Rules of Engagement Read online

  “No, but-”

  “Then you can come, surely? If you’re not in Lieutenant Suiza’s Tactics class, then she’s not going to be spending time with you-not that she’d cradle-rob anyway.”

  “I’m hardly an infant, Brun,” Barin said, before Esmay could say anything. “But yes, I’ll be your escort . . . since your watchdogs will be along to ensure my good behavior.”

  Esmay watched them go with feelings not so much mixed as churned. She did have a Tactics study group meeting, but she had hoped for a few more minutes with Barin, in which she could ask him about his interpretation of the rules governing personal rela­tionships between officers not of the same rank, or in the same chain of command. He had grown up in Fleet; he was used to the rules. If he thought there was nothing wrong, there probably wasn’t anything wrong.

  * * *

  Barin eyed the Speaker’s daughter as they walked through to the base gates. Dangerous waters, he told himself. Professional officers did not mix with Fam­ilies; the shadowy aura of Undue Influence brooded over any such liaison. Still, common courtesy to a guest of the Fleet demanded that he accompany her . . . and her security detail.

  He would much rather have talked to Esmay. They had things to discuss . . . and anyway, she looked tired, strained, and he wanted to help her, ease that strain. She had been trying so hard for so long; she was on the right track now, but . . . his fingers twitched, imagining the softness of her hair, the way he could soothe the tension from her neck.

  “So . . . you knew Lieutenant Suiza on the Koskiusko?” Brun asked.

  “Yes,” Barin said, brought back abruptly from his reverie.

  “Is she always so . . . stiff?”

  “Stiff? She’s hardworking, professional-”

  “Dull,” Brun said. But her mouth quirked.

  “You can’t mean that,” Barin said.

  She grinned at him. “No, I don’t mean that. But I wanted to meet her, talk to her, and she’s always so . . . so upright and formal. Not to mention that she never seems to stop studying. She’s at the top in just about every class-what more does she want?”

  “What any of us wants,” Barin said. “To be the best.” He was aware of his spine growing slightly more rigid, and wondered why.

  “It’s so different,” Brun said, in a thoughtful tone. “I’ve been around Royal Space Service officers for years, and they’re not like all of you.”

  Because they weren’t really military, but that was not something to say when Brun was being trailed by six of the Royal Security’s finest.

  “I don’t know why all this is necessary,” Brun went on. “Professional competence I can understand, but the rules are ridiculous.”

  Barin managed not to snort. “What rules are these?” he asked instead.

  “Oh, you know. All this formality in class-standing when the instructor enters, and saluting all the time, and everything divided by rank.”

  “There are reasons,” Barin said vaguely; he didn’t feel like explaining millenia of military tradition to a privileged civilian who was in a mood to dislike it anyway. “But if you don’t like it, why did you come?”

  “Admiral Serrano recommended it. Over my father’s objections, in fact. She said I would benefit from the chance to develop my special talents in a controlled environment.”

  “That sounds like a quote,” Barin said.

  “You know Admiral-oh, that’s right, you are a Serrano. So you also know Heris, I’d imagine?”

  “Admiral Serrano is my grandmother; Commander Serrano is one of my cousins.” No need to go into that.

  “Well, then, we’ll be friends,” Brun said, taking his arm in a way that made him distinctly uncom­fortable. “Now let’s go have some fun.”

  Barin thought longingly of Esmay, hard at work no doubt in her quarters.

  Chapter Three

  Brun had developed a habit of stopping by Esmay’s quarters every day or so, for what she termed “a friendly chat.” Esmay did her best to be polite, though she resented the time it cost her, and even more the fact that Brun seemed to consider herself qualified to comment on everything in Esmay’s life.

  “Your hair,” she said, on one of her first visits. “Have you ever considered having it rerooted?”

  Her hair had been an issue since childhood; before she could stop herself, she had run a hand over it trying to smooth it down. “No,” Esmay said.

  “Well, it would probably help,” Brun said, cocking her own gold head to one side. “You’ve got quite nice bones . . .”

