure that seemed like something out of a storycube ­series . . . she had been outside a ship during FTL flight and survived; she had defeated another enemy. Once more her image filled the news viewers, and once more Brun had imagined meeting her . . . talking to her . . . becoming-she was sure they could become-friends.

  When she’d learned that Esmay Suiza was coming here, to Copper Mountain-that she might even be in the same classes-she had been so certain that her luck was running true. Here at last was the woman who could help her be like that, help her combine her uncooperative past experiences into the self she wanted to be.

  And now her father had ruined it. He had treated Suiza as a professional, worthy of respect; he had made it clear he thought Brun was a headstrong child. What would Esmay Suiza think now-what could she think, when the Speaker of the Grand Council, her own father, had presented her that way? It was impossible that Suiza could see her as a competent adult.

  She would not let it be impossible. She would not let this chance go by. There had to be some way to convince Suiza that she was more than a silly fluffhead. Fluffhead made her think of Suiza’s hair, which could certainly use some attention . . . maybe Suiza would be approachable on a girl-to-girl level first, and then she could prove what else she could do. . . .

  * * *

  At the next main meal, a few hours later, Esmay returned to the mess, and sat with a tableful of jigs and lieutenants who had arrived the day before. She remembered a few of them from the Academy, but had not served with any of them. They knew of her recent exploits and were eager to discuss them.

  “What’s it like to fly a Bloodhorde raider?” asked Vericour, another lieutenant. In the six years since their graduation, he had gained several kilos and now sported a crisp red mustache.

  “Fun,” said Esmay, knowing the expected response. “Goes like a bat, even if you don’t redline it.”

  “Shielding?”

  “None to speak of. And the weapons systems are amazing for its size. The interior’s mostly weapons, very little crew space.”

  “They must have lousy shooting, if they missed you-”

  “They didn’t shoot at us first,” Esmay said. “After all, I was in their ship. They let us get close, and-poof.”

  “Yeah . . . that’s the way. What’re you here for?”

  “A whole string of things,” Esmay said. “I’m changing to command track-”

  “You mean you weren’t?”

  “No.” How to explain this one?

  Vericour shrugged. “That’s Fleet Personnel for you. Take someone with a flair like yours and shove her into technical, just ­because they need more techs. They ought to recruit techs, if they want more.”

  Esmay opened her mouth to explain it hadn’t been Fleet’s fault, considered the difficulty of the subsequent explanations, and nodded instead. “Yup. So now they’ve let me into command track, and I have to play catch-up. All the stuff I missed-”

  “They’re not going to drag you through command psychology, and all that dorf?”

  Esmay nodded.

  “When you’ve actually commanded ships in battle? That’s ridiculous.”

  In sardonic chorus, everyone else at the table said “No, that’s regulations!” Vericour laughed, and Esmay along with him. She was enjoying herself, she realized, with people who were almost strangers, even without Barin. The discovery that she could ­enjoy herself like this was new enough that it still surprised her when it happened.

  “You know, I heard the Speaker’s daughter’s here,” Anton Livadhi said, in a lower tone.

  “Well, she’s run through the whole of the Royal Space Service,” Vericour said. “I suppose she’s looking for new blood.”

  Esmay said nothing; she could not say anything without revealing knowledge she wasn’t supposed to have.

  “Is it true she was floating around in a rock­hopper’s pod stark naked at Xavier?” Livadhi asked.

  “Alone?” asked someone else Esmay didn’t know.

  “That’s the story,” Livadhi said. “My cousin-you know Liam, Esmay; he was on Despite-he said he heard from a buddy on the flagship that she got stewed and somehow ended up out there all alone. But Liam’s a bit inventive; I figured Esmay would know if it really happened.”

  “Why?” asked Esmay, buying time.

  “Because they’d have put a young female officer with her, afterwards,” Livadhi said. “I figured that would be you.”

  “Not me,” Esmay said. “I was busy doing scutwork on Despite. Never even saw her.” Until now, but that was another thing she couldn’t tell them.

  When she left the table, she glanced around but did not see Brun. Did the girl have meals alone somewhere? She pushed aside the thought that the girl might be lonesome. Brun Meager was not her problem . . . this course was.

  Chapter Two

  At 0500 local time the next morning, Esmay shivered in the chill predawn breeze, much cooler than ship standard. The air smelled of growing things, and distance-sharply different from ship air. Some of the others sneezed, but Esmay sniffed appreciatively-it wasn’t home, but some of the smells were the same.

