An Exchange of Hostages (18 page)

“Yes, your Excellency.”

Clearly disoriented, Lussman obviously had no idea that he had revealed the secret.

“Tell to me your truth, then, what you are instructed to do. I want to hear it from you. The truth, Lussman.”

Lussman had closed his eyes tightly as if he wanted to shut out the unpleasant memory of the past few hours. Andrej couldn’t blame him for that. He knew exactly how unpleasant it had been for Lussman. “Halfway. Fifth Level. Not before. Class Two violation . . . ”

Andrej heard the subtle shift in the background noise from the ventilators, and knew that the Tutor’s intercommunication channel had finally been engaged. “Administrative orders!”

He’d heard it yesterday, he knew what it was. But they were too late. Had Noycannir found hers out, yesterday?

“All exercises to cease, repeat, all exercises to cease. Disengage at once.”

And here was Sorlie Curran now, again. “Respectfully request his Excellency stand up and move away from the prisoner.”

The prisoner. A bond-involuntary Security troop playing a role, forbidden to reveal the deception on pain of a Class Two violation — even at the Fifth Level of Inquiry. Even through the stern and savage punishment that “Lussman” had been suffering, forbidden to say the word that would make it stop.

Andrej rose to his feet, sickened, dazed. He had taught Chonis a lesson, then, hadn’t he? They had lied to him, and he had demonstrated the futility of trying to lie to him. He had desired mastery, and he had attained mastery, but it did not feel the way he had expected. How could they play such games with men in Joslire’s position — men without recourse — as pawns?

More Security were entering the theater now, and he had been expecting a medical team for the “prisoner” now that the farce was over. They were not Security that he had seen before, and he did not mind snarling at them when two of the four began to drag “Rab Lussman” off by the arms.

“You, what do you think you’re doing?” He heard the horror in his own voice and suppressed it sternly. So much depended upon the correct attitude. Security might obey an irritated officer. An overemotional Student could be safely ignored. “Set that man down at once. He requires medical attention, not additional injury.”

They did as they were told, right enough, even though they looked a little puzzled about why they were complying. They really didn’t have any choice, did they?

Had the Administration given “Rab Lussman” any choice?

“Excellency.” Sorlie Curran, once again, and it was unusual to hear the direct form of address from a bond-involuntary. Sorlie Curran sounded upset. “They are required to take him into custody. No medical intervention is permitted unless there is a life-threatening injury. By the Bench instruction.”

By the Bench instruction. He should have guessed. The logic of it all was blinding in its inhuman rigidity. He should have taken one of Joslire’s five-knives and slit the man’s belly open, forcing “medical intervention” — except that they would only have treated the knife wound, not the welts, not the weals, not the joint. They would not treat the pain.

“Very well.”

He should have hurt the man so much that they would have to treat the pain to save his life. And he had not. And therefore the man would suffer, locked up in a cell somewhere, and that was where his conservative approach to injuring his “prisoner” had got him.

“You may carry out your orders.”

He had forced the issue. He was responsible.

He needed to have a word with Tutor Chonis.

Chapter Six

The situation was about as bad as any Tutor Chonis had ever faced. Joslire Curran had been dispatched to bring Koscuisko to his office directly. He had an idea that Koscuisko would be coming whether bidden or not, and he had to maintain as much control of the situation as he could. If he could.

He stood up from his desk as Koscuisko entered, nodding to Curran to leave them alone and seal the entry, pulling one of the chairs at the conference table around for Koscuisko as he did so. It was no less important to maintain his momentum, his control, than if he was performing an Inquiry again, after all these years. It was more important. He guided Koscuisko to the seat by his elbow as the door sealed behind Curran’s back; seating himself beside Koscuisko — like a co-conspirator, two Students together — Tutor Chonis began to try to find out how far the damage went.

“Student Koscuisko, do you know what you have done?”

Koscuisko had been still during Chonis’s arranging; and it was a dangerous stillness, a waiting stillness. It was not good. Koscuisko should be too angry to think twice, not cold enough to watch and wait and see what was going to happen.

“I await your instruction, Tutor Chonis. Tell me what it is, exactly, that I have done.”

For the first time in his long career Tutor Chonis wondered what his tutelage had wrought, what manner of Inquisitor he had created. How had Koscuisko caught on? He had been watching every move; Noycannir had not yet been matched with a replacement, so there’d been nothing to distract him. St. Clare’s lapse should have meant nothing to one not already in the know. How could Koscuisko be so calm now, in the face of this disgraceful secret?

“Only carefully selected Security are trusted with this portion of your training. And they volunteer for it on Safe, with a Class Two violation as the price for any failure. Do you recall what a Class Two violation means, for a bond-involuntary like St. Clare?”

Shock value. He had to shake Koscuisko’s arctic calm. He had seemed emotional enough when the Security had come to take St. Clare away; he should not have been able to freeze his feelings over, not so quickly, not so well. It was unnatural.

“And that is why you were so disappointed with Student Noycannir’s, ah, study partner, I imagine. After all, the Tutor had to call that exercise at the Fourth Level.”

