An Exchange of Hostages (44 page)

“What are you going to do, then?”

“Well.” Clellelan made a palms-up gesture as if appealing to reason. “If we’re going to protect him from Verlaine, we’ve got to get him off-Station as soon as possible. We can’t afford to wait for Verlaine to get a report on Noycannir’s tapes, and the tapes go out on the next run. Forty-eight hours from now.”

Ligrose was beginning to get the idea. “You can’t be serious.” It had never been done in all her years at this Station — but then she’d told herself that more than once this Term, and each time with specific reference to Student Koscuisko.

“I don’t see why not.” Journis was looking a little out of the loop, so Clellelan made it explicit for her sake. “We have the option to grant the Writ without it, as long as we are sure he can perform. And Koscuisko can perform. He’s consistently pushed the Levels on each exercise — and not the Protocols, either. Is there any doubt that Student Koscuisko is capable of executing a better Tenth Level Command Termination than anyone on Station?”

Journis made a face of amused realization, apparently understanding at last. Clellelan spoke on.

“Waive the Tenth Level exercise on the strength of his Advanced, and he can leave with those damned tapes. He’ll be halfway to Hollifess before Verlaine knows he’s gone.”

And therefore Clellelan had called for executive consultation, so that they could graduate Koscuisko without the usually required final test and send him out to his ship of assignment before the Bench could lay hands on the boy. Because without explicit evaluation from all of them, the Tenth Level could not be waived: but Clellelan was absolutely right, in perhaps the single most important respect: there was no doubt that Koscuisko could perform.

The only question was whether he could continue to do so without destroying himself in the process. There had to be conflict within a man capable of such sensible and sadistic cruelty as his Levels recorded, when the same man was capable as well of the surgery that had saved Idarec, the empathic compassion that had seen St. Clare healed of his various hurts so well and quickly, the precision and control with which he’d scourged a man bloody with so little actual harm done.

“Let it be done,” Marshall Journis said. “Just tell me what you want from me, to support the Record.”

Nor would she object, Ligrose decided. The odds were not in favor of Koscuisko’s functional survival on Line, in the Lanes. But his chances had to be better on board ship than under First Secretary Verlaine. His concern for his man St. Clare in itself would almost have decided her; Koscuisko would not be permitted to take any bond-involuntaries with him if he went to the Bench, since they belonged to Fleet. And his bond-involuntaries seemed to be important to Koscuisko.

There was only one problem left to resolve in her mind. “What does the inside man say, Adifer?”

Koscuisko’s assigned Security had a vital part to play in the Administration’s formal decision to pass or fail. Curran was closer to Koscuisko than anyone else, and had the best vantage point from which to judge strengths and weaknesses. If Curran thought Koscuisko would be better off with Verlaine . . .

“Curran wants to go to
Scylla
with him,” Chonis said. Journis grinned and didn’t look surprised; nor did Clellelan seem completely shocked. Perhaps she should have expected it. People who could be bothered to engage themselves about the welfare of bond-involuntaries on a human level were rarely met with. She supposed that it was only natural for Curran to want to keep Koscuisko once he’d found him.

“Well, you’ll get no argument from me.” Arguing was never worth the energy. It would take less time and trouble to document the waiver than to argue. And she didn’t think she minded being asked to document the waiver.

“Adifer, you’d better let your Student know,” Clellelan suggested. “He’ll have to finish up whatever he can in a hurry, if he’s to be ready to leave in a day and a half. Provost Marshall. Do we have his Command briefing? We’ll have to send it with him, he can review it in transit.”

Journis rose to her feet briskly. “On my way, Rorin. Adifer, I’ll have the material ready for you soonest.”

They would send Koscuisko off to
Scylla
on a freight run. He’d need to be met at Pikanime by a Fleet escort, but the Administrator could easily arrange that over secure channels. Noycannir would be starting her Tenth Level exercise at about the time Koscuisko would be leaving Pikanime. By the time the First Secretary made his move — if he was going to make the move at all — the only things left of Koscuisko on Station would be his tapes, and Idarec.

She liked it.

“I’ll have the documents you need to you by mid-shift, Administrator. No time like the present to be started.”

It would even be fun to tweak the Bench a bit.

In a small way she’d be getting her own back on the Bench for sending her here in the first place.

