“That’s not entirely fair,” another officer said. “There’s that little fellow in the lab back on Sturry . . . I’ve gone to him a few times asking about wiring problems.”
“But in general—”
“In general yes. Now, Lieutenant, did you happen to notice whether the bulkhead damage you mentioned in the crew compartments caused any longitudinal variation in artificial gravity readings?”
She had not. She hadn’t noticed a lot of things, in the middle of the battle, but no one was scolding her. They were galloping on, like headstrong horses, from one person’s curiosity to another’s. Arguments erupted, subsided, and began again with new questions.
Esmay wondered how long it would go on. She was exhausted; she was sure they had run over the scheduled meeting time—not that anyone was going to tell the captain and senior officers to vacate the place. Finally Atarin stood, and the conversation died.
“We’re running late; we need to wrap this up. Lieutenant, I think I speak for all of us when I say that this was a fascinating presentation—a very competent briefing. You must have done a lot of background work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It’s rare to find a young officer so aware of the way things fit together.”
“Sir, several other officers asked questions ahead of time, which sent me in the right directions.”
“Even so. A good job, and we thank you.” The others nodded; Esmay was sure the expressions held genuine respect. She wondered why it surprised her—why her surprise made her feel faintly guilty. The admirals and the captain left first, then the others trailed away, still talking among themselves. Finally they were all gone, the last of them trailing out the door. Esmay sagged.
“That was impressive, Lieutenant,” Ensign Serrano said as he handed her the stack of cubes. “And you kept track of which display went with which question.”
“And you handled them perfectly,” Esmay said. “It can’t have been easy, when I had to skip from one cube to another.”
“Not that difficult—you managed to slide in those volume numbers every time. You certainly surprised them.”
“Them?”
“Your audience. Shouldn’t have—they had recordings of the talk you gave the juniors. This was just fleshed out, the grown-up version.”
Was this impertinence? Or genuine admiration? Esmay wasn’t sure. “Thanks,” she said, and turned away. She would worry about it tomorrow, when Major Pitak would no doubt keep her busy enough that she wouldn’t really have time. The young Serrano gave her a cheerful nod before taking himself off somewhere.
The next morning, Major Pitak said, “You know, there are still people who think that mutiny must’ve been planned ahead.”
Esmay managed not to gulp. “Even now?”
“Yes. They argue that if Hearne knew she was going to turn traitor, she’d have her supporters in key positions, and it would have been impossible to take the ship without doing critical damage.”
“Oh.” Esmay could think of nothing further to say. If after all the investigation and the courts-martial, they wanted to believe that, she didn’t think she could talk them out of it.
“Fleet’s in a difficult situation right now . . . what with the government in transition, and all these scandals . . . I don’t suppose you’d heard much about Lepescu.” Pitak was looking at her desk display, a lack of eye contact that Esmay realized must be intentional.
“A few rumors.”
“Well. It was more than rumors—that is, I know someone who knew . . . more than she wanted. Admiral Lepescu liked war and hunting . . . for the same reasons.”
“Oh?”
“He got to kill people.” Pitak’s voice was cold. “He hunted people, that is, and your Commander Serrano caught him at it, and shot him. A result that suits me, but not everyone.”
“Was he a Benignity agent?”
Pitak looked surprised. “Not that anyone noticed. I’ve never heard that rumor. Why?”
“Well . . . I heard that Commander Garrivay—who had the command of—”
“Yes, yes, the force sent to Xavier. I don’t forget that quickly, Suiza!”
“Sorry, sir. Anyway, I heard he had served under Lepescu. And Garrivay was a Benignity agent . . . or at least a traitor in their pay.”
“Mmm. Keep in mind that there are officers on this ship who served under Lepescu some time back. Far enough back not to be caught by Serrano, but . . . that might not be a healthy thing to speculate about, whether he was an agent or not.”
“No, sir. Anyway, he’s dead, so it doesn’t matter.” The moment it was out of her mouth she wished she hadn’t said it; the look on Pitak’s face was eloquent. It mattered, if only to the dead, and given Pitak’s expression it mattered to some of the living too. It probably mattered to Heris Serrano. “Sorry,” she said, feeling the hot flush on her face. “That was stupid . . .”
“Um. Just watch yourself, Lieutenant.”
“Sir.”
Since she didn’t have another public appearance to get ready for, she headed for the gym when she came offshift. She’d missed out on her regular exercise.
The gym was crowded at this hour, but almost at once one of the machines came vacant, and the jig who’d been leaning against the bulkhead waiting waved her on. “Go on, Lieutenant. I’d really rather have one of the horsebots.”
Esmay climbed onto the machine and set it for her usual workout. She had been aware of quiet competition to have the machine next to hers in the exercise room, the eagerness to invite her onto wallball teams despite her indifferent play, the little favors offered casually. She supposed it would go away in time, when people forgot about her so-called fame. She had never had really close friends in Fleet, and she didn’t expect to acquire any now. Her mind hung on that thought. Why shouldn’t she have friends? If people liked her, and they seemed to . . . .
It was only her transient fame. It had nothing to do with her real self.
Could she be sure?
She worked harder, until she was breathless and sweating and all thought of friends had vanished in the struggle for breath and strength.
At dinner, she listened to the chatter at her table with a mind uncluttered by worry about a coming presentation. Ensign Zintner’s enthusiasm for Hull & Architecture reminded her of Luci’s uncomplicated enthusiasm for stock breeding. She could like Zintner. She glanced around the mess hall, and found another female lieutenant watching her. It made her feel itchy, and she looked back at her plate. The hard workout had damped her appetite; she would be hungry in three hours, but not now.
On her way out, two other lieutenants stopped her. “If you don’t have duty tonight, would you like to come watch a show with us?” They had asked before, but she had been preparing for the discussion group presentation. Now she had no excuse ready. She agreed to come, expecting to slip away after a few minutes.
Instead, she found herself locked into a row of others, with someone leaning over the back of her seat to speak to her. When the show started, she had that much peace, but as soon as it was over, she found herself the center of attraction.
It was ludicrous. It could not be real liking, real interest. It was only her notoriety. She hated herself for enjoying it, even the small amount that she did enjoy. She shouldn’t like it; the only legitimate way for an Altiplano woman to be the center of attention was as matriarch of a family. Her great-grandmother would scold . . . her great-grandmother was light years away, if she was still alive.
Esmay shivered, and someone said “Are you all right . . . Esmay?” She looked over. A lieutenant . . . Kartin Doublos . . . so the use of her first name was not familiarity, but the normal usage between those of the same rank off duty.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I just thought of my great-grandmother.” He looked puzzled, but shrugged it off.