  “I have quite a nice lot of work to do, too,” Esmay said. “If you don’t mind.” And was not sure which was worse, the insults or the casual way Brun slouched out, apparently not the least offended.

  One evening, she arrived with Barin, who made some excuse and left, casting a lingering glance that Esmay wished she knew how to interpret.

  “He’s nice,” Brun said, settling herself on Esmay’s bunk as if she owned it.

  “More than nice,” Esmay said, trying unsuccessfully not to ­resent Brun’s proprietary tone. Just what had Barin and Brun been doing?

  “Handsome, courteous, clever,” Brun went on. “Too bad he’s only an ensign-if he were your rank, he’d be perfect for you. You could fall for him-”

  “I don’t want to ‘fall for’ anyone in that sense,” Esmay said. She was uneasily aware that her ears felt warm. “We’re col­leagues-”

  Brun cocked an eyebrow. “Is Altiplano one of those places where no one can talk about sex?”

  Her ears felt more than warm; her whole face burned. “One can,” she said between clenched teeth. “Polite people, however, do not.”

  “Sorry,” Brun said. She didn’t look, or sound, very sorry. “But it must make it hard to talk about people, and to people. How do you indicate . . . preference?”

  “I had none,” Esmay said. That sounded bad, even to her. “I left my home world quite young,” she added. That wasn’t much better, but she couldn’t think of anything that would help.

  “Mmm. So when you met attractive young men-or women-you had only instinct to help you.” Brun buffed her fingernails on her vest, and examined them critically. “And they say the men are the inarticulate ones.”

  “You-that’s-rude.”

  “Is it?” Brun didn’t sound concerned; she soun­ded arro­gant. “If it seemed so to you, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend it that way. We don’t have the same rules, you see.”

  “You must have some,” Esmay said. Whatever they were, they didn’t match Fleet’s-or Altiplano’s.

  “Well . . . it would be rude to discuss the grittier bits with someone who was not a friend-or while eating.”

  Despite herself, Esmay wondered what Brun might mean by “grittier bits.”

  “And,” Brun went on, “it would be rude to com­ment on someone’s genetic makeup as revealed in their-I’m not sure what term wouldn’t offend you. Body parts? Equipment?”

  “Genetic makeup!” This was not what she had expected; curiosity overcame outrage.

  “Whether they’re a Registered Embryo or not, and what the code is.”

  “You mean that’s . . . visible?”

  “Of course,” Brun said, still in the superior tone that was raking Esmay’s patience. “There’s the registration mark, and the code number. How else are you going to be sure-? Oh. You don’t do that.”

  “Well, I certainly don’t have any registration marks or numbers on me,” Esmay said. The thought made her skin twitch, but curiosity was a worse torment. “Where-?”

  “Lower left abdomen,” Brun said promptly. “Want to see?”

  “No!” Esmay said, with more force than she intended.

  “I didn’t mean that,” Brun said, not specifying. “But surely you have-I mean, you’re older than I am.”

  “What I do is none of your business,” Esmay said. “And I plan to keep it that way.”

  Brun opened her mouth and shut it again, then gave a little shrug that irritated Esm
ay as much as anything she might have said. She fished in one of her pockets and brought up a tangle of wire with a few plastic beads on it. “Here-know what this is?”

  “Haven’t a clue,” Esmay said, glad to be off the topic of Barin.

  “According to Ty, it’s a good-luck charm. I thought it was a chunk of obsolete electronics.”

  “Mmm.” Esmay gave the little object a better look, then grinned.

  “What?” Brun asked.

  “Well . . . it’s a good-luck charm only under certain circum­stances. That is-this is the sort of thing they gave us when we started the senior scan course. You were supposed to hang it up-did Ty mention that?”

  “Yes-above my desk, from the lamp bracket.”

  “Uh huh. What it is, underneath the distractions of bent wire and pretty beads, is a scan device. Along about week six, if you were doing your work, you would suddenly realize that it had been transmitting everything you did and said . . . and you’d look up-everyone did-and that picture of your sudden reve­lation went into the class scrapbook. The earlier, the better luck . . . they’d calculated the mean, and if you beat the mean, you got extra points, depending on how early you were.”

