Elizabeth Moon - Once a Hero

Well then, when she took command, why had she chosen to creep into one system—the right move, all agreed, given what she found—and then go blazing back into Xavier, where she had every reason to believe an enemy force lay in wait? Didn’t she realize that more competent mining of the jump point entry corridor would have made that suicidal? Esmay wasn’t about to argue that her decision made sense; she had followed an instinct, not anything rational, and instincts killed more often than they saved.

And why hadn’t she thought of using a microjump to kill momentum earlier, when she might have saved two ships and not just one? Esmay explained about the nav computer, the need to patch a replacement chip from one of the missile-control units. And on and on, hour after hour. They seemed far less interested—in fact, not interested at all—in how the Despite had blown the enemy flagship, than in her mistakes. The Board replayed surveillance material, pointed out discrepancies, lectured, and when it was over at last Esmay went out feeling as if she’d been boiled until all her bones dissolved in the soup.

Major Chapin, waiting in the anteroom where he’d watched on a video link, handed her a glass of water. “You probably don’t believe this, but you did as well as you could, given the circumstances.”

“I don’t think so.” She sipped the water. Major Chapin sat watching her until she had finished that glass.

“Lieutenant, I know you’re tired and probably feel that you’ve been pulled sideways through a wire gauge, but you need to hear this. Boards of Inquiry are supposed to be grueling. That’s part of their purpose. You stood up there and told the truth; you didn’t get flustered; you didn’t waffle; you didn’t make excuses. Your handling of the nav computer failure was perfect—you gave them the facts and then dropped it. You let Timmy Warndstadt chew you up one side and down the other, and at the end you were still on your feet answering stupid questions in a civil tone of voice. I’ve worked with senior commanders who did worse.”

“Really?” She wasn’t sure if it was hope she felt, or simply astonishment that someone—anyone—could approve of something she did.

“Really. Not only that, remember what I told you at the beginning: you didn’t lose your ship and you made a decisive move in the battle. They can’t ignore that, even if they think it was blind accident. And after your testimony, they’re much less likely to think it was accidental. I wish they’d asked more about the details; you were right not to volunteer it, since it would’ve sounded like making excuses, but . . . it annoys me when they ignore briefs. I put it all in; the least they could do is read it and ask the right questions. Of course there will be negative comments; there always are, if something gets as far as a Board. But they know—whether they’re willing to admit it or not—that you did well for a junior in combat for the first time.”

The door opened, and Esmay had to go back. She returned to her place, facing the long table with the five officers.

“This is a complicated case,” Admiral Warndstadt said. “And the Board has arrived at a complicated resolution. Lieutenant Suiza, this Board finds that your handling of the Despite from the time you assumed effective command after Dovir’s wounds rendered him incapable of taking the bridge, to your . . . precipitous . . . return to Xavier, was within the standards expected of a Fleet captain.” Esmay felt the first quiver of hope that she was not going to be tossed out on her ear, just before being imprisoned as the result of the court-martial.

Admiral Warndstadt went on, this time reading from notes. “However, your tactical decisions, when you returned to the Xavier system, were markedly substandard. This Board notes that this was your first experience of combat and your first time in command of a ship; the Board makes appropriate allowance for these circumstances. Still, the Board recommends that you not be considered for command of a Regular Space Service vessel until you have shown, in combat situations, the level of tactical and operational competence expected of warship commanders.” Esmay almost nodded; as Chapin had warned her, and she already understood, they could not ignore her mistakes. Such Boards existed to point out to captains that luck, even great good luck, was no substitute for competence.

Warndstadt looked up at her again, this time with one corner of that lean mouth tucked up in what might almost be a smile. “On the other hand, the Board notes that your unorthodox maneuvers resulted in the defeat of an enemy vessel markedly superior in firepower and mass, and the successful defense of Xavier. You seem well aware of your shortcomings as commander of a ship in combat; the Board feels that your character and your deportment are both suitable for command positions in the future, as long as you get the requisite experience first. Few lieutenants junior grade command anything bigger than a shuttle anyway; the Board’s recommendation should have the effect of giving you time to grow into your potential. Now—a complete transcript of the Board’s recommendation will be forwarded to you and your counsel at a later date, should you wish to appeal.”

She would be crazy to appeal; this was the best outcome she could have hoped for.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Thank you, sir.” She got through the rest of the ritual, the dismissal of the Board and the necessary individual acknowledgement of each member, without being fully aware what she said. She wanted to fall into a bed and sleep for a month . . . but in three days, her court-martial would begin. In the meantime, she had to record her initial statements for the other courts-martial, including Commander Serrano’s.

“Everything’s unusual about this,” Chapin said, as one who disapproved on principle of the unusual. “They had a time finding enough officers to sit on this many different boards and courts at once, and they’re short of space, too. So they’re shuffling people and spaces, and decided that since you’re in such demand they can, after all, accept recorded testimony for some of it. With any luck, you won’t actually have to appear in person in all of them . . . they certainly can’t yank you out of yours just to answer two questions in some other jig’s trial. It rushes you right now, but then your defense is simple anyway.”

“It is?”

“In principle. Were you a conspirator, intending to commit a mutiny? No. Were you a traitor, in the pay of a foreign power? No. Simple. I expect they’ll ask all the awkward questions they can think of, just so it looks good, and in case the original investigators forgot to check . . . but it’s clear to me, and should be clear to them, that you were an ordinary junior officer who reacted to a developing situation—luckily, in the best interests of both Fleet and the Familias Regnant. The only problem I see . . .” He paused, and gave her a long look.

“Yes?” Esmay finally said, when waiting produced nothing but that steady stare.

“It’s going to be difficult to present you as the ordinary junior officer—although your fitness reports support that, putting you right square in the middle of your class—when you became the very unordinary youngest-ever captain to blow away a Benignity heavy cruiser. They’re going to want to know why you were hiding that kind of ability . . . how you hid that kind of ability. Why were you denying Fleet the benefit of your talent?”

“That’s what Admiral Serrano said.” Esmay forced her shoulders back; she wanted to hunch into a little ball.

“And what did you say?”

“I . . . couldn’t answer. I don’t know. I didn’t know I could do it until I did it, and I still find it hard to believe.”