An Exchange of Hostages (35 page)

“It wouldn’t matter but for my sweet sister, don’t you see?”

The governor was disabled, silent, nonfunctional. Or at least there was no telling from his words that St. Clare even had a governor. St. Clare spoke with passion from his heart, and Andrej remembered what St. Clare had said at the end of the Fifth Level exercise.
For Megh. Halfway, halfway, halfway through.

“It’s Fleet murdered my family, and Fleet that’s locked my life away, but a man can understand that, after all. Because we never looked for fair dealing, not from Jurisdiction, and I can’t complain — not for myself — I’ve not been so mistreated, not more than any other.”

Remarkable. St. Clare meant it, every word of it, as if he’d made his mind up not to rage against the bitter fate that had befallen him, taking what he found on its own terms. It was an heroic act to choose to live thus without bitterness. How had St. Clare come to such wisdom, young as he was?

“But what you’ve done to my poor sister, I cannot forgive it. I will not forgive it. You could have killed her just instead of that. It’s as black a crime as was ever done, and the Maker requite you for it.”

How could there not be bitterness in St. Clare? How could he submit himself to curses and abuse, and not grieve for himself, but only for his sister? Perhaps he set his own grief onto hers, and saved himself the extra suffering that way. Perhaps.

After a moment the Administrator spoke. “The drug certainly seems persuasive enough. Doctor Chaymalt, your evaluation?”

Tutor Chonis made a signal with his hand, and the Security escort came up to take St. Clare from the room. To a recovery area, Chonis had assured him, for long enough to be sure that the speak-serum would metabolize before St. Clare had to talk to anybody with rank.

“We’ll take his report once he’s recovered himself a bit, of course. But I think it’s safe to say that Koscuisko’s serum does what Koscuisko said it would.”

Well, of course it did.
Andrej thought. Hadn’t he staked St. Clare’s very life on it?

“Marshall Journis, your opinion, please.”

The Marshall rose to her feet, stretching a bit. Andrej decided to look at something else for a moment or two, just to be safe. “Either it’s a valid speak-serum or that governor needs to be returned as defective, Rorin. And his governor was working fine when he got here. I’d say you’ve got a solid candidate, there.”

Controlled List drugs were not released on field trial alone, whether or not they were building an ad hoc list for Noycannir on that basis. The serum would have to go forward to Fleet’s central research facility, where the ultimate decision as to its utility would be made. That was hardly the point.

“Thank you, Marshall, Doctor. In my professional judgment, endorsed by qualified subject area experts, the trial has been a true and successful one. Thank you for your time.”

The point was that he’d promised speak-sera, and they’d given him St. Clare based on that promise — and the follow-on research he had pledged at the same time. And until the medium of exchange had been officially recognized as good coin, the contract was still potentially in question. They would not take St. Clare away from him now.

What had St. Clare called him? “Yon undertall beauty”?

Was he sure that he wanted St. Clare for his own, after that?

Andrej bowed respectfully as the panel members left the room, Doctor Chaymalt, Marshall Journis, Administrator Clellelan. There was no sense in second-guessing. And not as if St. Clare would use such language when not under the influence, whether or not he was thinking it.

“Come along, Student Koscuisko.” Tutor Chonis put an end to his prickly brooding, laying his arm around Andrej’s shoulders genially. “That went very well, don’t you think? Let’s go and have a glass of rhyti. We can talk about Noycannir’s Seventh Level.”

Not a promising start for a relationship, no. But better than the alternative.

And the devil take his vanity, and rejoice in it.

Chapter Twelve

It was dark and quiet in the rack-room, empty but for Robert St. Clare and Joslire himself. Joslire eyed the half-drunk Nurail skeptically, listening to the steady stream of recriminations without paying much attention to his actual words.

“Oh, fine, you empty-headed bottom-dweller, you goat-stuffer, you. That’s just the thing. Yes, call him names, why don’t you. He’s just to be your, maister for the rest of your disgusting life . . . ”

Robert sat slumped on a leveled sleep-rack with his head in his hands, swearing at himself. Tutor Chonis had taken Student Koscuisko off; Joslire was free for a few hours, and Robert needed watching. The Student’s speak-serum had clearly left Robert vulnerable — to himself, if to no one else. Robert was to go with Student Koscuisko when he left. Joslire was curious about what manner of man the Nurail for whom his Student had paid such coin actually was.