  “You mean it’s . . . spying on me?”

  “Well, you knew you were under surveillance.”

  “I hate it!” Brun flung herself down, in a gesture that reminded Esmay of a child’s petulant flounce. Esmay was not moved.

  “So? You agreed-”

  “I agreed to have the stupid bodyguards around, not to have them putting illicit scan devices in my room. Damn them!”

  Esmay felt much older than this spoiled girl. “They’re doing their job . . . and you’re not making it easier.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Grow up!” It wasn’t what she’d meant to say, but she had been thinking it, and she couldn’t hold it back any longer. To her surprise, Brun whitened as if Esmay had hit her.

  “I’m very sorry to have bothered you.” She was up and out the door before Esmay could say any­thing. Esmay stared at the shut door a long moment. Should she apologize? Altiplano manners demanding apology for almost everything quarrelled with Serrano advice not to apologize too much; she wished she could talk to Barin about it, but she had to finish the calculations for a project in support planning. She forced herself to con­cen­trate on the work, with the consoling thought that perhaps Brun would no longer want to be on her team.

  But that hope disappeared when the study team assignments came out. Brun had managed, by what­ever means the daughter of the Speaker of the Grand Council could use, to get herself assigned to Esmay’s team in the Escape and Evasion course. Esmay told herself that was unfair; it might not have taken any devious­ness at all. Perhaps she’d just asked, and they’d given. Brun’s demeanor gave no clue; she gave her usual impression of complete unconcern.

  “Your problem today is to assess the security problem associated with moving a high-risk indi­vidual from this room”-Uhlis pointed at it on the diagram-“to the shuttle port, which is here.” A map graphic came up on the screen. “You have available the materials in the box on your table; you are briefing the head of the security detail in forty-five minutes. Go.”

  The first thing to do, the class rules declared, was to open the envelope in the box and find out who was commanding this exercise. To Esmay’s relief, it was neither Brun nor herself. Lieutenant Marden-who had, though hastily, at least read the first assign­ment-seemed to have a basic grasp of the topic so far, as he handed out the materials to Esmay, Brun, and Vericour. They all set to work, and their pre­sen­tation won a passing grade, though not a high one. Brun’s failure to recognize a potential threat dropped their score, and Uhlis was unforgiving.

  “The point of working as a team is for all of you to combine skills and knowledge, not to hide in your own narrow area of responsibility. Any of the rest of you could have noticed that Sera Meager had ignored the possibility of an aerial attack on the motor route-and should have.”

  Esmay felt the sting of that. She had wondered why Brun didn’t mention it-and she had said nothing, since she was trying to arrange the resources she supposedly had, none of which included anything she knew could take out aircars. But Uhlis’s greatest scorn fell on Lieutenant Marden, as their commander. By the time he was through, Esmay was afraid Marden would be in shreds on the floor . . . as it was, he disappeared rapidly after the lab, and showed up again only at dinner. Esmay took her tray to his table.

  “I should’ve said something,” she said. “I did wonder about air, but since I didn’t have any ­resources to deal with an air attack-”

  “That was in my packet,” Marden said. “If and only if someone mentioned it, I could call for rein­force­ments. I thought that meant I couldn’t mention it myself, but-as you heard-that’s not what it meant at all.” He stared at his plate. “I’m not really hungry. Sorry to lower your ratings average, though.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Esmay said. “I think we were all too worried about stepping on each other’s territory. Wonder if all the other groups had the same problem.”

  “Well, from what I hear, no one got a satisfactory, let alone a commended. But I feel really stupid.”

  “I don’t think-” began Esmay. But Vericour appeared at the table.

  “Do you think we’ll have the same teams for the field exercise?” He sat down before either of them answered. “I hope not-getting the Speaker’s daughter through it safely is going to make it harder on us.” He turned to Esmay. “Harder on you, in particular.”

  Esmay felt moved to defend Brun. “I don’t know-she has no military background, but she is smart and willing.”

