Chapter 8

"Isn't there anything you can do, sir?"

"No, there isn't, Lieutenant," said Colonel Fetherbay. "Brigade requests people from us for various duties all the time. I've got three other officers on detached duty right now."

"But… public relations, sir? I'm an infantry officer!" Anny looked at her colonel beseechingly.

"Come, come, Lieutenant, you know that it's been a long-standing policy in the service to rotate officers between line and staff positions. It broadens their experience and lets each branch become familiar with the problems of the other. Now I'll grant that it's a bit unusual for a detachment like this so early in a career; you've only been here a few months, but there it is. General Vorsilva requested you specifically and I have no grounds to refuse the request. Public Relations has a lot of dealings with the wives and families of our soldiers and the General said…" Fetherbay rummaged around on his desk for a moment until he found a flimsy. "… and I quote: Lieutenant Payne is uniquely qualified for this post, unquote."

Anny felt a huge emptiness in the pit of her stomach. "But… am I… am I still part of the 61st, sir?"

"Yes," said Fetherbay, firmly. "You've been detached, not transferred. You are still on our rolls and will remain there. Don't worry about that. And this won't last forever, Payne, eventually you'll be back with us."

"Who will be taking over my platoon, sir?" My platoon… mine!

"I'm sure Vorglanov and Vorstang will figure something out. Look, Lieutenant, I can see you're not happy about this and frankly I'm not happy about having to give up a good officer even temporarily. But we live to serve the Imperium and we don't always get to choose the manner in which we serve. So for right now all I can tell you is to shut up and do as you're told and ride this out. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," sighed Anny. "Thank you for taking the time to talk to me."

"I'll always make time for my people. Good luck."

Anny saluted and left Fetherbay's office, her spirits in her boots. She made her way out of the headquarters building. It was only 0730 and she could see the companies forming up to begin their day's activities. She longed to be with her platoon. But it wasn't hers anymore. She had made such good progress in winning their acceptance. And then with what they'd pulled off during the exercise, morale was so high…

The exercise. This is Vorsilva's revenge. He's getting back at me for embarrassing him during the exercise.

That was her anger talking, she knew, but even looking at it dispassionately—or as dispassionately as she could manage at the moment—it was still likely true. But there was nothing she could do about it. And Fetherbay was right: sooner or later she'd have to learn staff work. She could never hope to rise above the rank of captain without staff experience. But public relations? She didn't even know what the hell her job was now!

She watched the troopers move out and then turned toward Brigade HQ. It was quite a walk, but Brigade's day didn't even begin until 0830. She had time. As she walked along the road she could see the men of the 139th packing up. Their training month was over and they were going home. They had homes to go to, but Anny's only home now was the 61st. What if I can't stand this? What if I'm stuck there for years and years? Or forever? I've got nowhere else to go.

It was a daunting thought. For years her only goal had been to make it into the Academy and then through the Academy and get her commission. But now that she'd accomplished that, what if she didn't like the service? What if she got stuck in some boring job that she came to hate? What else could she do? Well, Elena said the Dendarii would probably hire me… do they have public relations officers, too?

She shook herself and took a deep breath. Stop whining, girl! You survived four years of bullshit at the Academy that was ten times worse than this! Just do your job and be patient! It was good advice, but not very satisfying.

She reached the HQ building and went inside. She was still early and there weren't that many people around yet. She walked around the building a bit before going to her office. It was a clean and well-kept place, but it lacked the sort of history and tradition that filled the 61st's HQ and Mess. Brigades were temporary formations with frequently changing components and commanders. No one spoke proudly of the brigade they belonged to. Well, not during peacetime anyway.

More people were coming in now and a few gave her double-takes. She headed back to her office and got there just before 0830. She was pleased to see that her people were all there already. All three of them. Sergeant Elridge, Corporal Kane and Private Malakov. And her. Public Relations.

"Good morning, everyone," she said as she came through the door. She put on a cheerful expression despite her actual feelings. That was part of being an officer.

