The animal portion of his nature did not experience sharp sensation as pleasurable, and the professional portion of his nature could not be silenced from making a technical critique. The last thing he needed when he wished to engage was to be so forcibly reminded of exactly what he was in all of its grim horror, and things had simply not gone well at all.
He’d felt so sorry for the woman, he’d tipped her outrageously, but she’d known. He’d been able to tell. It was a part of his curse: he could tell. He had learned the lessons of patient interface too well, in school; and when people were distressed or suffering he could smell it like a drug.
“I’ll see to it,” Stildyne promised. “If you’re going to sit up, do you want a game of cards, later on in the evening?”
Stildyne would do that for him. When Stildyne was done with his own enjoyment he would come and sit with Andrej in the officer’s suite at a service house, and keep him company. Andrej thought about it, but shook his head.
“Thank, you, Brachi, but not this night.” Stildyne would only remind him of the fact that there were men in a different area of the service house that he would never see again. Not dead; but going away from him regardless.
Which reminded him — “I didn’t dare say anything.” He owed Stildyne trust and confidence, and had showed him neither. “And Stoshi only finalized arrangements when he came on board. I do not ask if Stoshi said anything to you. I only ask your pardon for reserving my confidence. I believed it necessary.”
“I should have guessed,” Stildyne said. He sounded more than usually meditative, to Andrej; and meditation wasn’t usually something he associated with Stildyne. “Only myself to blame. It’s a useful reminder, of how things can be perfectly obvious in hindsight and to all intents and purposes invisible in plain sight all along.”
Yes, Stildyne was right. “I’ll have my supper,” Andrej said. It was getting to be evening-time, by the sun. “It’s nice to be alone, once in a while. Maybe they’ll have something of interest for you.”
Officers had orderlies, someone from Security detailed every night to stand outside their quarters and attend to whatever chore might need doing. Boots. Fetching supper. Playing cards with drunken officers. On board the Ragnarok he was never alone. Or never far from the company of another soul; it was not the same thing.
“We’ll see,” Stildyne promised, sounding a little amused. It wasn’t as though he believed for one moment that Andrej didn’t know — surely not. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”
“You always do,” Andrej acknowledged. Then the ride was quiet until they reached the service house, and all went in.
###
“I don’t blame the depot master,” Captain Irshah Parmin said thoughtfully to his cup of bhan. “I’d be angry too. I’ve been angry. I never met a man who fried my breakfast ungreased like Koscuisko could, not ever in my life. An accomplished officer. Yes.”
But it was clear enough to Caleigh that he was seriously unhappy. He had the Intelligence officer’s report in cube in front of him; rumors, gossip, innuendo, report. From what he’d shared with them all — Ship’s First, Intelligence, Doctor Weasel-Boy, Caleigh Samons — there was a very peculiar dynamic at work in Fleet these days; Koscuisko had been notorious almost from the beginning of his career, and now the stored-up anxieties of certain elements in Fleet appeared to be attaching themselves to Koscuisko, rather than to the woman who had done more to earn Fleet’s resentment honestly and fairly.
Caleigh could feel the injustice of it, for ap Rhiannon’s sake. Koscuisko had a reputation, but it wasn’t difficult to acquire one in his line of work, especially with Verlaine doing his best to raise Koscuisko’s profile by persecuting him relentlessly. It would have taken a much more subtle man than Koscuisko all of his faculties to avoid acquiring a name for himself in Fleet.
It was ap Rhiannon who had taken the Ragnarok and left Taisheki — Koscuisko merely executing his orders, by reliable report — and still people who should have known better, who did know better, affected to believe that Andrej Koscuisko was the cause and the ring-leader of disaffection on board the Ragnarok.
“It’s not your problem,” First Officer reminded him. “Koscuisko was reassigned years ago. So you feel that you missed a chance with him. He’s not yours to nurture and cultivate. It’s no reflection on Scylla.”
