An Exchange of Hostages (46 page)

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Andrej sat at one of the windows of the passenger compartment, watching Fleet Orientation Station Medical shrink slowly against an expanding background of black featureless space. Better for him had he never come here, better for him had he never known . . . he could have lived his life out in blessed ignorance, and been happy. But it was too late for that now. Even if he never made a single Inquiry within the next eight years, he would still know. He was a monster; and he had always been a monster. The passion to which St. Clare had introduced him was not an alien thing, but a part of him, as surely as was his passion to comfort and to heal.

And since it was part of him, he would not deny its existence. He would not repudiate the beast, as dreadful as it was. He would have to live with himself forever, whether he went home tomorrow or never went home until his father declared the year of his Retirement.

He thought he’d known what he was to face, when he came here. He had been wrong. And it had been far worse than he had imagined. How could he have guessed the horrors that St. Clare and Curran were expected to bear uncomplaining, as part of their duty? The worst part of it was that they accepted it, they all accepted it, and looked at him with confusion when he protested. Joslire, who expected to be abused. Chonis, who expected him to discard St. Clare like so much soiled toweling. Tutor Chonis had praised him for engaging in his training exercises on such a personal level. It was true that it made things much easier during the exercise itself to be able to enjoy it, and so keenly. But it was still wrong to take pleasure from the pain of helpless prisoners. Intrinsically wrong, absolutely wrong, no matter what crimes they might have committed.

And still there had been benefit for him from Orientation. Because they had permitted him to sell himself for St. Clare’s life, so he did not have that blood-guilt on his hands. There had been ways to approach his Inquiry that provided opportunities, scant though they were, to affirm the dignity of the dying and protect the innocent. He had not compromised the safety of the unaccused for his pleasure, at least not yet. That was a hopeful thing.

But more important, most important, there was Curran, with his private torment and his guarded self. Brutally misused body and soul by the system that had enslaved him, Curran had still reached out to him to give him comfort in his pain, without holding the sins of the previous officers against him. Joslire had been charitable and generous with him even while Joslire fully expected Andrej to use him as the others had. It had been an act of significant courage on Joslire’s part, the gesture of a great heart to offer what could not be demanded of him, freely, when it could have cost so dear.

And St. Clare did not seem to hate, not even when Andrej stood before him with the whip that was to bring him agony.

If such as these could hold fast to their human dignity beneath the crushing weight of inhuman discipline — then so could he.

If St. Clare could take the beating from his hand and fire back so mild a bolt as “yon undertall beauty,” then perhaps he could deal as mildly with himself, and try not to despise himself beyond all hope because he was a monster.

If Joslire Curran could find courage to demand a piece of his self-determination back, then perhaps he could find the courage to perform his assigned task. Because as dreadful as he found it, as obscene as he felt his pleasure in it to be, still what he was called upon to do could not be weighed on the same scale as Curran’s task had been, nor St. Clare’s, either.

He would be guided by their approach to their lives, as he was humbled by their courage.

With Joslire and St. Clare to help him through, Andrej knew that he could survive, no matter what awaited him on
Scylla.

Epilogue

Mergau Noycannir paused for a moment before signaling for admittance to Tutor Chonis’s office. Almost there. Almost. The Ninth Level — distasteful as that had been — was behind her; only the Tenth Level remained, and with Koscuisko’s drugs she had no fear of failing in the final test. It was time she went back to her Patron. The contemptuous scorn of the Security troops assisting her exercises was becoming impossible to ignore, if impossible to prosecute. And she had found it expedient to decline the offered increase in her personal training sessions from two on one to three on one, because she realized that the Administration would not intervene should three become too many for her to handle. It didn’t matter. One more exercise and she would be clear of all of these — clear, and free to return triumphant to Chilleau Judiciary, to secure herself in Verlaine’s favor, once and for all, with the Writ to Inquire.

Signaling at the Tutor’s door, Mergau went in.

Tutor Chonis was alone; she’d not seen Student Koscuisko for days — not since her Seventh Level, Mergau realized with a start. He’d not been present for her Ninth Level orientation, when Tutor Chonis had explained the action of the drug. There had been questions in her mind during her Ninth Level; the prisoner’s behavior had not seemed entirely consistent with the action of the drug as Tutor Chonis had described it. She had intended to bring the anomalies to Student Koscuisko’s attention, as a reminder of her now-dominant role in their relationship. She did not mean to be cheated of her treat.

“I greet me my Tutor, and hope that the morning finds him well. Student Koscuisko, is he not to meet with us, Tutor Chonis?”

So close to the end, so close to finished, she did not need to be as careful as she otherwise might have been. She didn’t have much time left in which to submit herself meek and humble to the Administration. Only one more exercise and she could safely leave the entire Station and everyone on it, discarded as worse than useless. One more exercise.

“Student Koscuisko will not be joining us, Mergau. Be seated.”

