The Serrano Connection (26 page)

"We got a jump solution," she said, leaving out the rest of it, that instant when she had to accept it, with the risk, or not. The risk had been substantial—the confidence interval on that very unorthodox jump was broad enough that they could have gone right into Xavier itself. "And we came out of jump with a clear shot up the rear of the Benignity command cruiser." And a vector that gave them only one chance for that shot. The crew that had resented losing a chance to become the Sector gunnery champions had made their shot in the narrow window . . . and then had managed to reposition
Despite
in a stable orbit.

"The Board of Inquiry," Esmay said, "did not approve of the means, though they liked the results." She didn't want to discuss that; she hurried on to show how the Xavieran defenses had contributed: the suicidal use of phase cannon on a shuttle, the improvised mines, little
Grogon
's few telling shots, the yacht's astonishing defeat of the killer-ship.

"Only because they weren't expected," Esmay pointed out. "The Benignity ship intended ambush—post-battle analysis picked up enough transmissions to know that—and simply didn't know the yacht was there. When it shut down active systems to lie low for several hours, it was an easy target."

"What difference would it have made if
Despite
had also been in the Xavier system the whole time?"

An intelligent question, but difficult. "By the ship stats, it would have improved the odds ratio only about fifteen percent. To my own knowledge,
Despite
had the best weapons performance in the Sector: whatever Hearne's failings, she demanded and got quick and accurate fire from her crew. But if it had stayed, it would have been a known quantity, and Commander Serrano's force would still have been outnumbered and outgunned. I haven't seen any of the senior analysts' reports, but my own guess is that its contribution throughout the long battle would have been less than its effectiveness as an unexpected opponent at the end. That is, however, only my guess—it does not change the fact that the lack of another hull severely limited Commander Serrano's choices of action—and that its absence was the result of treason."

Silence, attentive and almost breathless. Esmay waited. Finally someone shifted, a very audible rasp of clothing against the seat cushions, and that broke their immobility. Ensign Dettin clambered up to take the podium, and thank her for her talk. Hands rose for more questions, but Esmay caught sight of senior rank in the rear. When had they come in? She hadn't noticed . . . but certainly no ensign guarding the door from other ensigns would refuse entry to the handful of majors and lieutenant commanders gathered there.

Dettin saw them, finally, and stopped short in his closing remarks. "Uh . . . sir . . . ?"

Commander Atarin, Esmay finally recognized as he moved out of the dimness back there and into the light. "I presume you'd be willing to give the same briefing to senior officers?"

A shiver of apprehension ran down her backbone. She couldn't tell if he was angry, or amused; she didn't know whether to apologize or explain. Both were bad ideas, her family heritage reminded her. "Of course, sir." She choked back the automatic qualifiers: if she wasn't really qualified, why was she showing off to the ensigns?

"If I could have a word . . ." he murmured, his glance raking the ensigns, who immediately began scrambling from their seats to leave by the other entrance.

"Of course, sir." Esmay retrieved her display cube from the projector, and came down from the dais. Major Pitak was not one of the officers there, and she didn't recognize any of the others besides Atarin. They gazed at the departing ensigns with the kind of neutral expression which she interpreted as trouble on the half-shell and bubbling from the broiler. Atarin said nothing more until the ensigns had gone.

"Very clearly explained, I thought," he said then. Esmay did not relax; from his tone he might have been discussing a textbook, and she wasn't sure whether she was being considered the textbook's author or its topic. "I was impressed with your analysis of your own errors."

Textbook case of junior officer putting feet clumsily in mouth, then.

"Just how badly was that nav computer damaged?"

A factual question she could answer. "It had taken direct fire—we'd replaced components from storage, but we couldn't get the microjump functions within 80 percent of normal function."

One of the other officers spoke up. "Couldn't you have used components from the weapons board? There's duplication in some of that, if I recall. "

"Yes, sir, there is. But we didn't want to risk having any delay in target acquisition or getting a firing solution."

"Umm. So you were skip-jumping with a faulty system . . . a bit risky, wasn't it?"

Esmay could think of no real answer but a shrug; one did not offer shrugs. "Somewhat risky, yes sir." It had been terrifying at the time, as the confidence intervals broadened and she had had to feel her way from one jump to the next. Instinct, she had been well taught, made a lousy guide to navigation in space.

"When I read the Board of Inquiry report," Atarin said, "I didn't notice that they acknowledged the difficulty with the nav computer. I presume you mentioned it."

"It was in the record, sir," Esmay said. She had not dwelt on the difficulties it presented; it would have been whining, making excuses.

"Yes. Well, Lieutenant Suiza, I think you'd better expect an invitation to the senior tactics discussion group. I quite realize that you aren't a senior analyst—but I doubt we can resist having a firsthand account of so . . . striking . . . an engagement."

"Yes, sir."

"And you might want to check the orientation of your illustration eight . . . I think you've got the axes rotated ninety degrees . . . unless there was a reason for that."

"Yes, sir."

With a nod, Atarin led the other officers out. Esmay felt like falling into one of the seats and shaking for a half hour, but Dettin was peeking in at her, obviously hoping to chat.

"So you don't think she's rousing the ensigns to any sort of . . . undesirable activity?"

"No, sir. You know how ensigns are: they'll go after anyone with real experience to talk about. They love gory stories, and that's what they were hoping for. Instead, she gave them a perfectly straightforward account, as unexciting as possible, of an innately thrilling engagement. Absolutely no self-puffery at all, and no attempt to romanticize Commander Serrano, either. I've invited her to address the senior tactics discussion group—she'll get more intelligent questions there, but I suspect she'll answer them as well."