The captain laughed short and sharp and sudden, losing control of a moderate amount of bhan as he did so. “What, Jennet ap Rhiannon is going to develop Koscuisko’s professional presentation? Don’t make me laugh.” Ignoring the fact that First Officer just had, Caleigh noted, but kept the thought to herself. She was here on sufferance. The captain only involved her at all because she’d been Koscuisko’s chief of Security while Koscuisko had been here on Scylla. They had grief in common. “She couldn’t professional deportment her way out of a — that’s unfair. I take it back. They’re well suited, now that I come to think of it.”
Doctor Weasel-Boy sniggered, but everybody affected to ignore him. He kept shut. “You could just as easily turn quietly around and go back to Brisinje,” First Officer pointed out. “Pick up a few stores for the sake of appearances. Now is not the time to make issues with Emandis Station.”
The captain scowled. “Emandis Station has decided to make issues with Fleet, it seems to me,” he observed, not unreasonably, in Caleigh’s opinion. “Who’s to say there has to be any trouble? He’s a Fleet resource, I’m a former commander, I haven’t seen him. Isn’t it my bounden duty to try to get him to see the error of his ways?”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky,” Doctor Weasel-Boy suggested. “Maybe he’ll try to talk some of your crew over, and he can be shot while escaping. Making lewd and unseemly suggestions to a senior Security warrant with intent to debauch. I know I would.”
And had, on a fairly frequent basis, since he had come on board. It didn’t really bother Caleigh, not all that much. She’d been dealing with the impact of her body on the opposite sex since she’d been six years shy of her maiden voyage. The other sex, too, but the women Caleigh had known had usually been significantly more subtle about things.
“Just go borrow him a bit, Chief,” the captain said to her, not bothering to look at Weasel-Boy. “Leave his Security out of it, he frets about them. Tell him I’d like the favor of a word or two in my office. He’ll understand. You won’t have any trouble.”
Yes, Koscuisko would understand — Koscuisko understood force and coercion much better than the average medical officer, force and coercion being his stock in trade. No, she wouldn’t have any trouble with him if she could keep clear of his Security. “Shall I leave word at the desk for ap Rhiannon, sir?” There was no need to specify which desk; Intelligence knew where Koscuisko was expected to be.
Men who were subject to the threat of death had no business being predictable, but Koscuisko would always go first to a service house to turn his Security over to the service staff for a little of the sort of recreation that didn’t usually come with much of a rest. She’d been to a service house with Koscuisko herself, on one memorable occasion. The man knew what he was doing with anatomy.
Irshah Parmin made a face, his lower lip thrust halfway to his chin. “N — I — yes. Yes. All right. The officer is paying a call on the Command and general staff of the Jurisdiction Fleet Ship Scylla at the request of a former commanding officer. Something like that, Salli, what do you think?”
First Officer didn’t think much of it, by the looks of her, but apparently she could see the humor anyway. “Better than a ransom note,” she admitted. “Try to stay away from any guns-for-surgeons suggestions, Chief. And you know Koscuisko as well as anybody here, after all.”
Except for Code Pyatte, that was to say — the only bond-involuntary left on board who had been here while Koscuisko had. She’d better leave Code behind. Asking a bond-involuntary to kidnap a former officer of assignment would probably upset his equilibrium; the conflict could have an unpredictable effect on his go
vernor, and Koscuisko would never forgive that. Never.
“Very good, your Excellency,” Caleigh said. “With respect, sir, and only for the sake of clarification. Your instructions are to escort the chief medical officer of the Jurisdiction Fleet Ship Ragnarok to Scylla from wherever I find him in an Emandisan port, whether he likes it or not. Without being noticed by the Port Authority, if I can help it.”
“You make it sound as though there was something unusual about it,” the captain complained. “Yes, Chief, precise and correct, as always. Thank you.”
