Elizabeth Moon - Rules of Engagement

“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—she 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 officer. 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 prÈcis 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.