  “And just about demonstrates rashness, from what I hear.” Vericour reached for the condiment tray, and sprinkled galis sauce generously over his entire plate. Esmay sneezed as the sharp fumes went up her nose. “Sorry-I forget what this can do to sensitive noses. Mine went years ago.”

  “She is the Speaker’s daughter,” Marden said, in a lower voice than Vericour had used.

  “Well, yes. She’s also a celebrity in her own right, so she can’t expect not to be talked about. She’s always on some newsflash or other. You know they have a team here covering her training.”

  “She can’t help that,” Esmay said. “They’re always after prominent people, and she is good-­looking-”

  “She’s spectacular,” Vericour said. “But I can’t see her sneaking across anything unobserved, can you?”

  “She got from Rotterdam back to Rockhouse Major-” Marden said.

  “Yes, back when no one imagined a girl like that would work her passage on an ag ship. Now they know-and you can bet she won’t do that again.” He turned back to Esmay. “Do you follow the news­flashes, Esmay?”

  “No,” Esmay said. She had never paid much attention to the gossipy newsflashes, with their emphasis on fashion and celebrity.

  “Well . . . if you had, you’d have seen Brun Meager in everything from formal gowns to skinsuits, posing elegantly on a horse or lounging by a picturesque beach. Flatpics of her are probably in more lockers than anyone but actual storycube stars.”

  Great. Someone else who thought she was astound­­ingly beautiful. Esmay could picture every flaw in that face and body-not that there were many.

  “But except for the daring rescue of the most noble Lady Cecelia”-that sounded like a quote from someone’s purple prose-“nothing I’ve read suggests she had any real sense. So now we’re stuck with her . . .”

  “If the teams are the same,” Marden said. “Maybe they aren’t.”

  “Maybe they aren’t, but I’ll bet Esmay ends up on the same team. They’ll want to put another woman on her team, and who else would they put? Taras? Don’t make me laugh. Taras wouldn’t have a chance with Brun Meager. No, they’ll put the best they have, and that’s you, m’dear.” Vericour bowed, grinning. Esmay felt embarrassed. How could she deal with this? It did not help that Brun chose that moment to app
ear at their table.

  “Won’t do you any good to flirt with Suiza,” she said to Vericour, apparently apropos of the bow. “But you could always flirt with me.”

  Vericour spread his hands, rolled his eyes, and then mimed a swoon; everyone laughed but Esmay. It was funny, but she was too conscious of the vivid intensity next to her to enjoy it.

  “Could I talk to you a bit?” Brun said, turning to her with a more serious expression than usual. Under the eyes of the others, Esmay had to say yes.

  “I know I did something wrong, but not what . . . how could I arrange air cover when we didn’t have any resources? And why should I have worried about it, when the information we were given didn’t mention any such threat?”

  A technical problem she could answer; Esmay quickly outlined the logic behind their low score. Brun nodded, apparently paying attention, and Esmay warmed to her again.

  “So . . . even if there’s no evidence to indicate a certain kind of threat, you still have to counter it?”

  “You have to assume your intelligence is incom­plete,” Marden put in. “It always is.”

  “But if you’re too cautious, you can’t get anything done,” Brun said. “You have to act, even before you know everything-”

  “Yes, but with an awareness of what you don’t know, and its implications,” Esmay said.

  “And it’s not so much what you don’t know, as what you think you do know-that’s wrong-that will get you killed,” Vericour said. “It’s the assump­tions-that no mention of an aerial threat means no aerial threat, or no mention of piracy in a sector means there are no pirates.”

  “I see,” Brun said. “I’ll try to do better next time, but I have to say I’m better at reacting quickly than seeing invisible possibilities.”

  When Esmay got up to leave, Brun trailed along instead of heading for the ball courts with the ­others, and Esmay sighed internally. She was tired already, and had at least four hours of studying to do; if Brun insisted on talking to her, she would be up late again, and her energy was running out.

  “I know you’re busy,” Brun said, as they got to Esmay’s quarters. “But this shouldn’t take long, and I really don’t know where else to go.”