Elizabeth Moon - Rules of Engagement

She was vaguely conscious that her captors were considerably annoyed with her for some reason, but nothing mattered as much as Brun’s appropriation of Barin, and her own determination to defend—not territory, exactly, but her chance at—

As suddenly as it began, it ended. She didn’t notice at first, though as she came back to real space and time, she was aware that her mind had noticed, and had begun pulling her back from the story she’d been writing in her mind. She felt the cool blunt snout of a hypospray against her arm, then a wave of returning clarity. When she opened her eyes, a medic smiled at her, and gave the code phrase that meant the exercise was over. And Lieutenant Commander Uhlis, looking no grimmer than usual, reached out a hand to help her up.

“Suiza, you’re tougher than I thought. Whatever you were doing inside your head worked—keep it in mind in case you need it.”

She felt shaky when she stood, and only then noticed that her hands were bandaged. He nodded at them. “You’ll need an hour or so in the regen tank. The team kept thinking they could get to you in just another little bit. But it’s all within regs.” Now she could feel the pain, working its way past the restorative drug. Uhlis put out his arm again. “Better take hold—we’ll get you into the transport. You’re the last here—”

“The team?” she asked.

“You all passed,” he said. “Even Taras. I don’t know how you got her through it, but you did.”

“She did,” Esmay said. She felt distinctly odd, with the combination of stimulant and residual imagination, but managed not to throw up or fall down. Once in the transport, she tried to let herself relax, but she couldn’t quite. It could still be a trick . . . it could still be . . .

She woke briefly back at the base, when the medics were easing her into the regen tank; one glimpse of her hands was enough. She didn’t fight the sedative they gave her, but slid into unconsciousness.

By the time she got back to her quarters, she was more than ready for solitude and sleep. The pain was gone, and there were no visible bruises, but her body insisted that something traumatic had happened. The medics said she’d feel much better in the morning, that tank healing often left people feeling slightly disoriented and peculiar.

She had just decided not to bother with undressing, when her comunit chimed.

“The Commandant wishes to see you at your earliest convenience,” the voice in her ear said. “He will expect you within ten minutes.”

She tried to shake herself awake, staggered into the shower, and into a clean uniform. What could the Commandant possibly want? Some administrative matter, no doubt, but why the hurry?

The Commandant did not look as if this were just an administrative matter. Esmay came to attention and waited. Finally he spoke.

“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 went 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.