"I don't want to make her into some sort of hero," Admiral Dossignal said. "It will rile our touchy captain. Too much attention—"

"Sir, with all due respect, she
is
a hero. She has not sought attention; from her record she never did. But she saved Serrano's ship—and Xavier—and we can't pretend it didn't happen. Letting her discuss it in professional terms is the best way to ensure that it doesn't become an unprofessional topic."

"I suppose. When is she speaking? I'd like to be there."

"The meeting after next. We have that continuing education required lecture next time."

When Esmay reported to duty the next day, Major Pitak said, "I hear you had an interesting evening. How does it feel to have an overflow audience? Ever thought of being an entertainer?"

The nightmares that had kept her awake most of the night put an edge in Esmay's voice. "I wish they hadn't asked me!" Pitak's eyebrows rose. "Sorry," Esmay said. "I just . . . would rather put it behind me."

Pitak grinned sourly. "Oh, it's behind you, all right—just as a thruster's behind a pod, pushing it ever onward. Face it, Suiza, you're not going to be an anonymous member of the pack ever again."

Just like my father
, Esmay thought. She couldn't think of anything to say.

"Listen to me," Pitak said. "You don't have to convince me that you're not a glory-hound. I doubt anyone who's ever served with you or commanded you thinks you're a glory-hound. But it's like anything else—if you stand in the rain, you get wet, and if you do something spectacular, you get noticed. Face it. Deal with it. And by the way, did you finish with that cube on hull specs of minesweepers?"

"Yes, sir," Esmay said, handing it over, and hoping the topic had turned for good.

"I hear you're on the schedule for the senior tactics discussion group," Pitak said. Esmay managed not to sigh or groan. "If you've got any data on the hull damage to Serrano's ship, I'd like to hear about it. Also the Benignity assault carrier that blew in orbit . . . mines, I think it was . . . it would be helpful to know a little more about that. The mines and the hull both. I realize you weren't in the system for long afterwards, but perhaps . . ."

"Yes, sir."

"Not that it's tactics proper, but data inform tactics, or should. I expect Commander Serrano made use of everything she knew about H&A."

Forewarned by this exchange, Esmay was not surprised to be buttonholed by other senior officers in the days that followed. Each suggested particular areas she might want to cover in her talk, pertaining to that officer's specialty. She delved into the ship's databanks in every spare moment, trying to find answers, and anticipate other questions. Amazing how connected everything was . . . she had known the obvious for years, how the relative mass of Benignity and Fleet ships governed their chosen modes of action, but she'd never noticed how every detail, every subsystem, served the same aims.

Even recruitment policy, which she had not really thought of as related to tactics at all. If you threw massive ships in large numbers into an offensive war, seeking conquest, you expected heavy losses . . . and needed large numbers of troops, both space and surface. Widespread conscription, especially from the long-conquered worlds, met that need for loyal soldiers. Recent conquests supplied a conscripted civilian work force for low-level, labor-intensive industries. A force primarily defensive, like the Familias Regular Space Service, manning smaller ships with more bells and whistles, preserved its civilian economic base by not removing too many young workers into the military. Hence hereditary military families who did not directly enter the political hierarchy.

Fascinating, once she thought about it this way. She couldn't help thinking what widespread rejuvenation would do to this structure, stable over the past hundred or more years. Then she surprised herself when she anticipated the next set of hull specs on Benignity killer-escorts . . . on their choice of hull thickness for assault carriers. How had she known? Her father's brusque
You're a Suiza!
overrode the automatic thought that she must have seen it before somewhere, she couldn't possibly be smart enough to guess right.

By the time of her second presentation, she felt stuffed with new knowledge barely digested. She'd checked her illustrative displays (yes, number eight had been rotated ninety degrees from the standard references) and assembled what she hoped were enough background references.

"Looks like you came prepared," Major Pitak said, as Esmay lugged her carryall of cubes and printouts into the assigned conference room. This was a large hall in the Technical Schools wing, T-1, its raked seating curved around a small stage.

"I hope so, sir," Esmay said. She could think of two dozen more cubes she might need, if someone asked one of the less likely questions. She had come early, hoping for a few minutes alone to set up, but Pitak, Commander Seveche, and Commander Atarin were already there. Her chain of command, she realized.

"Would you like any help with your displays?" Atarin asked. "The remote changer in this room hangs up sometimes."

"That would be helpful, yes, sir. The first are all set up on this cube—" she held it out. "But I've got additional visuals if the group asks particular questions."

"Fine, then. I've asked Ensign Serrano to make himself available—I'll call him in."

Serrano. She hadn't met him yet, and after what she'd said at dinner, no one had gossiped more about him in her presence. She hadn't wanted to seek him out. What could she have said?
I saved your aunt's life; your grandmother talked to me; let's be friends
? No. But she had been curious.

Her first thought when he walked in was that he had the look of a Serrano: dark, compact, springy in motion, someone whose entire ancestry was spangled with stars, someone whose family expected their offspring to become admirals, or at least in contention. Her second was that he seemed impossibly young to bear the weight of such ambition. If he had not worn ensign's insignia, she'd have guessed him to be about sixteen, and in the prep school.

She had known there were young Serranos, of course, even before she got to the
Koskiusko
. They could not be hatched out full-grown as officers of some intermediate grade. They had to be born, and grow, like anyone else. But she had never seen it happen, and the discovery of a young Serrano—younger than she was—disturbed her.