Chapter Fifteen

“Thank you, Curran,” Tutor Chonis said from his place at the desk inside the office. “You may stand in on this. Step through, the pair of you.”

It had been two days, Standard, since he’d spoken to Tutor Chonis, and Joslire hadn’t found a suitable opportunity to talk to Koscuisko. Koscuisko had come off the exercise too tired to drink, and had gone straight to bed; had been unable to sleep for dreaming, and had started to drink. Had fallen asleep or had passed out, which Joslire supposed was a species of sleep — if one without any of the restorative nature of normal sleep — but had been unable to rest, for the emetic effects of alcohol poisoning.

“Student Koscuisko respectfully reports, at Tutor Chonis’s direction.”

After an hour or three spent together on the washroom floor while Koscuisko retched his bile out, Koscuisko slept; but not because he was tired, because he was utterly exhausted. Then after a while Koscuisko woke up and made an effort to review his Tenth Level material — but came down with the dry heaves again. Had slept, and wept, and slept, and dreamed again, and when finally at last Koscuisko had gotten a good start on some decent rest, Tutor Chonis had called for their immediate attendance.

“Yes, Student Koscuisko, sit down.”

Joslire hadn’t found time during any of it to tell Koscuisko that he wanted to go with him. He wanted to be sure Koscuisko understood that it was his choice, even a selfish choice, to request the reassignment. The last thing he wanted was for Koscuisko to imagine that he was making the offer just to comfort him, for pity’s sake.

“This will be quick, but not because it’s any less important than it would be if you were graduating with the rest of our Students this Term. Curran, secure the door. Privacy barrier in effect.”

He suspected he knew what Chonis had in mind. He thought he recognized the Orders documents on Chonis’s desk, even if Koscuisko would not. Had he missed his chance already? Joslire set the secrecy level on the sound dampers inside the room. The interview would be Recorded, like so much else that happened at Fleet Orientation Station Medical, but the Tutor must have wanted to be very sure that no one outside could eavesdrop. Someone like Student Noycannir?

Chonis waited for Joslire’s bow, in token of having completed the task. “Now then. Student Koscuisko. The Administrator believes it to be important that you leave the Station within a day’s time. Secretary Verlaine is possibly more interested in you than we had imagined, and we do not wish to risk losing you.”

Joslire listened with dread. He wasn’t going to get his chance, not unless he could find it within a day. He couldn’t possibly get Koscuisko to agree with only a day to work in. His knives would leave the Station without him. Not his knives any more; they were Koscuisko’s knives, and they felt different to him when he carried them for safekeeping between sessions. It comforted him to be near them, although he was a slave and they were free. He had to let them go away from him. He’d lost his chance.

“With respect, Tutor Chonis . . . ” Koscuisko sounded confused, as well he might. “There is a Tenth Level exercise yet to accomplish, and three days minimum — ”

Chonis held up his hand for silence. “The Administrator has decided that in this instance the final exercise is to be waived. Your previous exercises are accepted as sufficient proof of competency. You will, of course, continue to work on the Controlled List, once you are safely to
Scylla.
”

The Ninth Level had gone three days. Joslire was certain that it could easily have stretched to four, had Koscuisko intended that from the beginning. There was some sense in that. And Chonis wasn’t finished; he didn’t pause long enough to let Koscuisko get a word in, had Koscuisko been eager to respond. Which he wasn’t, by the look of him; he looked too startled to have anything to say.

“These Orders do not in themselves comprise your Writ, Student Koscuisko. Your Writ is granted by the Administrator as Bench proxy and forwarded to Fleet Judiciary by special transmission. Secured transmission, I hardly need point out.” Transmission that no one could intercept, in other words. The Administrator certainly seemed intent on taking no chances.

“There are two copies here. One you will present to Captain Irshah Parmin upon your arrival on board
Scylla.
One is for your personal archive. You are required to take these Orders into your hand, Student Koscuisko, to signify your acceptance of commission; and once you have taken these Orders in your hand, not even the Bench can deny your Writ. Nor can you set your Writ aside before the expiration of your Term without explicit authority from the Jurisdiction Bench over the First Judge’s attested seal. The Record requires that you state your understanding of these requirements and restrictions prior to your taking your Writ into your hand.”

