An Exchange of Hostages (19 page)

“I’ll want to send him for my supper when the time comes,” Koscuisko said. “And in the meantime, he could bring my rhyti.”

It was good enough for Joslire, and good enough for the shift supervisor as well apparently. “There is no impediment. If the officer will please follow Travis.”

The laboratory space assigned to Koscuisko was deep within the Infirmary complex. Joslire had to keep a sharp eye on the turnings to be sure that he was going to be able to get in here and out again for Koscuisko’s meal. It turned out to be a smallish room, not much larger than Koscuisko’s quarters; their guide bowed Koscuisko through, meeting Joslire’s eyes with mild curiosity, and then prepared to leave Koscuisko to his work. Whatever it was.

“If the officer requires anything further, I’ll send an orderly,” Travis said. She had a pleasant voice, neutral and professional, that showed no hint of curiosity as to what was going on.

“I want three-eighths to think.” Koscuisko’s statement in response was startling after his contemplative, absorbed silence. At least Joslire was startled. “Send an orderly after three-eighths. Or show Joslire where to fetch one. From the pharmacy, of course.”

And then he sat down at the documents-bench and stared at the blank screen as if the rest of the world had abruptly lapsed back into the state of nonexistence that had been its position since he had left Tutor Chonis’s office.

Travis shrugged from where she stood out in the corridor, safely shielded now from Koscuisko’s line of sight by the intervening wall. “I’ll send the orderly,” she repeated, speaking directly to Joslire now that Koscuisko had effectively dismissed her. “Are you going for rhyti, or shall I?”

“Thanks.” The option was appreciated, but Travis had no way of knowing how Koscuisko liked his rhyti. Koscuisko was particular. “What if he needs you in a hurry?”

What if Joslire needed help with him, in other words. Travis grinned and answered the question he hadn’t asked. “Security call, your basic black button, both sides of the door. Guaranteed response time, two skips of a ‘cruit’s heart. Anything else?”

“If there is he hasn’t let on yet.”

She winked and went away, and he retreated into the lab, closing the door.

To stand and watch, and wait Koscuisko’s bidding.

After a while Koscuisko bestirred himself to activate the documents-review screen, apparently finding several entries of interest. When the orderly came, Koscuisko discussed some drugs with her, names that meant nothing to Joslire and apparently little enough to the orderly. Koscuisko sent her away to prepare an analysis cart for him, sending Joslire away at the same time; but Joslire wasn’t worried any longer by then. If the chemicals, the drugs, that Koscuisko had ordered could be used against himself, surely the orderly would at least have recognized them. The memory of the exercise aside, Koscuisko did not feel like a man at risk, to Joslire’s mind. He seemed too completely absorbed in an abstract issue of some sort to be thinking about anything as messy and mundane as suicide.

Joslire was surprised to find out how late it had gotten to be — Koscuisko’s third-meal shift already. He took a meal as well as the rhyti back to the lab, but Koscuisko didn’t react to his return — apart from reaching for his rhyti just as Joslire got it stirred and set out for him. Too deep in his analysis, whatever it was. Joslire sighed and once more covered the meal tray, waiting for Koscuisko to remember that he hadn’t eaten anything since his fast-meal in the “morning.”

Except that Koscuisko didn’t seem to notice.

The hours wore on, and Koscuisko did not seem to be paying attention. Joslire stood on watch, since that was what he was expected to do, wondering how long it would be before the officer’s lack of sleep and lack of food caught up with him.

Not any time soon, obviously.

Computer analyses and reaction models, more chemical profiles, time out to scan a long text article, then back to the imager to tweak a holo-model of some chemical formulation or another.

Hours . . .

“Joslire.”

What was Koscuisko up to, anyway?

Had he decided to lose himself in his work?

He’d had a very trying day; most Students found themselves exhausted beyond belief by the unexpected demands of the Intermediate Levels. A man couldn’t really expect himself to work all day on a jug of rhyti. It wasn’t that effective a stimulant.

“Mister Curran, I have been remiss. Are you with me?”

What?

“I want to see Tutor Chonis, Joslire. I regret that I must insist upon it immediately.”

