The Serrano Connection (69 page)

"Suiza, you're tougher than I thought. Whatever you were doing inside your head worked—keep it in mind in case you need it."

She felt shaky when she stood, and only then noticed that her hands were bandaged. He nodded at them. "You'll need an hour or so in the regen tank. The team kept thinking they could get to you in just another little bit. But it's all within regs." Now she could feel the pain, working its way past the restorative drug. Uhlis put out his arm again. "Better take hold—we'll get you into the transport. You're the last here—"

"The team?" she asked.

"You all passed," he said. "Even Taras. I don't know how you got her through it, but you did."

"She did," Esmay said. She felt distinctly odd, with the combination of stimulant and residual imagination, but managed not to throw up or fall down. Once in the transport, she tried to let herself relax, but she couldn't quite. It could still be a trick . . . it could still be . . .

She woke briefly back at the base, when the medics were easing her into the regen tank; one glimpse of her hands was enough. She didn't fight the sedative they gave her, but slid into unconsciousness.

By the time she got back to her quarters, she was more than ready for solitude and sleep. The pain was gone, and there were no visible bruises, but her body insisted that something traumatic had happened. The medics said she'd feel much better in the morning, that tank healing often left people feeling slightly disoriented and peculiar.

She had just decided not to bother with undressing, when her comunit chimed.

"The Commandant wishes to see you at your earliest convenience," the voice in her ear said. "He will expect you within ten minutes."

She tried to shake herself awake, staggered into the shower, and into a clean uniform. What could the Commandant possibly want? Some administrative matter, no doubt, but why the hurry?

The Commandant did not look as if this were just an  administrative matter. Esmay came to attention and waited. Finally he spoke.

"I understand you had an . . . er . . . disagreement with the Speaker's daughter, Brun Meager."

As if she didn't know who it was; as if she did not know with whom she had quarrelled. And could this be what it was about? A simple quarrel?

"Yes, sir."

"The . . . er . . . surveillance recordings indicate that you criticized Sera Meager on grounds of her moral failings . . ."

"Sir." Certain phrases came back to her memory for the first time in days, as if highlighted in flame.

"Do you really think that was appropriate professional demeanor, Lieutenant?"

"If you have the tapes, you know why I said what I said," Esmay said. She wished she'd been more tactful, but it was petty of Brun to have reported their argument.

"Let me put it another way, Lieutenant." The voice was a shade cooler; Esmay felt it on her skin, like a cold breeze stiffening the hairs of her arms. "Whatever the provocation, do you think it is appropriate for a Fleet officer to lecture a civilian—a prominent civilian—as if they were rival fishwives?" Before Esmay could think of anything to say, he went on. "Because, Lieutenant, I can tell you that I do
not
consider it appropriate. I consider it an embarrassment, and I am quite seriously disappointed in your performance. Allowances have been made for your background—"

Esmay stirred, but he held up a warning hand and went on.

"Your background, as I said, would be some excuse, if you were not from a prominent family on Altiplano, and if you had not previously commented on the greater formality of manners there. I hardly think you would have spoken to a civilian guest of your father's in such terms as you used to Sera Meager."

"No, sir." She wouldn't, because no young woman of family would have behaved like Brun Meager. She tried to think of an equivalent crime, and couldn't. But no use explaining . . . that never did any good.

"And then to make comments where someone in the media could hear you—!"

"Sir?" She had no idea what that was about.

"Don't tell me you don't know about that!" He glared at her.

"Sir, after the argument with Brun, I finished packing and then left on the field exercise. I didn't talk to anyone else about anything at all; I didn't talk to anyone about her during the exercise, and I just got back from medical . . . I'm sorry, sir, but I
don't
know what you're talking about."

He looked slightly taken aback, someone in a righteous rage who had stumbled over an inconvenient contrary fact.

"You spoke to no one?"

"No one, sir."

"Well, you must've been loud enough for someone to overhear, because it certainly made the news."

There would have been no media on a military installation on Altiplano. It wasn't fair to blame her because they'd let media follow Brun around and poke into every cranny.

"You of all people should know that Fleet is under great suspicion at this time—between the mutinies and the Lepescu affair—and the last thing we need is some wild-eyed young officer accusing the Speaker's daughter of immorality. That does us no good with the Grand Council, or for that matter with the populace at large. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"I wonder. You are an intelligent officer, and supposedly talented in tactics, but . . . in all my years, I don't think I've ever seen as egregious an example of bad judgement. You've embarrassed me, and you've embarrassed the Regular Space Service. If you didn't have such a good record previously, I would seriously consider having you up for conduct unbecoming an officer."

All she had done was tell a rich spoiled brat the plain truth . . . but clearly some unpleasant truths were not to be told. Brun was the one who had done wrong, and now
she
was in trouble. Her head was pounding again.

"Let me tell you what you're going to do, Lieutenant. You are going to avoid any interviews on any topic whatsoever. You are going to make no comments whatever about Sera Meager, to anyone. If asked, you will say you lost your temper—which clearly is the case—and you have no more to say. I would have you apologize to Sera Meager, except that she chose to leave this facility—and no wonder—and I doubt she wants to hear from you anyway. Is all that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

Esmay saluted and withdrew, angry with both herself and Brun. She shouldn't have said what she said—all right, she could admit she'd been too angry to think straight. But Brun had taken advantage of her, time and again—and to go complain to authority was . . . was another proof of her childishness.

