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Epilogue
Karol Vogel had things to do and people to see, but first he had to get Koscuisko back to Koscuisko’s home ground. Koscuisko would have his hands full on Azanry, Karol was sure of it. Sant-Dasidar was doing as well as any of her sister Judiciaries and better than most; it was an artifact, perhaps, of the fact that the Dolgorukij had always understood hierarchy.
Half-way across the Anglerhaz vector to Chilleau from Brisinje Karol eased back on his record-checks and slumped against his clamshell, tired but satisfied. He’d land Koscuisko at Chilleau. The Second Judge would want him to get right on things; he’d already heard a few words on the subject, but under the circumstances he thought he could probably insist on ferrying Koscuisko on to Azanry himself. Good public relations. Respect for high-ranking civilian persons of importance.
Hearing movement from the direction of the doorway behind him Karol looked back over his shoulder at Koscuisko standing on the threshold with a lefrol in one hand and a somber expression on his face. People didn’t usually smoke lefrols in wheel-houses; smoke carried particulate matter, which could get into the mechanisms. So could dust and dander, though, and that didn’t stop people from sitting in wheel-houses shedding both like it was going out of style.
“Come on in,” Karol said. “The water’s fine.”
Bending his head Koscuisko stepped forward to seat himself to Karol’s right, in the second-seat on the boards. It was a very nice courier, but it was Koscuisko’s, after all. If Koscuisko wanted to smoke in his own wheelhouse it was between him and the wheelhouse. There was a dish for the ash, built in to the console; Koscuisko inhaled a deep draught of the smoke, and set the lefrol under the vapor-capture hood before he let his breath back out again.
“I have heard many interesting rumors about where you have been, Bench specialist,” Koscuisko said, left hand to right wrist as though his fingers hurt. The cyborg bracing that crept around Koscuisko’s right hand glinted dully in the low light of the wheelhouse, and made a clicking sound when it struck a hard surface. “Talk to me about Gonebeyond space.”
Why should he? Because Koscuisko was trying to make conversation, that was why. And why not? He’d covered up Koscuisko’s murder of Captain Lowden in Burkhayden; he’d declined to execute a Warrant for Koscuisko’s life. He might as well talk to the man. That didn’t mean he had to make things easy. “What’ve you heard?”
“I’ve heard that people go seeking Gonebeyond, but I’ve never quite understood what one is supposed to find there.”
Koscuisko had arranged for six bond-involuntary troops to escape their Bonds for Gonebeyond space. Maybe he was anxious about it. Karol looked at the little ticket on the console that held the calculations for his vector transit from Aznir space, and shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, I’ve heard that it’s depressing. Nobody there but refugees. No night life to speak of. Why do you ask?”
“I may have sent a surgical kit into Gonebeyond with no qualified user. It was irresponsible of me.” It wasn’t the answer Karol had expected, but if he, Karol, wasn’t going to admit having been in Gonebeyond, why would Koscuisko confess to what he’d done with those Security troops? “There cannot be much by way of infrastructure in such a place.”
“There isn’t.” Maybe if he made the first move he’d find out what was on Koscuisko’s mind. “Doesn’t matter much. People in Gonebeyond are living on borrowed time anyway.” Because they were escapees, and usually from a threat or sentence of some sort. “The environment keeps the population down. Could be done on a budget, though, a hospital wouldn’t need any geriatric care, and very little by way of pediatrics.”
Reaching for his lefrol Koscuisko took a hit and set it back down. Karol reminded himself that he disapproved of mood-altering drugs in principle, and that was what a lefrol was, at its base — a delivery system for a psychoactive drug, one that could be physically addicting. Finally Koscuisko spoke. “I am in a position to do you a service, Vogel,” Koscuisko said. “A significant savings in time and effort.”
An intriguing claim. What did it mean? “I’m listening,” Karol said. Naturally occurring, though, lefrols — the leaf was a native botanical of some sort. That made it a little different from taking pure forms of a drug, perhaps.