Caleigh saluted with a bow. She was done here. Turning to leave, she heard Doctor Weasel-Boy speak up one more time. “I’ve got some good stuff for Dolgorukij,” Doctor Weasel-Boy said. “If he doesn’t want to talk to you when he gets here, I mean. I could help you with that. Maybe I should go with Chief Samons, your Excellency, much less chance of Koscuisko kicking up if he’s unconscious, we’ll find a big enough box — ”
“Shut up and get out,” the captain said. “Thank you, First Officer.”
Caleigh had to hurry if she was to be far enough ahead of Weasel-Boy to be able to credibly ignore him if he called after her. She took long steps as quickly as she could without actually running, thinking all the while. She had her instructions. No harm was threatened or likely to befall him. Koscuisko was likely to be angry, but he wouldn’t blame her personally.
There were people on board of Scylla who remembered Andrej Koscuisko. Where were they going to quarter him, if the captain decided to hang on to him for a few days? And would there be visiting hours? A sign-up sheet? Come and see the Inquisitor, very rare Dolgorukij senior officer, only one known in captivity?
The captain had Koscuisko’s best interest at heart, if only in his own way. Koscuisko was unlikely to see it the captain’s way.
But it would be good to see Koscuisko again. She’d seen a lot more of him at his worst than she had of other officers, and on balance she liked him anyway.
She wondered how she was going to get around his Security. He’d have sent his Bonds downstairs to recreate themselves, but Security Chief Stildyne was no slouch —
Koscuisko would have sent Stildyne off to find amusement, as well. She’d figure it out when she got there. The middle of second shift, on Scylla, so it was coming up evening in Port Jeltaria, it would be six-eights on toward morning already when they got there. She’d see what the situation was then.
Mulling her team composition over in her mind, Caleigh hurried away to her tiny office to issue a warning order for involuntary escort, senior officer, leaving immediately.
###
Chapter Thirteen
New Beginnings
“Privacy,” Stildyne said firmly, with his back to the common-room. “That’s what’s wanted. Privacy, and dinner, and if a professional is wanted later one of them will call. Thank you. But no players. Just feed them and leave them alone.”
The floor-manager looked confused, but Stildyne had left her no room for further protest. He knew that the Bonds had a great deal to think about. If he’d been Pyotr — only a few years away from an honorable retirement, and a future as a privileged citizen — what would he do?
He didn’t know. And he couldn’t guess. What the governor did to a bond-involuntary was all but unimaginable, to a free soul. It had only been in the past few days that Stildyne had begun to realize what Koscuisko had been seeing all along: that after all these years these men were strangers to him. He hadn’t begun to know Robert or Lek or Garrity or Godsalt or Hirsel — or even Pyotr. He had known bond-involuntaries, respected them, valued them, but hadn’t known the men at all.
The floor-manager nodded. “Very well, Chief. Dinner it is. I’ll go put the order in, any dietary restrictions? Liquor?”
Why don’t you ask them, Stildyne thought. He knew the answer. They were slaves; they had no competence to speak on their own behalf. That was his job. “Mister Kerenko?”
Turning back to call for Lek, Stildyne’s eye had caught on one of the house staff coming out of a niche with an armload of linen. There were private cubicles arranged around the perimeter of the common-room, eight or ten of them. If Stildyne had to guess, it would be that the bed-linen would be as crisp tomorrow as it was right now. It would take a man with nerves of stalloy to sleep, after what Koscuisko had said to them.
Lek came forward, to the doorway in which Stildyne stood talking to the floor-manager in the corridor. “Chief.”
“Lek, I’d like you to go with this woman to the kitchen, and make the pull. Mister Kerenko knows everybody’s likes and dislikes, he’ll be able to help you. I should go check on the officer, now, Lek, all right?”
Kerenko nodded and then bowed, and if Stildyne hadn’t known he would not have guessed that Kerenko need no longer fear punishment for any minor failing, howsoever slight. On the other hand, although it was true, Kerenko didn’t really know it yet either, perhaps. On a higher-function conscious level Kerenko knew, but Kerenko had undergone the same careful indoctrination as the others, operant conditioning, perfection or punishment.