Koscuisko stood up now, pale but apparently resolute. “I am obliged to the Jurisdiction’s Bench by my sworn oath and in consideration of multiple benefits received,” Koscuisko recited firmly. “Therefore I claim this as my Writ, and I will execute the same at the Fleet’s discretion until such time as the Bench may consider my duty to have been amply and honorably discharged.”

A formula, like so many other formulae provided for Fleet’s use in binding sentient souls into servitude. Koscuisko spoke it well for all of that, clear and correct, with no hint in his voice or in his manner of the horrors that came to him in his sleep.

“It is prudent and proper that you should do so, just and judicious that the Bench grant privilege along with responsibility. No Charges less than mutiny shall be Recorded against you while you hold the Writ. Take up your Orders, your Excellency.”

It was always a shock to hear the Tutors use the formal rank-title with their Students at the end of Term. But Koscuisko took up his rank and his Writ together when he took his Orders into his hand. And therefore, consequently, Koscuisko ranked over everyone on Station now, with the exception of the Administrator’s Staff and his assigned Tutor. If only technically so, at this point.

Koscuisko took the Orders from the Tutor’s desk and tilted them against the light from overhead, examining them curiously. There was nothing to see. Orders were not eye-readable. Koscuisko wouldn’t need to know exactly what they said to know exactly what they meant to him.

“Leaving tomorrow, Tutor Chonis? So soon; it seems precipitous.”

“Perhaps a little awkward for you, but you’ll have an escort team to ensure that your passage to
Scylla
is a smooth one. Come and embrace me, Andrej, let me say good-bye to you now.”

Joslire stepped forward to take Koscuisko’s Orders now that the formalities were done. Koscuisko was not his Student any longer, and would never be his officer, unless he could find the time in one short day to ask. Tutor Chonis caught his eye for a brief moment of evaluation; Joslire hoped that his despair was not as obvious to Koscuisko as the Tutor seemed to find it.

“I will not see you again, Tutor Chonis?”

“I’ll see you off in the morning. But there will be more people there.” Chonis put his arms around Koscuisko, and Joslire had never seen him so apparently reluctant to let a Student go. “You’ve been an interesting problem, Andrej. And you have great potential, in more than one way. Remember your duty, and be a credit to Fleet.”

Unusual as it was, it seemed to Joslire that Chonis had become actually fond of Koscuisko. Who stepped back a pace and bowed, simply and respectfully.

“Thank you, Tutor Chonis. You have dealt honestly with me, and I am grateful to you for it. And for your help as well.”

Student Koscuisko was not fond of Tutor Chonis, no. But he was not so mean-spirited as to deny him respect or reject his sense of obligation, on such petty grounds.

Chonis nodded, apparently content. “Go and get packed, ‘your Excellency.’ You’re to go to exit briefings; they should be on your scheduler by this time. Curran, you and St. Clare will get . . . ”

But Chonis couldn’t say “your officer” because Koscuisko was St. Clare’s officer, not his. “ . . . his Excellency to embarkation area five-up four-in, mid-shift tomorrow. The transport will be final loading at nine and sixteen.”

Nine and sixteen was nearly a full thirty-two eights from now, one full day. There was hope left. He’d thought that he would have more time, but if he could only find the opportunity he might still be able to win Koscuisko’s consent.

He bowed in the face of Chonis’s understanding gaze and followed Koscuisko out of the office, back to quarters.

###

Andrej sat at his study-set, staring at his scheduler, trying to come to terms with the speed with which things were happening. Surely it hadn’t been two days since he’d murdered his prisoner, his third prisoner, his third murder. Two days, his Tenth Level to begin in two more, and now this — brusquely summoned to Tutor Chonis’s office, given his personal copies of the documents attesting to his Writ, and told to pack. To have Joslire and St. Clare pack for him, at least.

His brain was still too full of sleep and alcohol. He could make little sense of it; but here he sat, at the study set in his quarters, and Joslire and St. Clare were in fact packing. Most of his uniforms weren’t even coming; there was only his personal linen, his boots, and the few uniforms that were common to both Student and Chief Medical Officer. New travel dress, in token of his new status. Exercise uniforms. The knife-harness for the throwing knives, and the knives themselves sheathed and packed as well. What was the use of sending the knives with him, if he was not to have Joslire to instruct?

