“And no one knew he was on this planet?” The man’s voice conveyed his disbelief.
“Dad found out later that one of his station commanders had been bribed. There was so much traffic in the system—it was the height of hunting season, with lots of guests coming and going—that the others had not noticed an extra ship at one station.”
“Umph.” Disbelief still in that, but a sharp nod made Brun go on with her story.
“So Raffa and I went off to an old hideout I remembered from childhood,” Brun said. She felt herself tense, felt the fine sweat springing out on her skin. She didn’t like thinking about that night or the next days. She rattled through the story as fast as possible: how she and Raffa had each killed one of the intruders and acquired their weapons, the discovery that the intruders had poisoned the water, their flight to the cave, and the final confrontation in the cave when Lepescu had been killed by Heris Serrano.
The man’s expression changed at the mention of Serrano, but he said only, “So you yourself actually killed someone who was trying to kill you . . .”
“Yes.”
“And did you enjoy it?”
“No!” That came out with more force than she intended.
“You were scared?”
“Of course, I was scared. I’m not a . . . a . . .” Military freak hovered on her tongue, but she was able to choke it back.
“Militarist crazy?” he asked. Brun stared. Mind-reading was impossible, wasn’t it? Then he sighed. “I do wish that somewhere in history people would quit diminishing courage in military personnel by assuming they aren’t subject to normal emotions.”
“Lepescu didn’t seem to have any,” Brun said.
“Lepescu was a serious problem,” the man said. “He damn near ruined the Serrano family, through Heris; he was probably responsible for more deaths than the enemy in any engagement he had to do with. But he was hardly typical. Even in his own family, there are good officers, not that any of ’em will have a career now.”
He took a long swallow of his ale, then put the mug down and gave her another straight look.
“So . . . back to you. What put you in a rage?”
“An argument.”
“With whom?”
“Esmay Suiza,” Brun said. Anger burst out again. “She was like you—she thinks I’m just a spoiled rich girl helling around the universe having fun. She had the nerve—the gall—to tell me I had no moral structure to my life.”
“Do you?”
“Of course I do!”
“What, then, do you conceive as the purpose of your life? What is it that you do, to justify your existence? What are you here for?”
Put that way, in his easy voice that carried neither praise nor blame, Brun found the answers that floated into her mind clearly inadequate. She was her father’s daughter; she existed to . . . to be her father’s daughter. No. She didn’t want to be just her father’s daughter, but she had found nothing else.
“I’ve helped people,” she said lamely.
“That’s nice,” he said. She wasn’t sure if sarcasm edged his tone or not. “Most people have, at one time or another. You saved your friend’s life on that island. That’s a point for you. Is that your mission, saving peoples’ lives by killing those who want to kill them? If so, I must say you’re woefully undertrained for that and overtrained for other things.”
“I . . . don’t know.” Brun took another sip of her ale.
“Mmm. You’re in your mid-twenties now, right? By your age, most young people without your . . . advantages . . . are showing more sense of direction. Consider the officer you quarrelled with. By your age, she had chosen a profession, left home against some resistance to pursue it, and performed capably in her choice. She was not flitting around having adventures.”
“Just because I’m rich—”
“Don’t try that,” he said; this time contempt laced his voice. “It has nothing to do with wealth; your father, for instance, shows every sign of being an honorable, hard-working man whose service to the Familias—and his own family—are his mission. Your sister Clemmie, even before she married, had chosen to work in an area of medicine where her skills and ability actually served someone else. You, on the other hand, while willing to help out friends, have no consistent direction in your life.”
“Yes, but—”
“So I would say Lieutenant Suiza has the right of it. You are a fine lady, Brun Meager, but you aren’t anything else. And someday, if you haven’t developed the spiritual muscle, you’re going to find yourself in a situation you can’t handle—and with no tools at all to deal with it.”
Brun glared at him, unable to think of anything to say.
“All of us here have been in those situations,” he said, after a pause. “Brains aren’t enough. Physical strength isn’t enough. Life will throw things at you that brains and strength can’t deal with. Smart people and strong people can both go crazy—or worse, go bad like Lepescu, convinced that whatever they want must be acceptable, or should be acceptable. There must be spiritual strength.”
“And you think I don’t have any?”
He shrugged. “That’s not for me to say. I would have to say you haven’t shown any yet. You haven’t shown any ability to see yourself as you really are, for instance—and self-examination is one good clue to an individual’s spiritual state. You have the capacity, certainly—anyone does—but you haven’t developed it.”
“I think you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brun said. She drained the rest of that mug of Stenner. “You haven’t any idea what my life has been like, or what I’ve done, nor does your wonderful Lieutenant Suiza. You think being rich had nothing to do with it? Let me tell you something . . . the rich learn early on that you can’t trust anyone—anyone—but the other rich. And you Fleet people are just the same. You don’t trust anyone who’s not born to Fleet. Nothing I did would make any difference. You all decided I was just a spoiled rich girl, from day one, and there was no hope of changing your minds. What passes for your minds.”
She pushed herself away from the table and made her way outside, carefully not meeting anyone’s eyes. She had had it; there was no way to do what she wanted to do as long as no one would give her a fair chance. She would leave Copper Mountain; she would figure out for herself what she needed.
By the time she got back to base, she had cooled down enough to be icily polite to her security escort. They were icily polite in return. It was long after midnight; she could hear the snarling of the transports picking up teams for the field exercise. The exercise she should have been on.
She checked the outbound shuttle and transport schedules. No doubt there would be formalities, but she should be able to get away before Esmay came back. She put her name on the list for an appointment with the Commandant of Schools in the morning, and went back to her quarters to take what rest she could.
When she went in, it was clear that the Commandant already knew something. She could see it in his face, and before she even sat down, he started to apologize.
“Sera Meager, I understand a junior officer acted very inappropriately—”
“You had scan on Lieutenant Suiza?”
He coughed. “On . . . you, Sera Meager. I’m sorry, but for your own safety—”
It was intolerable. She could not even have a quarrel without someone listening in. “Well, I suppose you got an earful.”