An Exchange of Hostages (4 page)

Clellelan was halfway to the Captain’s Bar before the noise quieted down. Tutor Chonis could see the repressed smile of amused disgust on the Administrator’s face as he passed.

Students. They ought to bring them in as cadets for the first half of Term. Really they ought.

Chonis had heard Clellelan declaim on the subject often enough. As it was, Fleet simply handed them rank and bond-involuntaries, pretending they knew how to manage both — simply because they were Bench-certified medical practitioners. But it was hard enough already to find even the marginally qualified volunteers they usually got with a Chief Medical billet and Ship’s Prime status placed enticingly at the far end of the course. They couldn’t afford to make recruiting more difficult than it already was.

Clellelan was posted, now, glancing briefly at the Record on the table at his left. Matching names to Students, perhaps. Trying to guess whether they’d all graduate this time.

“This is Fleet Orientation Station Medical. I am Administrator Rorin Clellelan, Directing. By the Bench instruction. The Term opens with the following Students in attendance, answer to your name when called. Molt. Angouleme. Yurgenhauen. V’ciha.”

One by one he called out their names; one by one Students answered to him-nervous, diffident, confident, bored. Too much personal feeling by half, Chonis felt. They’d learn. Discipline was the best defense, as the bond-involuntaries demonstrated. Retreat into formality could help provide the insulation that these Students were going to need.

“Wyadd. Sansoper. Noycannir. Koscuisko.”

Noycannir sounded bored and amused, above it all. Not obviously enough to give offense, no. But Noycannir was a Clerk of Court and a member of First Secretary Verlaine’s personal staff. She clearly meant to give the impression that she was completely comfortable in this environment.

And Koscuisko?

There was no particular emotion of any kind in Koscuisko’s voice, and Chonis wondered about that for a moment. Koscuisko had seemed clearly unhappy to be here during their meal last night. For Koscuisko to be suppressing emotional cues so absolutely meant he was more frightened than Tutor Chonis had guessed.

“Shiwaj. And Bilale.” The Administrator came to the end of his list, and Chonis focused his attention to the fore. “Students, you are welcome. You represent a vital resource for the Fleet, as you know. And in these increasingly troubled times, you will be called upon to serve the Judicial order as never before in the history of the Bench.” Because never before in the history of the Bench had civil disorder been so pervasive, so corrosive, and above all so persistent.

“Let there be no doubt in your minds, the task for which you have volunteered is a difficult one. And you will be more personally involved in the Judicial process than any of our Line officers, even those in Command Branch itself.” Clellelan had to be careful with that one, Chonis knew. It was all to the good to encourage the Students to see themselves as uniquely valuable to the Bench. But if Clellelan put too much emphasis on their critical role, they might start thinking about why Line officers wouldn’t have anything to do with it.

“Please be assured that I personally, as well as your assigned Tutors and all of our Staff, will render every assistance in ensuring successful completion of your Orientation. Each of the bond-involuntaries here assigned has been dedicated by the Bench to furthering your instruction in any way possible.”

The Bench had created bond-involuntaries specifically to support its Inquisitors. Ordinary Security, no matter how professional, sometimes recoiled from what might be required to support Inquiry. The Bench’s solution had been elegance itself: create Security whose indoctrination ensured that disobedience of lawful and received instruction would be unfailingly, immediately, strictly disciplined by a “governor” that held the pain linkages of the brain in a merciless grip. Thus Joslire Curran and others like him, condemned for crimes against the Judicial order to a thirty-year sentence with a surgically implanted jailer in their brains.

“It is prudent and proper that you take their Bonds into your hand as Orientation commences in earnest. The troops here assigned will therefore declare their Bond.”

The signal was clearly flagged out in the orientation material. And still it always took them too long to realize where they were in the program, to turn around, to face their assigned bond-involuntaries and stand ready to receive the Bond. Chonis could hear the shuffling sounds behind him and see the other Tutors’ Students out of the corner of his eye. He heard Noycannir pivot sharply and bring her heel down emphatically, completing the move.

But there was no sound whatever from Koscuisko.

“By the Bench instruction,” Clellelan said. That was his signal to turn around and bear witness to the ceremony, in order to be sure that his Students got it right.

There was a problem, though, wasn’t there?

He hadn’t heard Koscuisko turn around because Koscuisko hadn’t moved.

“This tape is the record of my trial.”