Joslire blinked rapidly, trying to focus. Koscuisko was standing in front of him, eating a piece of cold egg-pie taken up from the meal tray Joslire had brought him, how long ago?

Asleep.

He’d fallen asleep.

A fine Security troop he made.

“The officer’s pardon is — ”

But Koscuisko wouldn’t let him finish. “I know, I know, ‘respectfully solicited.’ Yes? It does not import. I want to see Tutor Chonis, do you know where he sleeps?”

Well, if Koscuisko wasn’t interested in being apologized to, there was nothing in particular he could do about it. “That information is not available. An emergency call can be made at the officer’s discretion.”

“You needn’t be cross with me, Joslire, although I am at fault. I should have sent you to bed.”

It wasn’t that, even if he couldn’t explain it very well. It was only that he was asleep, and reverting to the safety of absolute formality accordingly for his own protection. Koscuisko was still talking —

“Do please make the call, then. I don’t know how much time I may have left. In fact I am afraid to ask.”

Afraid to ask about what “time left”?

He’d never known an officer to break the secret. He had no idea any more what was on Koscuisko’s mind. But he did have an idea of his own, something that had just occurred to him — as if it had taken an unscheduled nap to remind him of the unaccustomed freedom available here.

“Laboratory facilities are not under surveillance,” he said. “Chief Belyss told me so. There is no one listening to whatever it might please the officer to say, should the officer wish to take the opportunity to swear.”

In fact Infirmary and the Administrator’s Staff areas were the only places in the entire facility that were not monitored, as a matter of principle. He could see understanding come up slowly into his officer’s eyes; and then all the self-composure seemed to spark out of Koscuisko at once. Koscuisko reached out for him and grabbed his over-blouse — alarming; but, as Joslire realized, only for emphasis. And perhaps to keep his balance. Koscuisko didn’t raise his voice, but the fiercely controlled desperation that Joslire heard was more affecting to his carefully guarded heart than howls of outrage could have been.

“How can they have done such a thing?”

Then, as if he only then noticed what he was doing, Koscuisko seemed to master himself once more. He loosened his iron grip at Joslire’s collar, taking care to brush away a stray crumb from his egg-pie as he did so, and collected his energies back into himself to continue more calmly. No less desperately, however.

“The obscenity of it cannot be described. I admire that man, Joslire, that man St. Clare, and it cannot be said that he lacks discipline.”

Only now, as Koscuisko fought for self-control, did Joslire realize how passionate Koscuisko actually was about this; perhaps about other things, as well. He had done such a thorough job of wearing his calm, neutral Student’s mask that Joslire had not dreamed there was such passion in him, apart from the passion Student Koscuisko seemed to be developing for pain. It was like meeting a stranger in place of the man whose meals he had been preparing all this time.

“It cannot even be said that he disobeyed his orders. How could it? He revealed nothing. Oh, perhaps one little mistake was made, but no violation. And they will murder him for it.”

Joslire searched for something he could say that Koscuisko could use to bring himself back under control. “Participation in the exercise is voluntary, as it please the officer. And solicited on Safe, to ensure that he was genuinely free to decline without repercussions. He knew the risks and accepted the penalty. All of us did.”

“All of you . . . ”

Koscuisko was pale to begin with, and now the shock had whitened his countenance until he looked almost blue with it. “Oh, Joslire. It is beyond shameful. That man is to be tortured and probably killed, for no good or necessary reason. I can make no sense of it, and yet I am to be a part of it. How can I hope to function within such a dichotomy? There is a clinical term for this conflict, Joslire . . . ”

He knew what Koscuisko was getting at. “It is a useful thing to focus on — for those tasked with the officer’s responsibilities.”

Koscuisko was still talking, as if he hadn’t heard. “But it is a false refuge, grotesque cowardice. One has need of all one’s wits to survive in such an environment. One cannot afford any separation of personality.”

A surprising turn, Joslire thought. His standing orders were to encourage the doubling, if possible; to support the formation of a “not-me” persona that would be able to fulfill an Inquisitor’s duties, while the more morally acceptable “me” persona remained safe from taint, removed and remote, deploring the cruelty of it all. So successful had the psychological trick proven over time that the Administration was considering teaching some rudimentary techniques, to try to reduce the steady loss of functional Ship’s Surgeons.

