Elizabeth Moon: Rules of Engagement

“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.

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 thinking 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.”