"Good morning, sir," answered all three in unison, springing to their feet. She'd met them all yesterday but now she looked them over again. Elridge was in his thirties but the other two were scarcely older than she was. Elridge was about her height, but Kane was a full head taller and skinny as a rail. Malakov was built like a tree stump and a bit shorter than her. They all looked back at her expectantly.

"Let's sit down." There were two rooms in Public Relations, a tiny inner office for her and a slightly larger space for everyone else. Three desks and three chairs and a few file cabinets pretty much filled it. Anny grabbed the spare chair from her office and sat down on it in the outer office with the other three. "Well! I'm afraid that I have no experience with public relations. I'm going to need you three to help me get up to speed. So, tell me: what exactly do we do here?"

The three men looked at each other for a moment before Elridge replied. "Well, sir, we're basically the Complaint Department."

"Complaint Department? What sort of complaints? And who's complaining?"

"It breaks down into four categories, sir," said Corporal Kane. "A big chunk of them come from the enlisted men and their families living in the housing complex. Broken heaters, clogged drains, peeling paint, that sort of thing."

"But surely that's the responsibility of the Quartermaster and Physical Plant, isn't it?"

"Oh sure, the work is, sir, and the requests for work go to them and they get the work done—most of the time. It's when the work doesn't get done or doesn't get done right that we get involved."

"Oh, I see," said Anny.

"Yeah, we have th' job to nag people," said Private Malakov.

"The next sort is complaints by our folks about the townspeople. Vandalism, trash left in our areas…"

"Why would they do that?" asked Anny.

"Our trash pick-up is free: the townspeople hafta pay for it," said Malakov.

"Yes," continued Kane. "And then there are also complaints about townspeople harassing our women or kids, fights, noisy neighbors, that sort of thing."

"The local police—or our MPs can't handle that?"

"It's like the first category, sir: it only comes to us if the other folks don't handle it. The third category is just the reverse and it's a lot bigger: complaints by the townspeople against our people. Bar fights, rowdy behavior, damaged property, pretty much anything we do that they don't like. Serious stuff, like injuries, go to the Provost and we don't usually see any of those, but a lot of the minor stuff will end up in our lap."

"Yeah, all the crap the Provost's people don't wanna bother with," said Malakov.

"Ah. So what's the fourth category?"

Kane seemed embarrassed. Anny looked at Elridge, who grimaced. "Well, sir, those are complaints by our people against others of our people."

"Oh…"

"A lot of it's trivial stuff , like in the other categories, but some of it's more serious…"

"Such as?" asked Anny, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"Domestic disputes, sir," said Kane. "Men beating up their wives or girlfriends or their kids. Women beating up their kids or neglecting them. If it's men beating up other men the Provost mostly handles it, but when it comes to this other stuff, they shove it off on us."

"And they expect us to be able to do somethin' about it!" said Malakov shaking his head.

"Oh dear. There's no social workers or…?"

"They have some people at the local hospital that can give help sometimes, but it's sort of a mess. And then some of the families get into financial difficulties, sir. Men gamble or drink away their pay and can't support their families. The Payroll Department handles some of those cases, but sometimes it does end up in our lap—especially when it's a woman whose man is off with the fleet."

"How many of these complaints come in a week?" asked Anny, feeling overwhelmed.

"A couple dozen, sir," said Elridge. "Except…"

"Except what?"

"Well, Ensign Parker used to have your job, but he managed to weasel… er, he was transferred out a few months ago and they didn't find a replacement until now. And a lot of these complaints need an officer to handle and we didn't have one so… so…"

"They kinda stacked up," said Malakov.

"Uh, yeah. We're hoping that now you're here we can get rid of the backlog. Sir."

Anny sighed. This sounded like fun. "So, let's have a look at them."

"Yes sir," said Kane. He turned his chair around and grabbed a wire basket full of flimsies and handed it to her. Inwardly she groaned. The stack must have been twenty centimeters high.