“I need not ask if you made any mistakes,” Koscuisko said after a moment’s silence.

The unaccustomed freedom to speak without being recorded betrayed Joslire to his own honesty, and he answered truthfully rather than in soothing words such as the Administration might have preferred he use.

“If the officer had been my Interrogator, it might easily have been different.”

It was a painful idea for Koscuisko. Joslire could see that. He could not find it in him to regret his honesty in spite of it.

“Then I would have been responsible for your agony, as I am responsible for his. I must try this, Joslire; I have something that Tutor Chonis wants. Perhaps I can bargain with the man. With the system.”

How could he say it? He could not but honor the officer’s intention. How could he convince Koscuisko to set aside every better instinct yet un-dulled by Fleet’s Orientation?

“The officer can do nothing for his prisoner-surrogate now. The Administrator will Record the assessment of penalty first-shift.” And Koscuisko, in his determination to take things personally, had already done more for St. Clare than any of the other Students Joslire had served would have done. Anyone else would have written it off as a terrible conflict:
Oh, but the rules are larger than anyone officer, and I cannot take on all of Jurisdiction Fleet. What must be, must be.
“Excellency, you play into the Administration’s hands. The Tutor means to use the officer’s pain to discipline him. Young Inquisitors must be trained to strict conformity. Do not edge the blade that rests in the hand of your opponent.”

Facing the closed door, Koscuisko was apparently eager to go to confrontation. But he glanced up to meet Joslire’s eyes, quickly, and he smiled.

“You are good to comfort me,” Koscuisko said. “I will keep your charity in my heart. But I must try it, Joslire. I could not sleep if I did not try to stop this monstrous cruelty. This waste.”

Joslire could think of nothing more to say after that.

Therefore he merely bowed and keyed the communication net to make Koscuisko’s emergency appointment with Tutor Chonis.

###

He had been drunk the night before last. He had not been drunk last night, but he had not slept well, and it was halfway to morning now. Andrej felt his weariness like a prickle-fruit in his throat, but he could not afford to think about sleep-syrup to soothe the aching of it, not just yet.

The Administrator would Record the assessment of penalty first-shift, Joslire had said. It was already six eights into fourth-shift. He had only two eights in which to stop whatever judicial farce was customary and bind the man who had been Rab Lussman to himself, since that was the only way he could be sure of the bond-involuntary’s continued safety. It was an emergency, as Joslire had explained to Tutor Chonis. Perhaps he would able to make a better case of it if he waited until after fast-meal, but he was afraid that if he put it off by so long he would be too late.

Tutor Chonis met him in his office. It was unsettling to see him out of uniform; he was waiting when Andrej got there, sitting at the table instead of behind his desk. The rhyti jug and two glasses were set out at his elbow, one of them half-filled. Like one of Uncle Radu’s Counselors, Andrej thought.
Come in, make yourself comfortable, relax. What is
troubling you, my nephew?

“Come in, come in,” Tutor Chonis waved him to the facing chair, rubbing one side of his face as he did so. Whatever he was wearing looked a good deal like a bed-coat to Andrej. Had the Tutor come in his bed-dress and slippers? Perhaps he wasn’t out of uniform after all. Perhaps he was wearing Tutor’s Rest Dress. Andrej took the proffered glass of rhyti and drank it down for concentration. He was getting punch-drunk.

“You needed to talk, Andrej?”

He couldn’t think how to begin; all he could do was sit, staring stupidly at the clear vial in his hand. He’d put all of his energy into his idea — his single hope for a chance to change the Tutor’s mind. He couldn’t quite remember why he’d thought it was going to work.

“Maybe another glass of rhyti, then?” Tutor Chonis suggested.

Why not? He had no idea where to begin. How could he have imagined that this would work? He might as well give up, he might as well go back to quarters and accept defeat like the powerless slave that he was in this place.

Except . . .

Except that there was a chance.

And a man could not be managed without his permission — unless he was a bond-involuntary. No other could be excused for submitting to coercive management.

He was Koscuisko.

He was responsible for the work of his hand, and for the work done at his direction, and for the people who carried out his bidding.