Tutor Chonis barely looked up at her when she came in, apparently concentrating on sorting a set of cubes that lay before him on his desk. The beverage service that had been an invariable feature of the classroom table was different than it had been; only one glass had been set out. Pulling the serving-set closer to her, Mergau poured herself a cup: rhyti. It was close to a slap in the face to serve her rhyti, if only she was expected.

“I hope that all is well with my fellow Student? I am anxious for his sake.”

She didn’t expect the blatant lie to fool Tutor Chonis, although the situation could be honestly interpreted in such a way as to hint at a problem. A suicide, for example. Chonis would be more distracted in his behavior had Koscuisko tried to escape in that way, though. There would be political repercussions, complications, a scandal, if the oldest son of the Koscuisko prince had killed himself after his family had entrusted him to Fleet.

“And I’m certain that Student Koscuisko cherishes the same fondness for you. Now. First Secretary Verlaine has asked us to send copies of your Intermediate Levels to him through the Administrative center at Pikanime. Administrator Clellelan has released your records on the freight run that went out yesterday, and he released the complete record, so Secretary Verlaine will have a chance to evaluate your Advanced Levels as well.”

That was a strange thing to have done, wasn’t it? They both knew that Verlaine had asked for the record so that he could judge Koscuisko’s potential for himself, if indirectly. Koscuisko’s talent would only be more obvious in her Advanced Levels than they were at the Intermediate. “I am unsure about the drug Student Koscuisko selected for the Ninth Level. I had wished to make a private question of it, Tutor Chonis.”

Tutor Chonis almost smiled. “No doubt, Student Noycannir, no doubt. But the best drugs in the world won’t help unless you pay enough attention to working with, and not against, them. Let us consider your Tenth Level exercise. The final test is crucial to your graduation, as you know.”

This was getting frustrating. “I hope to profit from instruction, if I may speak to Student Koscuisko in this matter . . . ”

Meeting her eyes squarely, blunt and candid, Tutor Chonis declined to take the bait; offering her instead a sop of teasing information clearly intended to be deliberately provoking. “That will not be possible, Mergau. I suggest you concentrate your energies on your Tenth Level. You must pay more attention to what you’re doing, if you mean to graduate at the end of this Term.”

Why would it “not be possible” for her to talk to Koscuisko? All Chonis had to do was issue the summons, and Koscuisko would of necessity come promptly, no matter what he might have been doing. Such a pretense on Tutor Chonis’s part made no sense.

Nor did the Administration’s willingness to release her Advanced Levels to Verlaine, unless . . .

“The drug was not correct for my last exercise, Tutor Chonis. You told my Patron that I would receive support.”

Verlaine had asked for her records so that he could judge Koscuisko’s worth and decide whether to preempt Fleet’s posting to take Koscuisko for his own. The Administration had sent the records Verlaine had requested, those and more. Tutor Chonis knew very well what she had been trying to get Verlaine to do — Mergau was certain of that. The conclusion was easy to derive but impossible to credit.

“This Administration has done everything in its lawful power to accommodate First Secretary Verlaine, Mergau. But nothing will do the job for you if you cannot remember the most basic restrictions of the Levels. Rehearse for me if you will the requirements for satisfaction of the Tenth Level exercise, Command Termination.”

If they had sent the records directly to Chilleau Judiciary, she would be graduated and gone before Verlaine would have the time to prepare a requisition override for Koscuisko’s posting. Tutor Chonis had said Pikanime, though. That meant that Verlaine had asked for more immediate access. A requisition override could be prepared and delivered to Fleet within a matter of days from Pikanime. Tutor Chonis had also said that it would “not be possible” for her to speak to Student Koscuisko. Therefore and necessarily, Tutor Chonis had released her records to Verlaine because he felt that Koscuisko was secure from any intervention from Pikanime Judiciary; and Koscuisko would only be secure from such last-minute revisions to his orders if his orders had already been issued.

“Mergau? I’m waiting. If you would be so kind.”

They had sent Koscuisko away to Fleet, so that the Bench could not have him. It was an outrage, so blatant an insult that it took her breath away. It was also a mistake, because her Patron knew how to deal with intriguers of this sort.

“The Tenth Level of the Question, Tutor Chonis, Inquiry, Confirmation, and Execution. Command Termination. The required elements include the cumulative execution of the Fourth through Ninth Levels, over a period of not less than three and ideally lasting five days.”

Would they defy the Bench and deny Verlaine access to their prize Student?

Would they indeed?

She would be out of here in less than three weeks’ time; she would bring the Writ to the First Secretary. She would bring words and knowledge to him as well.

Let Koscuisko hide in Fleet, and pinch his nose in mockery toward Chilleau Judiciary.

Her Patron would know well enough how to repay Andrej Koscuisko for this insult.

For supplementary text and miscellaneous vignettes please see “Scenes from the Cutting Room Floor” at
www.sff.net/people/susan.scribens/excerpt.HTM
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