She took the first flimsy and looked at it. "Complainant: Mrs. Ella Dandrin, 325 Front Street. Nature of complaint: Dog owned by Sergeant Malcom Girgank, F Company, severely damaged Mrs. Dandrin's flower bed. Compensation desired: 50 marks or two hours labor to effect repairs."

Anny sighed again. "Well, let's get to it."

[Scene Break]

"It won't last forever, Anny." Jer looked at the woman he loved and reached out and squeezed her hand. "You survived a lot worse than this, girl. A lot worse!"

"I know and I keep telling myself that. But it's just so… I don't know. It finally seemed like everything was coming together and now this. I probably won't be able to go to the fleet with 1st Battalion next year and by the time I am allowed to come back, I'll probably be assigned to some other company and have to start all over again."

"Well, at least that gives us a little more time together."

"True," she said and smiled at him. She was sitting on one end of his bed while he was on the other.

"Who's running your platoon?"

"Technically, Kay is in command, but I've heard that First Sergeant Nikolaidis is keeping a very close watch on him. I had a little talk with Vorstang before I left."

"And just how is the work at Public Relations? Frustrating? Boring?" Pointless?

"I'm not sure. Some of the bureaucratic bullshit can be pretty frustrating, but the variety of things I have to deal with keeps it from getting too boring. Still, some of it is pretty… hard." Jer looked closely at Anny's face. Something in her tone made him think that 'hard' didn't just mean complicated.

"Hard?"

Anny sighed. "Yesterday I went and visited a woman who had been beaten to a pulp by her husband. Bruises all over her face. The complaint had been sent in by a friend but this woman refused to admit that anything had happened. She 'fell down' is all she'd say. She won't press charges and there wasn't really anything I could do. I passed along what I'd found to this guy's CO, but I doubt anything will be done. And she's not the only one like that, either."

"That's… disturbing," said Jer, shocked. "I never realized that there was a lot of that stuff going on."

Anny shrugged. "Peacetime army. The men get bored, despite all that we can do to keep them busy, then they get drunk and… well, we've trained them to use violence. So they do."

"Damn…"

"I don't know how much good I'm going to be able to do with that sort of thing, but maybe I can at least get the smaller stuff sorted out. Just this week we managed to work through almost a third of the backlog that had built up. But those other things…" She shook her head and frowned.

Jer squeezed Anny's hand again. He could sense her frustration at not being able to solve every problem. That was her nature: a burning desire for perfection. "Everything done well for the glory of God" was how she put it, although he knew that was a quote from Countess Vorkosigan. Anny didn't seem to have any deep religious beliefs that Jer had ever noticed, but her drive to make everything right was almost the same thing. Perfectionism led some officers to become martinets, hounding their subordinates to distraction. Anny was no martinet; instead she set a standard for herself and silently dared her subordinates not to follow. At the Academy, it had worked and her company had been the best in the battalion (in Jer's humble opinion). Here with the 61st, it looked like she had been accomplishing the same thing with her platoon. But how could such a thing work to keep men from beating their wives?

He was trying to think of something to say when there was a knocking on his door, which opened immediately. Alby was there with Sven Estaban. "Hey guys! Ready to go look at our new abode?"

"Oh, uh, sure," said Jer. He'd forgotten that Alby wanted to go inspect the house he wanted to buy today. With the reservists gone, it was vacant again. They followed Alby out and were soon on a bus heading into town. From the town square, Alby took them to his realtor, who gave them the key to the house. From there it was only a short walk to the house itself. Alby let them in and they walked around inside. The place wasn't new, but it was well-maintained and freshly cleaned after its recent occupants had left. There was a nice kitchen and common room and he and Anny would have their own bedroom and bath.

"I can get a yard service to take care of the lawn and the gardens," said Alby. "With the two dog-robbers to take care of the laundry and groceries and some of the cooking, it will be great, don't you think?"

"For what you plan to charge us, it will be a huge bargain," said Estaban. "I'm for it."

"Jer? Anny?" asked Alby. "You okay with this?"

Jer looked to Anny. She'd been getting quieter and quieter. "Anny?"

She grimaced and looked at Alby. "Alby? I'm sorry, but I can't do this."