Chonis stared, genuinely confused for a moment. “What are you talking about? She lost her head, we lost the man. Our selection techniques for prisoner-surrogates have a failure rate of less than three in two eighties, Koscuisko. This isn’t supposed to happen.”

Wrong choice, wrong approach. Koscuisko smiled, and Chonis found that he did not like the color that Koscuisko’s eyes seemed to have turned; they were too cold by half. “Then either he — St. Clare? — is very stupid, or I am very good. Is that what I am meant to conclude, from this dishonorable charade? But I don’t think St. Clare is stupid at all. I’ve been rather admiring his backbone. I should therefore conclude that I am better at this filthy business than one hundred and fifty-seven out of every hundred-and-sixty of your other Students. Did I get that right, Tutor Chonis?”

Koscuisko should not be taking that tone of voice with him. And it was up to him to convince Koscuisko to mind his manners.

“That is one conclusion to be drawn.” Not that he would suggest that Koscuisko should be ashamed of a success of this nature; Koscuisko’s own reluctance to be here in the first place would take care of that for him. “The other conclusion may be as important, in the long run. You said that you ‘rather admired’ St. Clare, I believe?”

“Indeed. Knowing what I know now, my respect for him only increases. I could never have managed so fine an effort. I am certain of it.”

“Then I should like you to consider what you have done to him by expanding the scope of your Inquiry.”

Koscuisko frowned. “My brief called for his confession, I obtained two, he answered as he was bidden. What is the problem?”

Finally, a line, a handle, a weapon with which to regain control of this too-successful Student. “Your brief called for a confession to willful destruction of Jurisdiction property. Had you been content with the confession you obtained — ”

“With the Tutor’s permission, no confession was obtained; the appearance of a confession merely.”

Good, he had found a way in. “If, as I was saying, you had been content as you should have been with the confession that you had been directed to obtain, Robert St. Clare would not be condemned to the equivalent of three days of Inquiry at the Seventh Level. He would have earned the remission of four years off his Bond, and the Fleet would have rejoiced in the service of a strong and dedicated Security troop. As it is . . . ”

At least he had Koscuisko’s attention, and there was visible emotion on Koscuisko’s face. That it was fury and hatred was beside the point. Where there was passion there was weakness. Koscuisko could not be allowed to escape Tutor Chonis’s strict control; and Tutor Chonis could not obtain control without some weakness on Koscuisko’s part — that much seemed suddenly all too clear.

“There will be execution of discipline for a Class Two violation, and then we’ll have to decide whether St. Clare can return to service at all. There is rather a high failure rate after a Class Two violation has been adjudged, not surprisingly. We will probably have to terminate.”

There was evident shock in Koscuisko’s eyes now, and obvious pain. If it hadn’t been for the steely front Koscuisko had presented scant eighths ago, Tutor Chonis felt he might have been fooled into feeling sorry for his Student. But Tutor Chonis had seen the temper of Koscuisko’s will, and he knew better than to believe that he could afford to give a sixteenth if he was to hope to retain the upper hand.

“It makes no sense to risk the resource when failure means a loss of four hundred thousand, Standard. It is wasteful. Fleet cannot afford it.”

Still Chonis was tempted, so tempted. Koscuisko’s conflict was honest and clearly painful, even if he expressed it in such neutral language. All the same, Chonis knew the line he had to take for the sake of the Fleet. For the sake of Koscuisko’s own survival as well, in a world where the only authority would be a hardened Command Branch officer whose word would be law and who would not take kindly to Koscuisko’s autocratic defiance. For Koscuisko’s own sake, Chonis had to break Koscuisko’s spirit, his pride, his will.

“Fleet expects its Inquisitors to confine themselves to their stated duty. And not go off chasing hints and suspicions, that’s Security’s business.” Of course once he got out there he would be sent hunting, from time to time, not so much to gain confession as to see what else he could uncover; but that would keep for now. For now the point was that Robert St. Clare would be disciplined then probably killed as an unrecoverable resource, and all because Andrej Koscuisko had stepped out of bounds. “Are there any questions?”

“There is one thing.”

He knew he’d made his point, but Koscuisko’s face held none of the conflict he’d seen there moments before. It was the face Koscuisko had come in with, all over again. Chonis knew by that token that there was hope for Koscuisko’s survival after all.

“Yes?”

“If, what is his name, St. Clare is a bond-involuntary and under orders, then he cannot be convicted of a Class Two violation. The administrative instruction states that a bond-involuntary cannot be put in jeopardy by the issuance of contradictory, equally binding legal orders.”

It was a weakness in the system, and Koscuisko had found it out. He had hunted it out as quickly and as surely as he had hunted St. Clare’s secret out. He was too good for his own good: but as long as he could be convinced to conform, it would be all right.

“Ordinarily you would be correct.”

“What is out of the ordinary about this situation? A man has been placed in artificial jeopardy through the issuance of contradictory orders. The Administrator — I presume — has ordered him to confess to one thing, but never to the other. I have ordered him to confess to me his truth, and tell me what it was that he had been directed to do.”

