Elizabeth Moon - Once a Hero

From time to time she looked at the virtual horse in the gym, wondering. She had not told Annie that it had begun to haunt her. This was something she had to work out for herself. Automatically now her mind picked that thought up and played with it. Denial? No—but this was something she wanted to work out for herself. A choice she would make, when she was free to make it.

“I could get attached to the old girl,” Esmay said, peering out the observation ports to the patterns of lights on T-1 and T-5. “She’s an amazing ship.” She and Barin had found a quiet corner of the crafts activity compartment; the climbing club was busy on the Wall, and Barin had confessed he felt no more eagerness for climbing than she did. She thought he looked a lot better; she knew she felt better . . . she had had no nightmares for the past twenty days and was beginning to hope they were gone forever.

“You’re going to transfer to Maintenance Command?” Barin looked up from the model he was putting together, the skeleton of some exotic beast. She could not read his expression, but she saw tension in the muscles of his face.

“It’s tempting . . . there’s a lot more to learn here . . .”

“Fine for a sponge,” Barin said, in a tone that suggested what he thought of sponges.

“Fretting, are we?” Esmay asked, wrinkling her nose at him. “Eager to get back to the real Fleet?”

He flushed, then smiled. “Therapy’s going well, even the group part. It may even—in the very long run—turn out to be something worthwhile.”

“Look out all admirals . . . someone’s after your job?”

“Not quite. By the time I get to that age, there may be no slots for new admirals anyway. That’s another reason to get back into my own track as soon as possible.” He cleared his throat. “How’s your stuff going?”

“Stuff? I’m not shy about it, Barin. The sessions have helped. I still wish I knew how much of the change was me, and how much was in those medications, but . . . they say it doesn’t matter.”

“So what are you going to do? Back into technical track, into scan?”

“I’m transferring,” Esmay said. “If they approve, which I hope they will. So far they’re being encouraging.” She still found it hard to believe how encouraging. Gruff Pitak had practically leaped over the desk, and she had undeniably grinned.

“Transfer to what , you annoying woman?”

Esmay ducked her head, then faced him squarely. “Command track. I think it’s time a few dirtborn outsiders held command.”

“Yes!” His grin lit the compartment. “Please . . . when you get your first legal command . . . wangle me a place in your crew.”

“Wangle?” She pretended to glare at him, but her face wouldn’t stay straight. “You Serranos can wangle all you want, but Suizas expect to earn command.” He made a face and sighed dramatically. “Gods help us all—we let the Suizas off Altiplano.”

“Let?” Esmay reached out and tickled him. Startled, he dropped the model onto the desk.

“You touched me!”

“I’m an idiot,” Esmay said, feeling herself blush.

“No . . . you’re human. Overwhelmed by my charm.”

Esmay laughed. “You wish!”

“Yes, I do,” he said with a sudden change of expression. Slowly, he reached out and touched her cheek. “I do wish an alliance with this Suiza of Altiplano. Not just because Suiza has pulled Serrano out of trouble twice now, but because . . . I do like you. Admire you. And most desperately wish you’d like me enough to welcome me into your life.” A pause she knew was calculated. “And into your bed.”

Her pulse raced. She wasn’t ready for this, she hadn’t let herself think about it since Pitak’s lecture during the crisis. Her body informed her that she was lying, that she had thought of very little else whenever she had the chance. “Uh . . .”

“Though not if the prospect disgusts you, of course. Only if . . . I never thought you’d touch me, aside from whacking me firmly with your elbow or knee in a wallball game.” He was joking now, flushing a little himself, and Esmay felt moved to perform a rescue.

“I’m shy,” she said. “Inexperienced to the point of total ignorance, barring what I saw on the farm as a girl, which I hope is a long way from anything you were thinking of, as it involved biting and kicking and hobbles.”

Barin choked back a laugh. “Esmay!”

“Inexperienced, I said. Not, you will notice, unwilling.”

In the long silence that followed, watching the shifting expressions play over his face, feeling the first feather-touch of his fingers on her face, on her hair, Esmay laid the last fiery ghost to rest.

Awards ceremonies all had the same structure; she wondered if all recipients felt a little silly, so far removed from the mood in which they’d done whatever it was that got them honored. Why the discrepancy? Why had the Starmount stricken her to silent awe when she saw it on someone else’s uniform, while she had felt first nothing much, and then a sort of shamed confusion, when she wore it herself? As Admiral Foxworth spoke briefly to each recipient, she found she could believe that the others deserved their medals—that those awards were real. It was hers that felt . . . wrong.

The sessions of therapy rose up like a mirror in her mind. From a vague shape against darkness her own face came clear, as real as any other. She was real . . . she had done what she had done, and its worth lay not in anything they said about it. What bothered her . . . she struggled with it, fought to bring it out where she could see. Why was it right for others, but wrong for her? You don’t deserve it , said part of her mind. She knew the answer to that now, knew the roots of that belief and could pull up those roots no matter how often the wrinkled seed sprouted. But what else? If . . . if she became that person who could be honored, who could be recognized in public as honorable, then . . . then what? Then someone might . . . look up to her as she had looked up to that young man. Might expect her to be what the award made her seem, what they judged she was ready for.

She almost grinned, making that connection.

She could remember, down the years, from before the trouble, an instructor telling some hapless student: “Don’t tell me I overmounted you: shut up and ride .” And then he’d looked at her, the little Esmay knee-high to the tall horses, watching from the ringside, and said, “This one’ll show you.” He had tossed her up to another horse—the first time she’d been on a horse and not a pony. She’d been more excited than scared, too young to know she couldn’t do what she was told to do—and not knowing, she’d stayed aboard. It had felt like flying, so high above the ground, so fast. She could almost feel that grin stretching her face. “Like that,” the instructor had said, lifting her down. And then he’d leaned close to her. “Keep that up, little one.”

She wasn’t riding ponies any more. She was out in the world, on the big horses, taking the big fences—and she would just have to live up to her reputation as the horses and fences grew bigger. . . .

“Lieutenant Esmay Suiza.” She stood, came forward as directed, and listened as Admiral Foxworth read the citation. She waited for him to pick up the ribbon his aide held on a tray, but instead he raised one bushy gray eyebrow. “You know, Lieutenant, I’ve seen the summary of the Board of Inquiry.” Esmay waited, and when the silence lengthened wondered if she was supposed to answer that. Finally he went on. “The final paragraph specifically notes that you are not to be in command of any combat vessel until such time as you have demonstrated competence in relevant training exercises. Yet I find that your citation says you took command of the vessel Antberd’s Axe which subsequently engaged enemy vessels in a hostile encounter. Your commander praises your initiative, when I would think he should condemn your blatant disregard of the findings of that Board of Inquiry.” He looked at her, his face now blank of all expression. “Do you have anything to say, Lieutenant?”