"What? Why not? I thought we had this all worked out!" Alby looked surprised and annoyed.

"Let her talk," said Jer. "Anny?"

She took a breath and gave him a tiny smile that faded immediately. "You all know about my new assignment. It's taken me away from the Regiment. I don't like that and I'm worried that I might have a hard time getting back. So I've decided that I'm going to do everything I can to stay close. I'm going to attend dress parade every day; I'm going to join one of the fencing teams; I'll keep eating at the Officers' Mess… and I want to keep living in the BOQ. I'm sorry to mess up your plans, Alby, but I really have to do this."

"And where you go—or stay—so goes Jer, I'd assume." Alby didn't look happy, but his anger seemed to be fading.

"Yup, pretty much," said Jer. He wasn't surprised that Anny had made this decision. He was a little relieved, in fact.

Alby looked at Estaban. "Sven, I could still do this if you want."

Estaban looked around skeptically. "This place is way too big for just the two of us. Unless you wanted to invite some other officers to join us. Maybe we should just wait on this."

Alby tapped his fingers against the side of his trousers in frustration. "Yeah, all right."

"I'm sorry, Alby," said Anny.

"No… no, I was just over-eager on this. We can wait; you guys can save some money; and we can try this again once you're back with the regiment. We've got time. Of course you—we—still have to consider dear old Vorkerkas and his friends."

"We'll deal with that," said Jer. Privately, he hoped they could.

[Scene Break]

"… and the 283rd should have their other six tanks back in mothballs by the end of the week, sir. I'm afraid the 139th left a bit of a mess in their barracks when they moved out, in spite of all the orders we issued directing them not to. I've alerted the cleaning staff and we'll get that taken care of and finish winterizing the unoccupied buildings. No problem getting it done before the first snows."

"Good," said General Vorsilva. "Ernest? What's the supply situation?"

Anny sat nervously at the far end of the conference table and listened to the other members of the brigade staff make their reports. She'd been very surprised to learn that she was expected to attend the weekly staff meetings. The S-9 office seemed to be so completely out of sight and out of mind that she'd assumed the General would want to keep it that way.

She listened carefully to each of the other officers. Since she was supposedly here to learn she might as well learn. And who knew, perhaps one of these other staff officers might escape back to their real units and leave a vacancy Anny could move into. Operations, Planning, even Training would be more interesting than Public Relations!

Finally it was her turn. The General turned his eyes on her. "So, Miss Payne," he said pleasantly, "How are things in your department? Getting settled in?"

"Yes, sir," she replied just as pleasantly. "There was quite a backlog left by the departure of the previous S-9 officer but we are getting that all cleaned up. The men in the department all know their jobs very well."

"Good," said Vorsilva. "So no problems to report? Any complaints?" He looked at her with a strange expression and she hesitated before replying.

"No sir, nothing out of the ordinary, anyway." She certainly had plenty of problems, but she didn't think Vorsilva wanted a list of them.

"Indeed? Well, as it happens I've received a complaint about you."

"Sir?" Anny sat up straighter with a queasy feeling in her stomach.

"Yes, from Captain Vortravis of the 319th Engineering Company. He says that you demanded to see one of his men about some sort of domestic… dispute. Is this true, Lieutenant?"

"I went to Captain Vortravis, yes sir. I explained the situation to him and suggested that a face-to-face meeting with Corporal Skolnikov might be productive… The Captain didn't agree." And he just about threw me out on my ear.

"As well he shouldn't!" snapped Vorsilva. "You've got no business interfering in someone else's command! And just why the devil were you involved with this in the first place? Surely any sort of incident of this nature is a matter for the Provost!"

"The… the complaint form was there along with all the rest, sir. It had been forwarded to my office from the Provost, so I had to assume that I was expected to deal with it."

Vorsilva's head whipped around to look at the Provost officer. "That true, Petrov?"

"Uh, yes sir," said the startled officer. "Standard procedure, sir, any domestic complaint, violent or otherwise, goes to S-9. Always been that way, sir."

