The Serrano Connection (62 page)

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."

"Says who?" Vericour leaned over to look. "Uh . . . you trust that scan data from
Tarngeld
?"

"Well . . . it's embarrassing to have to admit you were clobbered by a ship a third your mass, which used to be on your side, so I'd bet on its being accurate. Besides, according to the post-battle plot, nothing else was in that direction. My question is, what did they do to
Pierrot-Valutis
to make her that effective, and are they doing that to their other ships?"

"Wouldn't think so. They didn't at Xavier, did they?"

"Not that I know of, but . . . they had
Pierrot
for three years before she showed up in their lines."

"Well, someone must've noticed that . . ."

"Yes, but did they apply it?" Esmay handed over the relevant bits. "If the Benignity does whatever it did to that ship to others of the same size, we've got a new element to worry about."

"Maybe. But if they could, they'd have used it at Xavier, wouldn't they?"

"I wish I knew what it was . . . it matters if it was some one-time thing that depended on some of our architecture—"

"One really good scan tech? Weapons tech?"

"Maybe," Esmay said again. "But if they've got one that good they might have more. I think we ought to make this one of the main points of our presentation."

"I'm not going to argue with the hero of Xavier and the
Kos
," Vericour said, with a grin that took the sting out of it. "It's not something I would have thought of. Maybe you are that smart."

"I do my best," Esmay said, grinning back. He wasn't Barin, but he was comfortable.

She was still thinking that when Vericour reached out and touched her hair. Esmay managed not to flinch, but she moved smoothly away.

"Sorry," he said. "I just . . . thought you might like it."

So Barin wasn't the only man who could find her attractive . . . she didn't know whether she found that reassuring or just bothersome. At least she knew for sure that another lieutenant was within the limits allowed by regulations and the ethics class.

"I'm . . . not in the mood," she said. She couldn't explain about Barin, or claim a preexisting relationship, not yet.

"If you ever are in the mood, just let me know," Vericour said. "I'll even swear on whatever you like that it's not just hero worship."

She chuckled, surprising herself. "I didn't think it was," she said.

He grinned back, but made no more advances. That's what the manuals all said was supposed to happen, but she'd never had to deal with it before. She felt a small burst of surprise that the manuals were right.

A few days later, their presentation gained the highest rating in the class. Afterwards Vericour suggested a celebratory drink in Q-town, the little cluster of commercial establishments just outside the gates. "You're certainly good luck," he said. "I hope we're on the same team for E and E. They say no one ever makes it all the way through the field exercise without getting captured, but you might be able to pull it off."

"I doubt it," Esmay said. "The instructors know the terrain backwards and forwards. Just like natives."

"Well—it would be more fun with you, anyway. So—will you come?"

"No—remember I'm taking extra classes, and I have a final in Admin Procedures tomorrow."

"My sympathies." Vericour bowed elaborately, and Esmay laughed. So he was no Barin—he was still fun to be around. She went back to her quarters and tore into the Admin Procedures material until long past her usual bedtime.

The next morning, she was surprised to see Brun Meager lining up for PT with the others. During the run, she moved up beside Esmay.

"Hi—I hardly ever see you." She didn't sound out of breath at all.

"I've got a heavy schedule," Esmay said. Unlike many, she actually enjoyed the run, but one of the things she enjoyed about it was sinking into a meditative state.

"So I noticed. This was the only thing I could take right now where we'd overlap, but I'm going to be in your Escape and Evasion course."

"You?" Esmay glanced at her. Brun was taller; she loped along as if she could run forever, like one of the endurance horses.

"Well—if people are out to get me, I need to learn to get away."

"I suppose." She could also learn to let her security personnel guard her the way they were supposed to, and quit putting herself into dangerous situations. But that was for someone else to say.

"And I wanted to ask you—if we get a choice—I'd like to be on your team."

Great. Just what she needed, a spoiled rich girl on her team. Esmay glanced at her again, and scolded herself. Brun might be spoiled but she was willing to work and learn—not every rich girl would pile out of bed at that hour to do PT with a lot of grumpy soldiers. Admiral Serrano had sponsored her; that had to be worth something. Rumor had it she didn't ask any favors in her classes, either.

"I don't know if we get a choice," Esmay said. "But if it's possible, it's all right with me."

"If you ever wanted, we could go into Q-town together," Brun said, an almost wistful note in her voice.

"No time," Esmay said. Q-town held no attraction for her; if she wouldn't go with Vericour, she certainly wasn't going with a civilian.

"You don't ever go?"

Esmay shrugged. "No—they have good steaks in the mess."

"Um. And good steaks constitute your definition of entertainment?" That had a slight edge to it.

"No—but I wouldn't expect you to find much entertainment there either."

"Well . . . I like a drink with friends now and then," Brun said. "Or a meal outside, just because it is outside." They ran on a ways, and then she said. "That redheaded lieutenant—Vericour. He's a friend of yours?"

"We were classmates," Esmay said. "And we've been assigned some problems together."

"But you like him?"