Koscuisko had to realize that. Koscuisko had to know that he was sending Stildyne into Gonebeyond space with these men. He had to.
Koscuisko wasn’t going to get away with it, not without at least saying good-bye. If Stildyne was never going to see Koscuisko again — and he couldn’t really pretend that he was going to — he was going to demand the same consideration Koscuisko had extended to his gentles, that of having his departure acknowledged with regret.
He wasn’t going to worry about Kerenko and the floor-manager. Bond-involuntaries knew how to act the part, and none of them were stupid. “Carry on,” Stildyne said. “I’ll see you all in the morning.” The very early morning. He wasn’t going to ask them. He was just going. It was for Koscuisko’s sake, not for their sakes, that he was going; he had no intention of giving anybody any rash ideas about consensus.
Walking away — before anybody had a chance to challenge him on his promise, statement, insinuation — Stildyne made his way through the service corridors to the next-to-uppermost floor, where the senior officer’s suite would be located. Service houses were standard built, standard run, regulated and taxed by Jurisdiction; there were a limited number of floor plans. He knew his way around a service house. So did Koscuisko.
Had he known all along that Koscuisko had killed Lowden, Stildyne wondered? Yes, he knew perfectly well what Robert St. Clare had done, and if Koscuisko hadn’t convinced him and Karol Vogel alike that Robert himself had no idea, Stildyne would have killed Koscuisko’s favorite at the first opportunity just to keep him from a death by slow torture and the consequent anguish that’d inflict on Koscuisko. He knew with equal perfection exactly what would, or at the very least could, happen to Koscuisko himself, if the story ever got out.
The story would get out. Koscuisko had told them all; no matter how careful they were, compromise was bound to occur, sooner or later. Koscuisko had told them in order to convince them to leave. Which led him back to the vexed question: did Koscuisko understand that Stildyne had no real choice but to leave as well?
No. If Koscuisko had, he would have said good-bye. He had not said good-bye. After all of this time Koscuisko didn’t understand that loving him meant seeing to his needs and concerns first, and consulting Stildyne’s own preferences fifth or sixth.
Yes, his preference would be to stay, where he could have Koscuisko’s company — on a fairly intimate level — even if he could never have Koscuisko. But the bond-involuntary troops were not, for all the perfection of their discipline and the beauty of their martial competence and the strength of their character, grown men who could be simply sent way with their governors off line.
They had been trained and taught and conditioned to live within cruelly narrow boundaries. They would need help. They would need him. Koscuisko loved them; therefore Stildyne had no choice but to do what would be best for them.
Should he say something? Koscuisko would thank h
im for his sacrifice. Koscuisko might possibly embrace him — as a man, not as a lover — and tell him that his sacrifice was noble and admirable, when in fact it was neither, at its base. Koscuisko would be surprised. If he were not surprised, it would mean that Koscuisko had counted on Stildyne to exile himself in Gonebeyond for Koscuisko’s sake, expected it, planned on it, decided it and never so much as mentioned it to Stildyne himself, taking the only gift that Stildyne had to give him for granted as his. Already his.
Koscuisko wouldn’t do that to a bond-involuntary. But there was a chance that he would do that to Stildyne. Koscuisko had been raised to mastery, and could have no doubt after all these years that Stildyne was his man to direct and command.
Stildyne was just deciding that he could not take the chance of finding out when he opened up the door between the service corridor and the main passageway, and discovered the house-master and her assistant in the passageway arguing between themselves in muted but passionate tones.
“It’ll never work,” the assistant was saying. She was the short plump one, and Stildyne liked women plump when he had to choose among women. “The very idea, asking a customer to provide services. They say he’s sensitive about it, too. He’ll have us dismissed. We’ll lose our pensions.”
The house-master herself was not too very much taller, but she was much less generously padded, and the way she wore her red hair gave her something of a vaguely predatory air. “He’s a doctor, here’s a patient. And we’ll just ask. We could lose our license if we can’t provide services on demand, just as easily as — Chief Stildyne.”
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