“Be easy, man.” Pulling a rack level from the wall facing Robert, Joslire sat down. Robert knew that he was here, of course. But Robert wasn’t paying any attention to him.

“Yes, there’s a good start, there’s a lucky beginning, it’s a wonder if he has aught to do with you after all — and then where will you be, you wool-witted — ”

“Be easy, I said.” Joslire didn’t care for the direction Robert seemed to be headed. There was no reason for him to feel so insecure. Koscuisko couldn’t help but value the man in proportion to what he had paid for him. “You’ll be going with Student Koscuisko when he’s graduated, you don’t need to worry about it. How do you feel?”

“How do I feel, he asks, as if there should be a question. I feel like a total waste of a kiss, is what I feel like, a used handful of scrape bloom, did you hear what I said to those people? And what is the officer going to think of me after the performance I just gave, what do you think?”

He’d successfully distracted Robert, so much was obvious. Less obvious was what he could say next to get out of having to answer for Student Koscuisko, when he couldn’t be as certain as he would be sure to sound.

“It doesn’t matter what Student Koscuisko thinks.” Well, yes, it did. If he had been in Robert’s place, it would matter very much to him. “You’ve proved the test, that’s all that matters. You haven’t answered my question, Robert.”

Now it was Robert’s turn to lean back and rest his head against the wall. “I don’t care whether I do or not; I’m not under obligation to you, am I? I feel sick to my stomach. I feel very embarrassed at myself. I feel very worried about Student Koscuisko.”

They had that much in common, then, Joslire thought. Except of course that it didn’t do him any good to be anxious, because Koscuisko would no longer be his business once Koscuisko graduated. “The nausea will pass, they tell me. Do you want something to eat?”

Shaking his head with his eyes closed, Robert reminded Joslire suddenly of a young fly-fetcher, still immature for all its adult size. All bright eyes and enthusiasm. Very little brain. “Na, but to drink would be nice. Except not for the likes of us. Do we ever drink, Curran?”

Joslire thought he heard a subtle alteration in Robert’s words; a lightening of tone, a lessening of urgency, an increasingly careful choice of phrase. Perhaps the serum was truly beginning to wear off.

“Those who want to, yes, when leave is given.” He’d never thought it helped any, himself. When the duty shift came up a man was still a slave, after all. Joslire preferred just to be left alone.

“Tell me something.” An idea occurred to St. Clare now, it seemed, and Joslire didn’t think it had to do with drinking. “They won’t talk to me, Curran, but a man needs to know. How did it happen? Can you tell? I feel ashamed to look at you.”

He hadn’t been mistaken about the speak-serum wearing off; he could hear the self-control in Robert’s voice. And still Robert had asked the painful question. Joslire admired the boy’s courage. “It wasn’t anything you did. Or didn’t do. I’m sure of only so much.”

There was no question in his mind about what the Nurail was asking. After all, it was the same question that Tutor Chonis had been trying to find an answer for since it had happened.

“A man feels worthless. After that,” Robert admitted with terrible candor. Joslire knew exactly what Robert was saying; he’d felt the same, and his exercise had gone off without hitches. He’d never put it into words, was all. “They told me that Student Koscuisko pledged for me, else I’d have been put to it. I feel so useless, Curran. I don’t understand at all.”

The speak-serum could still be affecting him, yes, that was true. The questions he raised were no less pertinent for that. “He doesn’t feel you failed.” Joslire offered the opinion carefully. “Not from anything I’ve heard or seen from him. It was just bad luck that betrayed you, nothing more. I said more to my Student Interrogator than you did, Robert, but I was safe, because mine wasn’t Koscuisko.”

He’d said it to Koscuisko, he’d said it to himself. Only now — as he said it to Robert — did Joslire really understand how true the statement was.

“I’m afraid of him. Student Koscuisko.” Careful discipline was clear in Robert’s face, in his tone of voice. And still he persisted in laying himself open. Perhaps — Joslire told himself — Robert had decided that he could be trusted. He hoped that wasn’t it. He didn’t particularly want Robert’s confidence. “You can tell me if I’m being stupid, friend. It would be a kindness of you, really.”

