Elizabeth Moon: Rules of Engagement

Mitchell Pardue had been told that his wives and children were safe, but he hadn’t believed it. Not until Prima stood before him, properly barefoot but quite improperly dressed in a bright orange shipsuit with a sheet tied around it for a skirt.

“We have a new protector,” she told him. She glanced at his face, then down respectfully. “Of the Serrano family.”

“Prima—you can’t just—”

“I reckon you lied to me, husband,” Prima said. She looked at him again, this time steadily. “You said they was all orphans. You said those outlander women was all you ever found. You never told me you killed parents, in front of their children, that you killed women , even mothers .”

“I—”

“As far as I’m concerned, they might as well mute you, Mitchell Pardue, because if your tongue cannot speak the truth, why speak at all?”

And after that, he found he had little need to speak, and no one to speak to. In a last act of kindness that tore his heart, his captors showed him video of his children playing in the ship’s gymnasium.

They were almost to the Security station at the Fleet entrance to Rockhouse Major when they spotted the crowds on the other side of the barrier. The security detail moved on ahead to take up their positions.

“Oh Lord, the media!” Brun’s new voice, still furry and softer than it had been, but strengthening steadily. Esmay glanced over at her.

“You knew it would be here.”

“I suppose so, but I could hope. And you know, I used to love being the top newsflash attraction.”

“Well, Barin can almost top you this time,” Esmay said, with a wicked smirk.

Barin flushed. “I do not really have nineteen wives—”

“No, but do you think the media cares? It’s a great story.”

“Esmay—”

“I wouldn’t tease him,” Brun said. “After all, you could be a sensation yourself—”

“Not me, I’m the plain one.”

“I don’t think so. Landbride Suiza in love with a man encumbered by nineteen fanatic cultists, and having gone from villainess of my abduction to hero of the rescue force? We might as well face it—we’re all condemned to a spot on the evening news.”

“So . . . what’s your advice, O experienced target of the press?”

“Relax and enjoy it,” Brun said. “In fact—let’s give them a real show. After all, it’s ours. We’re heroes of the hour—let’s do it right.”

“I hesitate to ask,” Barin said, with a glance at Esmay. “Do you know what she means?”

“No,” Esmay said, “and I don’t want to, but we will.”

“Link arms and I’ll show you,” Brun said.

“We can’t do that; we’re sober, serious professionals, Fleet officers—” But Brun had already grabbed her arm, and they came out of the gate like a trio of chorus dancers, into the lights and hubbub.

“All we have to worry about,” Brun was saying brightly, eyes sparkling, golden curls tossing, “is pirates, thieves, traitors, smugglers, assassins, and the occasional nutcase.”

Esmay looked past Brun to Barin. “Do you want to duck her in the fountain, or shall I?”

“Let’s do it together,” Barin said, suggestively.

“Always,” Esmay said.