  Her shivering didn’t last long once the exercise started. Esmay grinned to herself-she had always worked out faithfully, but some of these people had not, judging by the sounds they made. She was sweaty, but not exhausted, after an hour and a half; she had surprised herself by coming in fourth in the final run around the drillfield. In the distance, she had seen the irregular cliffs for which Copper Mountain was named emerge from predawn dimness to show the oranges and reds and ochres, when the sun hit them. Vericour was complaining loudly, but good-naturedly; she suspected it was mostly for effect. He didn’t seem to be breathing any harder than she was, and it took breath to complain.

  “When’s your first class?” he asked, as they jogged back to quarters.

  “Not class-testing,” Esmay said. “They think I can test out of some things, to make room for others.” She hoped so; otherwise her schedule would be impossible.

  They parted with a wave, and Esmay went in to shower thi
nking how different he was from Barin. He was older; he was her peer; he was pleasant and handsome . . . and about as exciting as a bowl of porridge.

  That first day passed in a blur of activity. She tested out of some sections-she’d been told she probably would-Scan, as she expected, and Hull and Archi­tecture, which she had not. She must’ve picked up more of that on Koskiusko than she’d thought. The military law segment concentrated on treason, mutiny, and conduct unbecoming . . . giving her an unfair advantage, she thought, but she wasn’t going to complain. Administrative Procedures, though, was her downfall, along with tables of organization and command chains in areas where she’d never served.

  “Your schedule’s going to be all over the place,” the testing offi­cer said, frowning. “If you actually took both courses, back to back, you’d be here five standard months. You’ve placed out of about half the lower course, and a tenth of the upper . . . let’s see now.” He finally produced a schedule that looked impos­sible for the first two weeks-though he claimed that two of the classes were ­no-brainers-and merely difficult for the next seven.

  She had a few choices, and picked Search and Rescue Basic, and Escape and Evasion; they sounded more active than the optional staff support and admin­istrative methods courses. Besides, she knew they were practical. She didn’t want to end up in Barin’s situation.

  By the end of the first five days, Esmay felt settled in the academic routine. She was carrying about half again as many hours as her classmates, but the pace of instruction was much slower than it had been at the Academy. Early morning PT woke her up for the day’s classes, and she didn’t have to stay up too late to get all the work com­pleted. Already some of the others had established a habit of going into Q-town when classes let out, eating there instead of in the mess hall. She was almost glad that her extra classes made that impos­sible for her; she had never socialized off-ship with other officers, and felt shy about it now. Many did not go into town every evening, and whenever she emerged from her room for a break, she would find someone ready to chat or play a quick game in one of the rec rooms.

  Administrative Procedures was as dull as she’d feared, though she understood the importance of the course. She tackled it as she had tackled technical data in Scan or Hull Architecture, and found she could remember all the niggling little details even if she was bored by them.

  Professional Ethics for Military Officers was another matter. She had started in eagerly, expecting-she wasn’t quite sure what, but not what she got. Three lectures on personal relationships left her feeling unsure and guilty about her . . . friendship . . . with Barin Serrano. Example after example where a senior officer’s pursuit had damaged, if not ruined, a junior’s career. Examples of apparently innocent liaisons, which ended in grief for all concerned. She wondered if he was talking about one of her Academy classmates, a stunning blonde from the Crescent Worlds. She hadn’t seen Casea since graduation, but she had heard that she had moved on from classmates to more senior officers.

  And yet-the instructor had insisted-Fleet had neither the desire nor the power to prohibit close friendships and even marriage between officers. The standards governing such relation­ships were, according to the instructor, perfectly clear and reasonable. Esmay could recite them forwards and backwards, without knowing for sure if she and Barin had done anything wrong, or if going where they had talked about going was forbidden. She wished she had someone to ask about it.

  To her relief, her Tactical Analysis class did not consider either the action at Xavier or the Koskiusko defense; along with her classmates, she plunged instead into a comparison of Familias and Benignity small-ship capabilities and battle performance.

  “Lies, damn lies, and statistics,” muttered Vericour, her assigned partner. “I hate statistical analyses of battles. It’s more than just so many tons throw-weight-”

  “Mmm . . .” said Esmay, extracting another set of figures from the archives. “Did you know that the Benignity had better battle performance out of Pierrot than we did, after they captured her?”

  “No! That’s got to be wrong-none of their tacti­cians use maneuver the way we do-”

  “Yup. Renamed Valutis, confirmed from salvage . . . their commander got five hits on Tarngeld, at extreme range.”

  “Says who?” Vericour leaned over to look. “Uh . . . you trust that scan data from Tarngeld?”