“Well, all I can tell you is that he’s never laid a hand on me.” Fear was a reasonable response to Student Koscuisko, especially from Robert’s point of view. “The other Students I’ve seen turn like that in exercise have done the same to us as to their prisoners, more or less.” As if Robert should believe him, when he’d been so wrong about it before, when he’d tried to reassure the young Nurail with the claim — proved false so quickly — that Student Koscuisko was a fair-minded man. How could he expect to have any kind of credibility, when he knew so little of what really went on in Koscuisko’s head? “I’d be afraid of him myself, if I was going. But not because I was afraid of what he might do to me. Not that.”

The more he talked the less sense he made. Wasn’t that a problem?

Robert stretched, yawning. “I’m stiff as an iced fleece.” Whatever that was supposed to mean. “Are we allowed to go to exercise, Curran? I’ve been idle for too long. I’ll be of no use to anyone unless I get some practice in soon. That, what’s it called, that physical therapy, it can’t have done me any good. Didn’t hurt nearly enough, for that.”

Six hours in isolation, Tutor Chonis had said; but there hadn’t been any other restrictions, and the speak-serum hadn’t been expected to create any physical impairment. Joslire didn’t see why he shouldn’t exercise with Robert. There was an exercise area within the quarantine block, after all. And Robert had apparently worked his way past feeling useless to feeling merely less useful in the absence of recent training, which was a trend in the right direction.

“Let’s go, then,” Joslire agreed, rising. “You’ll be wanting to know how Koscuisko fights. He’s an interesting partner because of the left-dominance, you’ll see.”

You’ll enjoy the challenge, he wanted to say. He enjoyed the challenge, because Koscuisko was teachable, because Koscuisko had the instinct of a hunter in his body, quite apart from the behavior of his conscious self. But Robert might not ever train with Koscuisko once they got to
Scylla.
In fact once they left this station, there was no reason why Koscuisko should train at all, absent an order from his commanding officer.

Still, the more he worked with Robert, the better he’d know him, and the better he could report on Robert’s recovery to Student Koscuisko. And if he could reassure himself about the Nurail’s potential as a Security troop, maybe he wouldn’t mind not going with them quite so much.

###

Mergau sat tense at the Tutor’s table, trying to keep clear in her mind what she was doing. Uplink made it easier to concentrate; there were no faces, no voices. There were only the words scrolling slowly across the screen, carried on maximum power relay all the way from Chilleau Judiciary.

STAND BY FOR THE FIRST SECRETARY. IDENTIFICATION RECEIVED AND CONFIRMED. SECRETARY VERLAINE IS ON THE CHANNEL, YOU MAY GO AHEAD.

The words came clumped in awkward phrases, according to the quanta required to carry them. Tutor Chonis spoke slowly to avoid overburdening the voice verification/transmission series.

“Tutor Chonis, for Administrator Clellelan. Fleet Orientation Station Medical. And?”

She was grateful that it had to be spoken aloud. She didn’t have to worry about hidden information.

“Student Mergau Noycannir. Clerk of Court.”

RIGHT TRUSTY AND WELL BELOVED, I GREET YOU WELL. Verlaine’s habitual formula gave her face in front of Tutor Chonis, emphasizing her formal position at Chilleau Judiciary. I GREET ALSO THE ESTIMABLE ADIFER CHONIS, AND WOULD HAVE HIM CARRY MY GREETING TO THE ADMINISTRATOR, IF HE WOULD OBLIGE ME.

“At your request, First Secretary.” Chonis would never presume to call Verlaine by name in direct discourse. “Status report on the progress of the Term, with particular reference to Noycannir, Clerk of Court, Chilleau Judiciary. The better part of the Term is completed.”

Verlaine would have seen the first reports by now. He would have words of praise for her. Praise from the First Secretary meant power at Chilleau Judiciary. She wanted all she could get.

THE INTERMEDIATE LEVELS ARE MORE TECHNICALLY CHALLENGING, AS I UNDERSTAND. I TRUST YOU HAVE BEEN ABLE TO PROVIDE MY CLERK WITH ADEQUATE SUPPORT.

Else Verlaine would hold it against the Tutor’s account, and not hers. That was the implication. It wasn’t true, of course; he would be displeased with her if she should fail. But that was their private matter. In front of others, he would show only his trust and confidence in her, until she made a mistake.