The words were spoken in unison; no problem with Security; they knew their lines. Chonis raised his eyebrow at Koscuisko’s calm, waiting face, suppressing a twitch of a gesture with difficulty. Curran didn’t look concerned. Had Koscuisko taken Curran’s Bond already, then?

“According to the provisions of Fleet Penal Consideration number eighty-three . . . ”

Student Koscuisko met Chonis’s eyes with a careful, neutral expression in his own and bowed fractionally, just enough to convey the concept of the salute.

Most of the bond-involuntary troops preferred the group ceremony, because there was a measure of defensive insulation to be had from the presence of the other troops. After Curran’s last two Students, Chonis would have expected the man to stay as clear as he could from anything that might involve personalizing the relationship.

“I will accept your Bond. — And hold it for the Day your Term is past.”

The Students picked up quickly. Their lines were spoken in something close to synchronicity, breaking down into a babble of incoherent noise only at the point where the individual name was given. Tutor Chonis turned back to face the Administrator, dismissing Curran’s anomalous behavior from his mind.

“You have accepted the Bond from your assigned troops, to be held by you in custody for the duration of the Term. It is just and judicious that it should be so. Welcome to Fleet Orientation Station Medical, Students all. We have every confidence in you, and will do our utmost to see you successfully graduated. Tutors, dismiss.”

Maybe it was a hopeful sign, and Curran’s Term wouldn’t be like the last ones had been for him.

With luck.

They’d all be grateful if Curran got a break that way.

Chapter Two

The first few days of a class were the same no matter what the course material, Andrej mused, glancing around Tutor Chonis’s office idly. There’d be introductions, though he’d already met Tutor Chonis and Student what-was-her-name Noycannir. There would be the review of the course schedule. And they would have a summary lecture, or else the first of several introductory lectures, depending upon the complexity of the coursework and the relative length of the Term.

The medical university on Mayon was a compound city the size of his family’s estate at Rogubarachno, huge and ancient. Older than his father’s House, in a sense. Mayon had already been a surgical college of considerable antiquity and status when the Aznir were still busily annexing worlds without the tedious interference of the Jurisdiction and its impressively efficient Fleet; that was well before their crucial first encounter with the Jurisdiction’s Bench, and the subsequent substitution of armed conquest with aggressive market management. The classrooms he’d occupied during his student years had ranged from back rooms in drinking houses to the blindingly sterile theaters where infectious diseases were treated; but he didn’t think he’d ever sat a class in someone’s office until now.

“Good-greeting, Student Koscuisko, Student Noycannir. Thank you, please be seated.”

Slept in teachers’ offices, yes; quarreled with the Administration over the interpretation of some test results or clinical indications, perhaps. He’d never sat in class with only one fellow Student, either. Huge as Mayon complex was, it had always been packed to fullest capacity with students and staff even so, because it was the very best facility in known Jurisdiction Space for those who wished to learn the art of surgery and medicine. Only the strict planning codes that had controlled construction for over five hundred years, Standard, had prevented Mayon from becoming claustrophobic. Student housing varied naturally according to the needs and the resources of each Student; but there had been sky and air enough for everybody, even in the heart of the great Surgical College itself. Andrej had only been here at Fleet Orientation Station Medical for two days. He missed the night breeze already.

“You’ll have reviewed the assigned material, of course. Rhyti, anyone? Please, help yourselves.” The Tutor’s gesture indicated the serving-set on the Tutor’s squarish shining work-table, just between Andrej and Student Noycannir. She had declined to speak to him except to return his greeting. Andrej didn’t care whether she liked him or not; there were too many other things to think about. He’d never had much use for overly compulsive Students. Aggression could cover for lack of skill for a time, that was true. Sooner or later, though, competitiveness failed before superior ability.

Andrej fixed himself a flask of rhyti in polite silence. Joslire had brought cavene for fast-meal this morning; Andrej didn’t like cavene, and had said so. He would have had some now, though, if the Tutor suggested it. In Andrej’s experience teachers expected everything they said to be taken as good advice or outright direction. But Noycannir just sat there — and did not move to take a flask for herself when Andrej nudged the serving-set closer to her elbow.

“You will have noted that the Term is to comprise six Standard months of instruction, twenty-four weeks. Student Noycannir, you’ll not need to adjust your time-sense, since Chilleau Judiciary is of course on Standard time. Student Koscuisko, I expect you’re still on Standard time from Mayon, unless going back to Azanry reset you to home-chrono. How long were you home?”