"I see," growled the general. "Very well, then, Lieutenant Payne, you will continue to deal with matters of this kind. However, you are not authorized to approach any man in the brigade on an individual basis. Understood?"

"Yes sir. But how am I supposed to deal with these problems then, sir?"

"That's your problem, Lieutenant! Send copies of the complaint to the man's CO. Distribute some pamphlets. Use your head! Got it?"

"Yes. sir." She had been sending copies of the complaints—even her predecessor had done that—but she hadn't been getting any results. But the message from the General was clear: shut up and do your job!

So she did her job—or tried to. Over the next few weeks she and her men got caught up on all the backlog, but it seemed as though they had been sucked into a feedback loop. As word got around that complaints were actually being dealt with again, it only encouraged people to send in more of them. Anny's 'In' basket started filling faster than she could empty it.

And even dealing with the routine problems started landing her in trouble.

"Miss Payne," said General Vorsilva a month later, "over the last four weeks you've submitted a hundred and forty-three requests for maintenance to the Quartermaster. Are you under the impression that they have nothing better to do than fix leaky faucets in the family units?"

"No sir, but…"

"I can assure you they do have better things to do, Lieutenant! Part of your job is to screen out the frivolous complaints! Not to just pass them all along! A corporal could pass them along! I've ordered Captain Florkowski to send all of those requests back to you. You are to personally investigate each and every one of those and only pass along those that are genuinely urgent. Perhaps one in three might fit that category! You understand me?"

"Yes sir," said Anny, silently gritting her teeth. She had investigated most of the complaints and she had only sent along those that seemed legitimate. But there was no use telling Vorsilva that.

"And that brings me to the next point, Lieutenant," continued the General, pulling out a flimsy from his pile. He looked at it and then at her. "Thirty-six requests for payment! You've sent thirty-six requests for payment to the Paymaster! Totaling eight hundred and fourteen marks! Payments to civilians! What in God's name do you think you are doing, girl?"

"I… General, the operating procedures for my department state that any legitimate claims for damages caused by military personnel to civilian property should be paid by…"

"Don't quote regulations to me, Lieutenant!" snapped Vorsilva. "Your job is to smooth the relations between the civilians and us! Not bankrupt the Empire!" Vorsilva leaned back in his chair. "Since you don't seem to be able to understand this, I'm going to spell it out for you in very small words: Keep the civilians happy. Don't spend our money. Don't waste our time! That's all! That is the full extent of your job! Is that clear, Lieutenant?"

"Yes sir. Perfectly clear."

"Good! Now, moving on to other matters…"

[Scene Break]

"But you said I'd be paid for the damage!"

Anny looked at the angry face on her comconsoles screen and sighed. "I'm sorry, Mister Mugwait, I put in the request for payment but it has been refused. I'm afraid there is nothing more I can do."

"Nothing? Nothing! I'm out eighty marks in damages done by your soldiers and there's nothing you can do?" The man sounded outraged.

"If you'd called the Patrol and they'd been caught in the act, the damage could have been taken out of the men's pay but since you didn't…"

"I did call the patrol! But they were gone by the time it arrived!"

"I'm sorry but…"

"You promised me! I thought you had honor. But I guess I was wrong, wasn't I?" The man cut the connection. Anny stared at the blank screen. Don't make promises you can't keep. The worst of it was that she had promised the man that he'd be paid. It had all seemed routine until Vorsilva overruled her. And Mugwait wasn't the only one she'd made promises to. Great.

It was quitting time. She shut down the comconsole and left her office. Her staff were all getting ready to leave, too. She locked the door to the main office behind her.

"See you tomorrow, sir," said Corporal Kane.

She left the brigade HQ and got into a utility vehicle. One of the few perks that came with her job was that she rated her own vehicle due to all the time she needed to spend in town. A lot of officers owned their own vehicles, but she couldn't afford one. She sped back to her quarters and put on her dress greens and made it to the parade ground in time for dress parade. She stood with the other commissioned staff officers just as she had on her very first day with the 61st. Colonel Fetherbay had made no objection to her being there although most detached officers rarely bothered.