“Indeed, First Secretary. They are more technically challenging, and the medical issues become more critical to success. We have been able to document Noycannir’s mastery of the Protocols, and her successful performance at each Level so far. She has been passed to the Advanced Levels. Administrator Clellelan has every confidence in her ability.”

Surely Verlaine would wonder at that, since it so clearly spoke of full surrender. And Fleet had fought him every step of the way in this matter of the Writ. Fleet would not want to lose Koscuisko to the Bench; Fleet would want Koscuisko for themselves — Koscuisko, and his skill, and his drugs. Especially his drugs.

I’M GRATEFUL FOR ADMINISTRATOR CLELLELAN’S CONFIDENCE, BUT CAN’T HELP WONDERING HOW HE CAN BE SURE. WE ALL KNOW THAT THERE IS A FAILURE RATE OF ONE IN SIX DURING THE ADVANCED LEVELS.

Well, no, she hadn’t known that. Perhaps Koscuisko would fail and be sent home in disgrace. Or else exiled to serve his duty time as the medical officer of one of the prisons, where it wouldn’t matter if he had no taste or tolerance for pain. Fleet didn’t care how many of the Bench’s prisoners died of neglect and lack of medication in prison. Except that she had no information that hinted that Koscuisko was at risk to fail in anything.

“Based on her performance thus far, we don’t anticipate any difficulty.” No, she had no trouble with the Protocols. Her prisoners gratified her with their submission and their fear in the embrace of Koscuisko’s drugs. It was no problem to torment them.

“And in addition. In light of the unique requirements of Noycannir’s Writ, special support is being provided. Specifically, targeted instruction from the Controlled List, and a custom-built library for Noycannir’s use in your service.”

There seemed to be a longer pause than required for all the text of the message to parcel through. When her Patron responded at last, Mergau knew that his interest had been engaged; and rejoiced in it, to have his help to discomfit the Administration.

CLARIFICATION IS REQUESTED, CUSTOM-BUILT LIBRARY.

Yet Chonis did not seem to see the trap. “One of Noycannir’s classmates has a second rating in an appropriate field, and is commendably willing to contribute his effort to his duty in more than one Lane. Student Koscuisko is creating a special set of qualified formulations especially for the support of Noycannir’s Writ.”

AND IT IS THIS WHICH SO ASSURES CLELLELAN THAT SHE WILL GRADUATE. KOSCUISKO. IT IS A COMBINE HOUSE, I THINK.

She could almost hear his voice, musing. Moving quickly, surely, inexorably to the same conclusion she had drawn from the same set of information.

SURELY YOU HAVE PLANS TO POST SUCH A PRODUCTIVE RESOURCE TO AN AREA IN WHICH HE CAN BENEFIT THE JUDICIAL SYSTEM MOST EFFECTIVELY.

Oddly enough, however, Chonis was not surprised by the question. “I have discussed the option with the Administrator. Unfortunately, Fleet feels that the political risk is too great. Koscuisko is prince inheritor to his House.”

What did that mean? He could not be reassigned? The prestige of serving under the First Secretary’s personal instruction was not great enough for such a man? Is that what Tutor Chonis meant to say?

NOT EVEN COMBINE GRAIN CAN BUY A FLEET DEFERMENT, CHONIS.

It wasn’t as if it would be asking Koscuisko to sacrifice prestige if he went to work for Chilleau Judiciary rather than Fleet. If Koscuisko worked for Chilleau Judiciary, he need have no duties beside Writ and research. Chief Medical Officers had a great deal to do quite apart from Inquiry. Surely a man would naturally prefer less complex a life to so demanding a position? It wasn’t as if he could set aside his Writ before his eight years were done, one way or the other.

Koscuisko had no taste for discipline. His Security could not possibly respect that in him. So Security would not make their best effort to protect him. Koscuisko would be at significant risk in Fleet unless he reconciled himself to demanding more professionalism from his Security than he did from his bond-involuntary slave Curran.

“Koscuisko is under instruction from his father to serve Fleet specifically as a Chief Medical Officer. Fleet deferment does not recognize any talent as exceeding the requirements of a cruiser-killer’s Infirmary, as the First Secretary knows.”