Azanry did not follow the Jurisdiction Standard, but he hadn’t been back there for long enough to have forgotten. “Two months, Tutor Chonis. Perhaps five weeks, by local reckoning.” Not long at all. There had been plenty of time to embrace his old servants, to tour his fields, to visit his land-pledges. Time enough to compromise the lady Marana and quarrel with his father. Not long enough to change his father’s mind or make him understand.

“Well, you’ll have leave again soon enough, I’m sure. As I was saying, the Term is twenty-four weeks. Perhaps thirty, if the Administration identifies a weakness in some aspect of your professional development.”

The Remedial Levels, that was what Chonis meant. An extra cushion of time to serve as catch-up for dull Students. But if the Student should fail to fulfill some element of the teaching paradigm even at the Remedial Levels, there would be nothing left to do but to recycle her to the next Term. And Noycannir would probably be recycled to the next Term because — having reviewed the lesson schedule — Andrej could not for the life of him imagine how a woman with no medical background could hope to master such a body of information in only thirty weeks. It looked challenging enough to him; and he had nearly eight years of intensive medical training to draw on.

Perhaps he was reading more into the requirements than was really to be demanded of them.

“You’ll have noted also that our time divides rather neatly into two halves: one for instruction, one for practical exercise. There is a good deal of material to cover. I cannot emphasize strongly enough the need for diligent study.”

Andrej sipped his rhyti, feeling a little bored. Yes, there was a lot to get through, history, philosophy, formal structure, the legal issues, the Writ. The Levels. He wasn’t sure why Tutor Chonis felt good study habits needed emphasis, however. What else was there to do here but study? Well, study, exercise, and attend lecture and laboratory, of course.

“Are there any questions?”

None that had occurred to him, at least not yet. Andrej glanced over at his partner, Student Noycannir; she sat with her eyes fixed on the Tutor, not moving. So she didn’t have any questions, either. Or she simply wasn’t willing to raise any.

“Your personal schedules have been carefully arranged to maximize your study time accordingly. Your assigned Security will continue to provide you with your meals in your quarters. Exercise periods are scheduled before mid-meal and before third-meal. Student Koscuisko, Curran will be your trainer. As you know, he’s Emandisan, and quite good. Student Noycannir, you’ll start out with Hanbor. He’ll adjust your training as required to ensure that you get the level of combat drill you’re accustomed to.”

Interesting. The Tutor expected her to be able to fight hand-to-hand, and clearly well enough to warrant a more advanced teacher than the one provided him. She was in good physical condition, to look at her. It seemed a little unusual to Andrej for a Clerk of Court to have any background in combat drill, but what did he know?

“Let’s get started, then. Andrej, you’ll remember the remark you made at dinner yesterday about the role of coercive force in the interrogation process in your father’s time?”

Into the lecture, then. According to schedule they would take a week to discuss why it was reasonable to use torture as an instrument of Judicial order. They would explore the communication problem, and the unquestionable truth that the single most universal language under Jurisdiction was pain, even if its dialects — fear, hatred, and fury, terror and desperation — could not be reliably interpreted.

“Yes, Tutor Chonis. I understand from the material that the Jurisdiction Bench did not shift responsibility for such functions until the tenure of First Judge Upan Istmol?”

To a certain extent it was old material. After all, much of his early medical training had focused on reading pain and how to sort it from shame or embarrassment when the Jurisdiction Standard did not satisfy. A good general practitioner needed thorough grounding in that grammar, and he had been highly praised in his evaluations for the delicacy of his exploratory touch. Eight years from entry-level general-medical to advanced certifications in neurosurgery and psycho-pharmacology, and all of it just so that he could go to Fleet and implement the Protocols — it hardly seemed worth it.

“Quite so, Student Koscuisko. You’ve started the assignment, I see. Istmol’s critical reading of the implementation of Fleet Procedure Five clearly demonstrates the reasoning behind the decision. Reasoning that is, of course, still current, as received.”

Andrej concentrated on the Tutor’s words, doing his best not to think about why it was so important to rationalize the institutionalization of torture. Deterrent terror. Swift and strict punishment for crimes against the Judicial order. The shock value of a mutilated body on display at local Judicial centers. Living, breathing examples of what a person risked when they tried to challenge the rule of Law.

It didn’t matter how he felt about it.

He would keep up and do well; it was expected. It was required. For the rest — since there could hardly be any congenial drinking-places at a stand-alone Station founded on a barren piece of rock — he would simply have to find distraction where he could.