As the parade finished up and they were dismissed, she looked at the sunset. The days were getting shorter with the end of summer. By the end of autumn, the time for dress parade would be moved up by an hour and she wouldn't be able to make them anymore without skipping out from work early. Maybe she could make some arrangement to come in early and leave early. It was stupid, really, she was just a spectator with no function, but she wanted to be here. She wanted to at least feel like a soldier once in a while.

She met Jer and Alby and Sven Estaban at the Officer's Mess for dinner as she always did. Jer and Sven talked about their days with their platoons, Alby talked about the simulator project—which finally seemed to be making some progress. Anny didn't say much. What was there to say?

After dinner, she changed into her fencing gear. It was her night for practice. She'd continued to work with Ensign Vorgard and she had made a lot of progress. Fencing seemed just the thing to work out her frustration. She was still just a beginner, but she'd qualified for one of the junior teams and had done well in a couple of matches. She had tried a number of different weapons, but seemed drawn to the sabre.

"Well done, Anny!" said Vorgard after one particularly hard-fought touch. "I think we're going to have to find you a new teacher soon. I can't teach you much more with a sabre. I'm a foil man myself."

"Thanks, Eric," said Anny, removing her helmet. "Can you suggest anyone?"

Now Vorgard looked embarrassed. "Well, the one I'd recommend for anyone else probably wouldn't be a good choice for you…"

"Vorkerkas?" She looked to where the man was practicing.

"Yeah, he's really good, but I know you'd prefer to steer clear of him. That being the case, I'd suggest Major Waski."

"Really?" Anny was surprised; she rarely saw Waski at practice.

"He was the regimental sabre champion a few years back… well, more than a few. But I bet he could help you."

"Okay, I'll ask him. Thanks. Ready for another go?"

"Sure." They put their helmets back on and practiced for another twenty minutes. Anny had worked up a good sweat by the end of it. She was getting ready to put away her gear when she saw Vorkerkas and several of his friends heading her way. Great. Now what?

"So, Payne, still pretending to be a soldier?" one of them asked. She didn't answer.

"Oh, don't be so condescending, Georg," said Vorkerkas. "While we've been out playing with our toys, Payne here has been waging a real battle. She's trying to get the troopers to stop beating up their frills. You should see the fierce memos she's fired off!"

The others all laughed loudly. "A hopeless battle, that one!"

"Yes, soldiers have always beat their women. It's traditional!"

"Does 'em good!"

"Yeah, Payne you ought to experience a beating sometime and see. Bet it does you some good, too!"

"No chance of that," laughed Vorkerkas. "It would take a real man and she doesn't have one!" The others roared again.

Anny clenched her fists but forced herself not to reply. But she couldn't keep the fury off her face and Vorkerkas saw it and grinned. "I understand you've gotten pretty good with a sabre, Payne. Want to renew our match?"

There was nothing she'd like better, but she knew she wasn't ready. "Not tonight, sir," she said as evenly as she could. "Perhaps another time."

Vorkerkas laughed. "Yes, another time." He and his friends moved off.

Another time.

[Scene Break]

Anny got back to the BOQ but Jer wasn't there. She took a very long shower letting the hot water massage her muscles. Unfortunately it couldn't do anything to sooth her anger. Damn Vorkerkas! Damn Vorsilva, too! It was just like her first year at the Academy! Bullshit coming at her from every direction. Well, she'd survived that. She could survive this too.

While she was drying off she heard the incoming call beeper on her comconsole. Putting on her robe she sat down and looked at the caller identification.

What the hell?

The call was coming from Giverson's Store in her home town of Red Rocks! Who in the world…? She hit the accept key.

The face of a young woman materialized on the screen. It took her a moment to recognize her younger sister Jenna.

"Anny? Anny! Oh thank God I found you!"

"Jenna! What's wrong?" There were tears on her sister's face.

"Oh, Anny! Can you come home? Right away? Oh, we're in an awful fix!"