She was supposed to meet Barin—he'd left word on her comunit—but she really wanted to crawl into her bunk and sleep another twelve hours. At least, she thought, he wouldn't waste their time talking about Brun.

Brun was the first topic he brought up. "You were pretty hard on her," Barin said, after mentioning that he'd seen the newsflash along with everyone else in the class. "She's not as bad as all that . . ."

"She is," Esmay said. It was too much; she was not going to let Brun get away with ruining this, too. She saw his face change, his expression harden against her. Sorrow cut through her, but her anger pushed her on, forcing her against the blade of his disapproval. "She had no right to come after you; if she had one scrap of morality—"

"That's not fair," Barin said. "She does. It's just that—that someone like that—"

"The richest girl in the Familias Regnant? The rules are different for the rich, is that what you're saying?"

"No—yes, but not the way you mean it." The slight emphasis he put on "you" stung; he had meant it to, Esmay was sure.

"The way I mean it is that people who have her advantages ought to have used them for something more than personal pleasure."

"Well, had you told her that we were . . . anything to each other?"

"No, I did not." Esmay could feel her own face getting stiff. "It was none of her business. It has nothing to do with me and you; it has to do with her assumption that anyone she wants should climb in bed with her . . ."

"Anyone!" Barin looked startled, then amused, then alarmed. "She didn't try to get you—?"

"No!" Esmay shook her head, which was beginning to throb in the old way. "She didn't, of course she didn't. It's just that she went after you, and you're an officer of Fleet, and younger than she is—" Too late she remembered that she herself could not be simultaneously older than Brun and co-equal with Barin. Her voice wavered; she gulped and went on. "It was—was—unseemly. Chasing junior officers."

"Esmay, please." Barin reached out but drew back his hand before touching her. "It was perfectly natural. And all she did was ask. When I said no, she didn't bother me. Perfectly polite, perfectly within the bounds of courtesy."

"You said no?" Esmay managed to get out around a dry lump in her throat.

"Of course I said no. What do you think?" His heavy Serrano brows drew together. "You thought I
slept
with her? How could you think that?" Now he was angry, black eyes flashing and a flush coming up in his face.

Esmay felt panic rising in her. He hadn't slept with Brun? Had Livadhi lied? Misunderstood? Not known? She could say nothing. Barin, glaring at her, nodded sharply as if her silence confirmed some dire suspicion.

"You thought I did. You thought just because I shared a few meals with her while you were busy, just because we talked, just because she's a rich girl, that I'd leap into her bed like a tame puppy. Well, I'm no one's pet, Esmay. Not hers, and not yours. If you really cared for me, you'd know that. I'm sorry you understand so little, but if you want to succeed in Fleet, you'd better get off your moral high horse and start dealing with reality."

He was gone before she could say anything, and long before anyone could have suspected what she had once worried they might suspect. She made it to her quarters at last, and spent another night not sleeping, staring at the ceiling over her bunk.

When they met in class the next day, Esmay could do nothing but stare miserably at the back of Barin's head. He did not turn to look at her. When called on, he gave his answers in his familiar crisp voice; she found that she could do the same, though she wasn't at all sure how her brain could keep working when her heart was lying in a sodden heap somewhere below her navel.

She had never been in love before. She had heard others describe similar symptoms, but had thought they exaggerated. They did not exaggerate, she decided; in fact, they had not begun to describe the misery she felt. They had all lived through it; she supposed she would too, but she wasn't sure she wanted to.

To her surprise, she received a high score on her field exercise. It did not make her feel better, though her subdued acceptance of the certificate seemed to please Lieutenant Commander Uhlis. She could feel the subtle withdrawal of her classmates, even those like Vericour who had been friendly all along.

Anonymity had been a lot easier than disgrace.

On the day Barin was due to leave, she made her way to the exit area; she felt she had to make some contact with him, or she might as well jump off a tower. Her hands were icy; she could feel her heart pounding as she spotted him across the room.

"Barin—"

"Lieutenant." He was coolly polite. She didn't want coolly polite.

"Barin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you." That came out in a rush, almost all one word.

"No apologies necessary," he said, almost formally. She thought she saw a bit of warmth in his eye, but nothing more. He wasn't going to reach out for her, not here in public, and he showed no signs of wanting a more private conversation.

"I just—don't want us to be enemies," Esmay said.

"Never!" He took a breath. "Never enemies, Lieutenant, even if we can't agree." A long pause, during which Esmay heard what he did not say aloud—or what she imagined he was saying. She didn't know which. "Goodbye, Lieutenant, and good luck on your first assignment in command track. You'll do fine."

"Thank you," Esmay said. "And good luck to you." Her throat closed on the rest of what she wanted to say: We could stay in touch. We could plan . . . No. She had ruined what they had, and that was it.

They shook hands, formally, and then saluted, formally, and then he moved over to the line forming for his shuttle. Esmay did not wait to see if he would turn around and wave. She was sure he wouldn't.

She had not been outside the gates of the facility before, but now she found herself wandering out to Q-town in the kind of numb misery she thought she'd never feel again. She didn't want to see anyone from her class in the mess hall, but she had to eat before leaving, or she'd throw up. Someone had said—who was it? She couldn't recall, someone on
Koskiusko
—that while she was on Copper Mountain, she'd have to visit Diamond Sims. She spotted the sign down the street, and made for it.