###

Mergau Noycannir was prompt to class, and had been prompt each of the forty-eight Standard days that class had met since the Term had opened. Forty-eight days; six weeks, Standard. They were halfway through the initial orientation phase and still just speaking in generalities. What good could all of this background do anyone?

Did they think that they were going to lecture her to death, and be rid of her that way?

She heard the signal at the Tutor’s door. It would be Koscuisko, of course, since Chonis did not signal for admittance to his own office. She threw an idle taunt at him as the door opened, pretending to be providing reassurance.

“Safe you are, Student Koscuisko, our Tutor is delayed.”

Six weeks. She was bored, and getting anxious. Koscuisko was a safe target. He came into the room with too much energy, like a man who’d never been forced to watch his step, moderate his gestures, or govern his expression. People who were so egocentric, so self-defined, could only disgust her. Had he never learned to be afraid of somebody? Would he ever take any of this seriously? And yet she had to be wary of him, because he had the medical education that Fleet valued so highly.

She did not.

Secretary Verlaine had seen no reason to lose one of his best Clerks of Court to years of medical training when all he wanted was someone who had custody of a Writ to Inquire.

“Thank you, Student Noycannir. I trust you had good practice.”

Koscuisko answered politely, clearly not noticing her reprimand. Koscuisko didn’t notice her at all, in some fundamental fashion. That was much worse than any criticism he could have turned on her; but it was not surprising.

“Thank you, I have had good practice.” Of all those here, only Security gave her a measure of the respect that she had earned, that she deserved. It wasn’t hard to force them to respect her in combat drill. They were not permitted to rebuke her if she hurt them or failed to observe the rules of practice. And she could fight. “Your practice also?”

Koscuisko, on the other hand, was still learning recruit-level hand-to-hand; she knew that from things Tutor Chonis said. She was better than he was in the arena. If she could have him to herself, no interference, one-on-one, she would not even ask for a weapon. She was confident that she could make him respect her then.

Koscuisko met her eyes and laughed, small and meekly. “Not up to your standards, Student Noycannir, I am quite sure. I find it much more complex a procedure than breaking brew-jugs over peoples’ heads.”

He knew she was better, but he didn’t believe it. She could fantasize all she liked; it wasn’t the same. Nor could she afford even fantasies any longer — Tutor Chonis arrived, which meant that she had to make a good show of attention.

The Tutor set his cubes down at his viewer and began to talk without looking at either of them. It was his way to try to catch them unawares. She had learned his habits, and she could best him at his own game. “Well, as I had been saying this morning. History, philosophy, a little — shall we say — political context.”

The standard Judicial Structures chart was still on the projection viewer, displayed across the length and breadth of the wall behind the Tutor’s chair. Nine Judiciaries; nine Judges, with Fleet shown as subordinate to the Bench in the person of the First Judge Presiding at Toh Judiciary. There was Chilleau Judiciary, Second Judge Sem Porr Har Presiding, on a line with the other eight subordinate Benches; and even at such a global scale as the Judicial Structures chart, First Secretary Verlaine was called out by name, head of Administration.

The Sixth Judge Sat at Sant-Dasidar Judiciary. Fourth or fifth on the list of circuit Courts reporting to the Sixth Judge, one could just make out the name of Koscuisko’s system of origin. Secretary Verlaine’s name was easy to read on the Judicial Structures chart; the Dolgorukij Combine was all but lost in the small script. It was too bad Student Koscuisko was so clearly incapable of taking an obvious lesson from that, Mergau mused.

Tutor Chonis was still talking. “We’ve been through all that. The formal structure of the current organization, organizational philosophy, and so forth. I think we’ve worked that quite thoroughly, so unless you have any last questions? Student Koscuisko?”

She didn’t have any questions, and she didn’t care about Fleet’s organizational structure, either. What difference did it make to her whether there were three pharmacists and a rated psycho-tech on staff rather than one psycho-pharmacist, two pharmacists, and an extra critical-care technician instead? Were the five extra staff in the complement at the Fleet Flag level ever going to matter to her? What difference did it make whether the interrogation area was within the surgical area or well removed from all other medical facilities?

Koscuisko shook his head without a word, clearly understanding he wasn’t expected to raise any issues at this point. Koscuisko might well care about the pharmacists. Koscuisko might well understand what point there might be in spending two weeks and more on administrative issues like standard skill mixes on cruiser-killer-class warships. It might be important to him in the future. For Mergau herself it was a complete waste of time, which belonged to First Secretary Verlaine, and merited more respect than that accordingly.