“I will not disguise from you. It will be significantly more awkward for me to disappear once I have returned to Azanry; and yet it must be done, in one way or another. I have business in Gonebeyond, Vogel, and since I expect you’ll be going back, it would be just as convenient if I went with you, wouldn’t it?”
Karol had to laugh. “Business, your Excellency? What business does the Koscuisko familial corporation have in Gonebeyond? There are no markets. There’s practically no economy. It’s hard enough to make a bare living in Gonebeyond, let alone a profit, and I should know, I’ve been there.”
Koscuisko nodded. “Yes, but it is not as a member of my House that I must go. I have something to do. Apologies for some wrongs must be made in person, or they might as well not ever have been made at all, and I have much to say to my Chief of Security.”
Chief of Security. Karol thought he remembered Koscuisko’s Chief of Security. Seven people were being chased by the Ragnarok when the Ragnarok hit the Dar-Nevan vector, and only six of them were bond-involuntaries. “You’re an idiot.” And Karol didn’t mind saying so. “Send a nice fruit basket. You’ve got a wife, and a boy-child.”
“My wife will do very well without me, Vogel, and it is better for my son if he never knows his father. But if I should drop out of sight on some local excursion there must be investigations, and there will be blame. There is no help for it. Accidents are not allowed to befall the sons of princes.”
Koscuisko was serious. Karol had a hard time believing it, but there was no mistaking the somber tone of Koscuisko’s voice. Koscuisko was probably capable of lying to him, but Koscuisko had no reason to do so. “And if you and I disappear together, I’m to blame? I don’t like it. Malcontents scare me.”
Not so serious as not to smile at Karol’s only modestly extravagant claim, but even his smile was sober and serious. “To hint that a Bench Specialist might be at fault would be disrespectful, Vogel. And my cousin Stanoczk has worked with you before, he will know better. It will be an unfortunate incident, but no more than that.”
Too bad. Karol didn’t think he would have minded the notoriety of being Koscuisko’s killer, so long as he hadn’t had to actually kill Koscuisko to gain it. “You can’t possibly know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Still, Koscuisko was right about infrastructure, with especial reference to hospitals. His reputation as a torturer was so loud around him that Koscuisko’s reputation as a battle surgeon tended to get lost in the noise, but it was there.
“I know that I sent people ahead, and that the ship to which I remain assigned followed. Trust me on this, Vogel, I mean to go into Gonebeyond, and find my ship and crew. Consider how much better my chances are of surviving for two days on end if I throw myself on your mercy for guidance and protection.”
He wasn’t the least bit interested. But Koscuisko was quite right about his chances of simply dropping off a vector in Gonebeyond and hoping to live for three shifts, even assuming that Koscuisko could even find his way into Gonebeyond without getting killed on the way.
The Malcontent might possibly oblige Koscuisko, if asked; so who did he want Koscuisko to be obliged to? The Malcontent? Or Bench Specialist Karol Aphon Vogel, who had things going in Gonebeyond, an economy to nourish, a community to build?
Karol thought about it for a moment before straightening up and keyed a communication transmit. “Chilleau,” Karol said. “Karol Vogel here. Modified travel plans, will proceed to Azanry direct, please transmit.” There were people who would protect Koscuisko because he was a doctor. Maybe it would work.
Koscuisko drew his lefrol out from underneath the vapor-capture hood and drank its pungent smoke deep into his lungs, the bracing
on his hand casting strange low-relief shadows across his face.
“Bench specialist,” Chilleau said. “Proceeding to Azanry direct, confirmed. We’ll notify the Combine vectors, will there be anything else, sir?”
“Thanks, Chilleau. Vogel away, here.” And that was that; it was done. Well, it wasn’t done yet, but it was on its way to being done, and Koscuisko knew it, too, to look at him.
“Holy Mother,” Koscuisko said, softly, prayerfully. “I will never see my family again.”
And still he was clearly determined on his course. Karol heard regret in Koscuisko’s voice, but no second thoughts. There were so many things he could say in response; the safest was the surest, however, so Karol shrugged his shoulders and stood up to stretch.
“You’re going to be too busy to notice,” Karol said, and went aft to the galley for something to drink.
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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Warring States Page 48