“She—said bad things about the Speaker’s daughter. Said she didn’t deserve to be rescued.”
Marta blinked. That was not the kind of cover story she would have invented, and it wasn’t something Admiral Serrano had told her. She had mentioned a row at Copper Mountain, but nothing since. That kind of rumor could hang around and damage someone’s career years later. “Are you sure?” she asked.
Nods, some reluctant. “It started before, is what I heard,” the jig said.
“It’s all rot!” another jig said. “I don’t believe it—someone made it up—”
“No, it’s true. They have a tape. I heard Major Crissan talking to Commander Dodd, and he said he heard it himself. She quarrelled with Sera Meager at Training Command, something about a course they were both in, and they nearly asked for her commission.”
“I don’t see what you could say bad enough for that.”
“Well . . . it had something to do with her loyalty, or something.”
Something something something. A clear sign of uncontrolled rumor, Marta thought. She prodded a bit.
“Well, but—she is a hero, isn’t she? I mean, she brought her ship back and saved Xavier . . .”
“Yes, but why? That’s what they’re asking now. People I know who knew her in the Academy say she wasn’t that talented then. She wasn’t even command track. How could she get that good without anyone knowing, unless she had help? And not wanting to rescue Sera Meager—”
“I’m sure she does,” said Suiza’s defender, getting red in the face. “But nobody listens—”
“Just because you have a bad case of hero worship, you can’t ignore the facts. Sera Meager is a Chairholder; we exist to protect Chairholders, and—”
“What class was she in?” Marta said, before that turned ugly.
That led to an explanation she did not want about the way the Academy named its classes, on a rotation having nothing to do with the standard calendar. “So anyway,” that informant finished up, when Marta felt her eyes about to glaze over, “she’s in Vaillant class, six years ago.” Marta converted that quickly to standard dates, but reminded herself that she’d probably have to ask for classmates by the Fleet’s peculiar reckoning. But her informant went on, clearly in earnest to be complete. “Her classmates will be jigs—that’s lieutenant, junior grade, sera—and lieutenants. Everyone who doesn’t mess up badly is promoted from ensign to jig at the same time, but there’s a selection board for lieutenant, with a 12-month range. Lieutenant Suiza was promoted in the first selection; some of her classmates will be promoted in the next few days.”
So, to find Esmay’s classmates, she could confine herself to lieutenants, for the most part. And some of them promoted behind her might have reason to wish her ill. Casually, without apparent intent, Marta began trolling through the assortment of lieutenants. Most were, she found, either classmates or within one year of Esmay Suiza’s class. Some had hardly noticed her at the Academy; others claimed to have known her well. And a few had more immediate information to share.
“I just can’t believe it,” said the redhaired lieutenant with the mustache. Vericour, his name was. “I mean—Esmay! Yes, she got angry, and yes, she said things she shouldn’t have—but she’d been working twice as hard as anyone else. They should have cut her some slack. You’d have thought she murdered the girl.”
“You’re a friend of hers?”
“Yes . . . at least, we were together at Training Command; we studied together sometimes. Brilliant tactician—and a nice person, too. I don’t think she ever said half of what people say—”
“Perhaps not,” Marta said.
“But Admiral Hornan says I should stay away from her—she’s poison. And Casea Ferradi claims she was saying all sorts of things in the Academy . . . but why they listen to Casea, I can’t figure out.”
“Casea?”
“Classmate of ours. She’s from a colonial world too—one of the Crescent Worlds group, can’t remember which. Tell you the truth, before I met her, I had heard the women there are . . . well . . . shy. Casea was an education in that respect.”
“Oh?” Marta gave him a grandmotherly smile, and he blushed.
“Well . . . junior year . . . I mean I’d heard about her, and she . . . she said she liked me. I suppose she did, as long as it lasted.”
“She likes men . . .” Marta said, trailing it out.
“She likes sex,” Vericour said. “Sorry, sera, but it’s the truth. She went through our class like—like—”
“Fire through wheat?” suggested Marta. “And now she’s always with that Ensign Serrano, isn’t she?”
“Poor kid won’t know what hit him,” Vericour said, nodding. “I’d heard she was after bigger game, working her way up—but maybe she thinks the Serrano name’s better than rank alone. And right now, when they’re under a cloud, what with Lord Thornbuckle being so angry with them, she probably thinks she has a better chance.”
“She is attractive,” Marta said. “And I suppose she’s efficient in her work?”
“I suppose,” Vericour said, without any enthusiasm. “I was never on the same ship.”
“I wonder if Ensign Serrano is actually taken with her.”
“It wouldn’t matter,” Vericour said gloomily. “She has her ways, has Casea.”
A few days downside, working through the civilian databases and ansible, gave her even more insight into the Suiza controversy. She had identified five classmates, including the sleek blonde Ferradi, who were actively spreading, if not inventing, wicked-Suiza stories. All five were at least one promotion group behind Suiza. If that wasn’t the green-eyed monster, she didn’t know what was. Suiza’s former co-workers and commanding officers, on the other hand, seemed incredulous that anyone would believe such stories. One and all, they insisted that if she had had an argument with Brun Meager, and if she had been insulting, then Brun must have deserved it.
Marta wasn’t sure about that—couldn’t be, until she met Esmay Suiza in person—but she was willing to swear that whatever the nature of the original offense, malice and envy and spite had blown it out of all proportion.
The nature of the original offense still eluded her. Unless Suiza had snapped under the pressure of work—which didn’t seem likely given her history—Brun had precipitated the fight. How? Given Brun’s past history, the most likely cause was that she’d come between Suiza and a lover, but gossip didn’t credit Suiza with any lovers. Indeed, gossip went the other direction. Block of ice, cold fish, frozen clod. Barin Serrano was supposed to have liked her, when he was on Koskiusko, but that could be mere hero worship, and Vericour had said Suiza was cool to him at Copper Mountain.
What could Brun have done? Marta was careful not to ask this question of the youngsters. Most of them, it was clear, thought that being the victim of piracy turned Brun into a shining martyr figure, untainted by any human error other than getting caught. Marta knew better. Brun was, by observation and Raffaele’s report, intelligent, quick-witted, brave, and full of mischief as a basket of kittens. If she had wanted some reaction from Suiza she did not get, she might well have put all her inventive genius to work making trouble. That still led back to interference with a man Suiza wanted—but the problem was that Suiza supposedly had no preferences. Unless it was Barin, but for that she had no evidence.
Chapter Fourteen
The pains started at night. Brun woke up, to find herself knotted around her hardened belly. It eased, but she knew at once it was not a cramp from supper. It was . . . what she most feared. She lay back, stretching a little. She was just dozing off when another pain curled her forward again.