And probably — Chonis mused — if he were to review the training record, he’d find that Koscuisko had in fact used that language, at one time or another. It was an ingenious defense. Too bad it could not be allowed to work.

“I’m afraid the Administration cannot accept your reasoning. In this instance the order you issued was not binding or lawful, inasmuch as you did not know your prisoner-surrogate to be under orders at the time that you gave your instruction. And your surrogate in turn had prior lawful clearance to disregard orders from you, for the sake of the exercise.”

“And for this point of Law, the Administration would rather destroy the resource than salvage the man?”

Failure to obey lawful and received instruction was a Class Two violation either way. What difference did it make? “Explain yourself.”

“My order negates the previous one. St. Clare has disobeyed me by attempting to withhold the confession I demanded of him. I have the option of disciplining him myself or referring him for the Class Two violation. And if I discipline him, Fleet need not lose the resource, since my options are restricted to the Class One level.”

“You have a point, Student Koscuisko.” Should he give false hope or quash any hope right now? “What reason would the Administration have for endorsing such an unorthodox resolution to the problem?”

It seemed that Koscuisko hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “I could swear very solemnly to abuse my Security whenever possible, and never forget myself so far as to let the truth get in the way of the confession that I have been instructed to obtain. Would that not conform to the Fleet requirement?”

There was the sound of genuine petition in Koscuisko’s voice, regardless of the form of his offer.

But it was no good.

“Thank you, Student Koscuisko. That will be all.” No, they could not afford to let Koscuisko have his way.

Koscuisko could never be permitted to doubt that he had brought an essentially guiltless man to torment and to death because he had stepped outside of his boundaries.

###

The door to Tutor Chonis’s office opened and Koscuisko came out with a look on his face that was desperate and analytical at once. Joslire made his salute, but Koscuisko ignored it, and Koscuisko had always been careful to acknowledge, as a courtesy, that which was demanded of Joslire in respect for the officer’s rank.

“I will go to Infirmary, Mister Curran,” Koscuisko said. “Be so kind as to show me the way.”

There was no arguing with it, of course, but he was responsible for reporting on Koscuisko’s state of mind, and therefore a little probing was in order. “According to the officer’s good pleasure. But the officer has not eaten, and it is well past mid-meal.”

Koscuisko had turned his back, starting down the hall as if he didn’t really care where he was going as long as he was going away from Tutor Chonis. Pivoting suddenly on his heel now, Koscuisko glared at Joslire, who had to step back hastily to avoid running into him.

“‘The officer’ does not have time. I’ll eat in the lab. Let’s go.”

Koscuisko had to know that St. Clare was not in Infirmary. Why was he in such a hurry to get there? Joslire couldn’t understand the tension that he sensed. He had to hurry to catch up with Koscuisko. The one thing he did know was that he had better stay with his officer, at all costs.

He had watched with sickened fear as Koscuisko caught the minute crack in St. Clare’s discipline — “begs leave,” because “this troop begs leave,” rather than “I beg leave” as a man would in the first person — and forced it wide open. He thought he knew how his officer had felt when Koscuisko had realized that not only was his “prisoner” no such thing, but that the man was to be brutally disciplined for having permitted any shadow of the truth to escape him.

Why was Koscuisko going to Infirmary?

Koscuisko had full access to dedicated lab space. Tutor Chonis would not revoke it because of this incident. Was he really concerned that Koscuisko meant to take some medication to relieve himself of his guilt, and his life with it? No. He didn’t read that kind of desperation in the set of Koscuisko’s shoulders, or in the angle at which Koscuisko held his head. But the desperation was real and immediate.

So what was going on?

Koscuisko was silent on the way and stood mute in the security clearing area once they arrived, letting Joslire do all the talking. He wasn’t looking at anything that Joslire could identify, his eyes apparently fixed on some target several eighths down the corridor on the other side of the wall.

“Student Koscuisko, with Tutor Chonis. Laboratory space to be provided ad lib at the Student’s pleasure.”

The Security responsible for Infirmary were Station Security rather than teaching staff. Joslire had acquaintances among the troops, but they needed a Chief Warrant to clear Koscuisko through to his laboratory space — it was procedure. It took a moment for the Security post to find the Warrant on duty and log the release in due form, but Koscuisko never stirred from where he stood. Koscuisko might have been asleep with his eyes open, for all Joslire could tell. Except that he did react immediately once Security had received the clearance they required.

“Logged and listed, very good, Curran. The officer has been assigned four-one-H-one. Travis can show the officer the way. Will the officer be requiring Curran’s attendance?”

Because otherwise Joslire had no business in the Infirmary area, and good little bond-involuntaries simply didn’t go where they had no business being. If Koscuisko didn’t want him, he’d have to go to Tutor Chonis and let the Tutor know that Koscuisko was surrounded by every chemical substance a man could want for any purpose, and unsupervised as well; and Tutor Chonis would have to authorize surveillance inside Infirmary, and Koscuisko would notice sooner or later, and it would not sweeten his temper by much.

Koscuisko turned his head and looked over his shoulder at Joslire with cold empty eyes. Empty on the surface, because the mind was far away, working furiously to solve a problem whose identity Joslire could not begin to guess.