Joslire and St. Clare were busy at the closet with the blouses of his travel dress, setting and checking the Section markers and the ship’s identification he was now authorized to wear. St. Clare was in new uniform already, darker than Andrej had seen on Station; the bright green piping at St. Clare’s sleeves was all the more difficult to ignore set against dull gray. The ship’s identification was the same, but St. Clare wore no other rank than his slavery. Andrej supposed that it lent a certain amount of uniformity to one’s escort if they were all marked alike. He would wear no rank, either, come to that. The color of his uniform signaling his status, the piping on the sleeves sufficient to identify him as a Medical officer. Black was the color of age and ease on Azanry. He was too young to be wearing the raven’s wing, it was unnatural.

He couldn’t afford to lose himself in meditations on the color of his uniform. The rest of the day would be too full for that. Exit briefing with Doctor Ligrose Chaymalt within the hour. Exit briefing with Provost Marshall Journis somewhat later, and he was a little uneasy about that one, but he did have to clear the Station. She would have material for his review — his itinerary and his Command briefings. He would need to go over the travel plans before he went to bed if he was to know what to expect in the morning. There would not be time to take exercise with Joslire. If he meant to speak to Joslire, he had better get it done and over with before they had to leave for Chaymalt’s office.

“St. Clare, would you excuse us for a moment.” There was no reason to discuss it in front of Robert, whether or not his quarters were under surveillance. From the very first Joslire had made it clear that he preferred to be humiliated in private. Andrej meant to do what could be done to set the pain at its least personal level.

The door closed behind St. Clare’s silent exit. Rising from the study-set, Andrej took himself over to where Joslire stood waiting — and confused — beside the open and near-empty closet where his uniforms had been.

“The Tutor has delivered my Orders and my Writ, Joslire, but he did not demand your Bond. What are we to do?”

According to the briefings they had been required to study, the Bonds held by Students were to be surrendered to the Administrator at the same time that Orders were accepted and the Writ taken up. He hadn’t given it a thought, earlier today in Tutor Chonis’s office; things had been happening too quickly. But obviously he needed to return the Bond before he left the Station. Going by the manner in which Joslire had chosen to deliver it to him in the first place, Joslire would surely prefer he surrender it in the relative privacy of quarters.

Joslire looked paled to yellow — and pained, almost angry. To be reminded? Andrej felt at his neck for the chain to pull the pendant out from beneath his blouse; and Joslire startled him by seizing his hand at the wrist as suddenly and fiercely as if it had been a weapon that Andrej had been reaching for.

“Permission to speak to the officer,” Joslire said. For all the world as if Joslire hadn’t been up all night holding Andrej’s head while he’d vomited up the overdose of wodac he had taken. As if there’d never been any contact heart-to-heart between them.

“Joslire, please — what is it?” Joslire loosed his grip at Andrej’s wrist the moment Andrej spoke, as if Andrej’s wrist had suddenly burned his hand. “Tell me, directly, I request of you.” There wasn’t much hope of that, though, not really. Joslire didn’t trust him enough to speak to him directly. Nor could Andrej hold that against Joslire in fairness; he was only a departing Student now to Joslire, with a new one coming in as soon as he had left.

“Tutor Chonis did not require his Excellency to surrender my Bond. Because Tutor Chonis knows . . . ” Joslire seemed under an unusual amount of stress, even for him. He ran out of words abruptly, screwing his narrow slanted eyes into thin black slits of concentration in his dark Emandisan face. “ . . . knows that I meant to ask the officer. His Excellency. To retain my Bond. But have been unable to find a good time . . . in which to do so.”

Andrej reached slowly out to take Joslire by the shoulder, in wonder. Joslire’s shoulder was as hard as stalloy under Andrej’s hand. What could Joslire be talking about that created so much anxiety?

“I’m afraid I find myself in the dark, Joslire. I am leaving, I can’t keep your Bond. Unless you were to come with me, and that would mean . . . Don’t you have some years of safety left? Here on this Station?”

“Hadn’t made up my mind for certain.” It was almost a gasp, from Joslire. “Until the officer’s Ninth Level. Just could not be sure. And now it’s too late to make you understand. Sir.”