"He's nice," Esmay said. She couldn't figure out what Brun was driving at. Did she want an introduction? "He goes to Q-town fairly often."

"I know," Brun said. "I've seen him there with friends—I wondered why you didn't go."

"Schedule." It was harder to talk when she was used to solitude in the mornings. "I've got a final this morning," she said, hoping Brun would take the hint.

"What in?" Brun asked. As if she were really interested, which seemed unlikely.

"Administrative Procedures," Esmay said.

"Sounds dull," Brun said. "But I guess I should let you review it in your head."

That would have been nice, but they were almost back to the starting point. Esmay was glad she'd spent the extra hours the night before.

"There's going to be an ensign in our class," Vericour said, as they headed toward the first of the Escape and Evasion classes.

"An ensign?" Esmay hoped her face didn't reveal anything. Barin had left a message saying he was down, but she hadn't seen him yet; she had back-to-back classes. "So?"

"Well . . . this is a bit upper-level for an ensign, don't you think? But I hear he's a Serrano; that probably explains it."

"Says he was on
Koskiusko
," Vericour said. Esmay finally realized he was fishing, and what he was fishing for. She wanted to strangle him.

"Let me see," she said, and stopped at the next dataport to suck the class list. "Oh . . . yes. Barin Serrano. I know him." She hoped that was sufficiently casual. Her eye ran on down the list and got snagged on Brunhilde Meager. She had hoped someone would talk the girl out of this; the class was known to be dangerous, but there she was.

"And . . . ?"

She gave Vericour a glance that moved him back a half step. Good. "And he's a fine junior officer—what more do you want?"

"Was he on your crew on the Bloodhorde ship?"

"No." And she was not going to tell Barin's secrets, either; Vericour could find out for himself.

In the classroom, she saw Brun first; the tall blonde was leaning on a desk, surrounded by male officers, while her bodyguards stood by the wall, looking as blank as robots. She had, Esmay had to admit, an infectious laugh and a smile that lit up the room. Esmay moved to a seat midway up on the left side, and then spotted Barin, front row right, already seated and looking compact and composed.

Should she go up there? But she was already in her seat, and Vericour was in the next . . . it would be obvious if she moved. Barin turned, as if her glance were a warm hand on his neck, and spotted her. He smiled, nodded; she nodded in return. Enough for now; they could talk later. Although . . . certain paragraphs in the professional ethics lectures came back to her. They would have to be careful. They were not presently in the same chain of command, but she was senior enough that the relationship would be called "not recommended."

At the chime, the instructor came in; he looked as if he'd been slow-dried over a fire . . . the color of jerky and not any more extra fat. Lieutenant Commander Uhlis, his name was.

"Escape and evasion," he said, without preamble. "If you're lucky, you'll never need this course, but if you need it and haven't mastered it . . . you'll be dead. Or worse." He glanced around the room, then his gaze rested on Barin.

"I understand that Ensign Serrano already has experience as a captive," Lieutenant Commander Uhlis said. "But none at all in escape." Esmay gave him a sharp look. His tone was ambiguous, edged in some way she could not yet determine.

Barin said nothing; the others had turned to look at him.

"It is the duty of a captured officer to attempt to escape, is it not, Serrano?" The edge was sharper, sarcasm at the least.

"Yes, sir."

"Yet . . . you did not."

"I did not escape, sir."

"Did you even
try
?" Contempt now. Esmay could feel the tension in the room.

"Not effectively," Barin said. "Sir."

"I would have thought a
Serrano
the equal of a few Bloodhorde thugs," Uhlis said. "Would you care to explain to the class your mistakes?" Put that way, it was not a request.

"Sir, I was careless. I thought the person I saw in the inventory bay, wearing a Fleet uniform with Fleet patches, was Fleet personnel."

"Ah. You expected the Bloodhorde to be fur-clad barbarians carrying swords—"

"No, sir. But I didn't expect them to be laying an ambush in the inventory bay. As I said, sir, my carelessness."

"And precisely how did they capture you, Ensign?"

Esmay could tell from the quality of Barin's voice that he was both angry and shamed. "I was climbing an inventory rack—the Deep Space Repair has automated inventory racks some twenty meters tall, but the machinery had been shut off. Ship regulations required using safety harness and line, so I was clipped into the ladder I was climbing. The parts trays were far enough apart that someone could lie flat in them; when I climbed up that far, I found a gun to my head."

"And did you struggle?"

"Yes, sir. But between the harness and the ones who grabbed my legs, and getting knocked unconscious, not effectively."

"I see." Uhlis eyed the rest of the class. "The lesson here is that a moment's inattention—a brief lapse of caution—can and someday will result in your capture. The ensign thought that he was safe, aboard a Fleet vessel, even though he knew intruders had penetrated the ordinary defenses. He saw nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing, felt nothing—and no doubt convinced himself that anything out of the ordinary was the result of the overall emergency situation. Someone else would take care of it. He is lucky to be alive, presumably only because his captors thought he might be useful that way."