  “Well . . . it’s embarrassing to have to admit you were clobbered by a ship a third your mass, which used to be on your side, so I’d bet on its being accurate. Besides, according to the post-battle plot, nothing else was in that direction. My question is, what did they do to Pierrot-Valutis to make her that effective, and are they doing that to their other ships?”

  “Wouldn’t think so. They didn’t at Xavier, did they?”

  “Not that I know of, but . . . they had Pierrot for three years before she showed up in their lines.”

  “Well, someone must’ve noticed that . . .”

  “Yes, but did they apply it?” Esmay handed over the relevant bits. “If the Benignity does whatever it did to that ship to others of the same size, we’ve got a new element to worry about.”

  “Maybe. But if they could, they’d have used it at Xavier, wouldn’t they?”

  “I wish I knew what it was . . . it matters if it was some one-time thing that depended on some of our architecture-”

  “One really good scan tech? Weapons tech?”

  “Maybe,” Esmay said again. “But if they’ve got one that good they might have more. I think we ought to make this one of the main points of our pre­sentation.”

  “I’m not going to argue with the hero of Xavier and the Kos,” Vericour said, with a grin that took the sting out of it. “It’s not something I would have thought of. Maybe you are that smart.”

  “I do my best,” Esmay said, grinning back. He wasn’t Barin, but he was comfortable.

  She was still thinking that when Vericour reached out and touched her hair. Esmay managed not to flinch, but she moved smoothly away.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I just . . . thought you might like it.”

  So Barin wasn’t the only man who could find her attractive . . . she didn’t know whether she found that reassuring or just bothersome. At least she knew for sure that another lieutenant was within the limits ­allowed by regulations and the ethics class.

  “I’m . . . not in the mood,” she said. She couldn’t explain about Barin, or claim a preexisting relationship, not yet.

  “If you ever are in the mood, just let me know,” Vericour said. “I’ll even swear on whatever you like that it’s not just hero worship.”

  She chuckled, surprising herself. “I didn’t think it was,” she said.

  He grinned back, but made no more advances. That’s what the manuals all said was supposed to happen, but she’d never had to deal with it before. She felt a small burst of surprise that the manuals were right.

  A few days later, their presentation gained the highest rating in the class. Afterwards Vericour suggested a celebratory drink in Q-town, the little cluster of commercial establishments just outside the gates. “You’re certainly good luck,” he said. “I hope we’re on the same team for E and E. They say no one ever makes it all the way through the field exercise without getting captured, but you might be able to pull it off.”

  “I doubt it,” Esmay said. “The instructors know the terrain backwards and forwards. Just like natives.”

  “Well-it would be more fun with you, anyway. So-will you come?”

  “No-remember I’m taking extra classes, and I have a final in Admin Procedures tomorrow.”

  “My sympathies.” Vericour bowed elaborately, and Esmay laughed. So he was no Barin-he was still fun to be around. She went back to her quarters and tore into the Admin Procedures material until long past her usual bedtime.

  The next morning, she was surprised to see Brun Meager lining up for PT with the others. During the run, she moved up beside Esmay.

 
“Hi-I hardly ever see you.” She didn’t sound out of breath at all.

  “I’ve got a heavy schedule,” Esmay said. Unlike many, she actually enjoyed the run, but one of the things she enjoyed about it was sinking into a medi­tative state.

  “So I noticed. This was the only thing I could take right now where we’d overlap, but I’m going to be in your Escape and Evasion course.”

  “You?” Esmay glanced at her. Brun was taller; she loped along as if she could run forever, like one of the endurance horses.

  “Well-if people are out to get me, I need to learn to get away.”

  “I suppose.” She could also learn to let her security personnel guard her the way they were supposed to, and quit putting herself into dangerous situations. But that was for someone else to say.

  “And I wanted to ask you-if we get a choice-I’d like to be on your team.”

  Great. Just what she needed, a spoiled rich girl on her team. Esmay glanced at her again, and scolded herself. Brun might be spoiled but she was willing to work and learn-not every rich girl would pile out of bed at that hour to do PT with a lot of grumpy soldiers. Admiral Serrano had sponsored her; that had to be worth something. Rumor had it she didn’t ask any favors in her classes, either.

  “I don’t know if we get a choice,” Esmay said. “But if it’s possible, it’s all right with me.”

  “If you ever wanted, we could go into Q-town ­together,” Brun said, an almost wistful note in her voice.

  “No time,” Esmay said. Q-town held no attraction for her; if she wouldn’t go with Vericour, she certainly wasn’t going with a civilian.

  “You don’t ever go?”

  Esmay shrugged. “No-they have good steaks in the mess.”

  “Um. And good steaks constitute your definition of enter­tainment?” That had a slight edge to it.