Hour of Judgement

by Susan R. Matthews

  “The warrant officer, Chief Stildyne, went to the hospital with the man and the rest of the team. Security five point three? Thank you, sir, Security five point three. An emergency surgery was successfully performed. They’re all still at hospital, sir.”

  Emergency surgery. Did he have to ask what kind? He’d forgotten what he’d decided about who had killed Wyrlann. He’d been distracted by problems of his own. Now Andrej was as sure as though he’d been told that he knew that the medical emergency had been a governor on overload, a governor which should have prevented the murder from ever taking place. Which would have prevented it, had it not been defective from the very beginning. He knew that Robert’s governor had gone critical. He believed he knew why.

  “I’ll want to go to hospital first thing. Soon, too.”

  “Yes, sir. So much was in fact anticipated. The Bench specialist requests a few eighths of his Excellency’s time be made available this afternoon or after third-meal, with specific provision that you were to feel no need to send excuses for seeing to other business first if you slept later in the day.”

  He might be Nurail. But he was damnably good at the language of a majordomo. At the same time his conversation was redeemed from the very purest form of mind-numbingly indirect discourse by his persistent tendency to use a second person singular pronoun rather than a noun phrase in the third person. Someone would probably take him gently aside and speak to him about that, before too long.

  “For the rest of it the port is under quarantine, and all movement is under escort. There was a fire at the service house last night that may or may not have claimed the life of Fleet Captain Lowden. There are apparently some indications that the fire was set to conceal a crime, but the officer is either dead or missing and presumed dead. The Bench specialists are conducting the investigation, with the Danzilar prince’s permission.”

  Well, of course Lowden was dead. Or at least Andrej hoped and expected that Lowden was dead. He had very carefully killed Lowden himself, with his own two hands. Which were fortunately free from embarrassing scratches. But he hadn’t set the fire to cover the crime. He’d set the fire to be sure that Lowden went to Hell and stayed there.

  “Other casualties?”

  There was a problem with having set a fire at all, now that he was sober enough to consider the potential consequences of such an act. But service houses had fire suppression systems to protect their patrons. Didn’t they?

  The sprinklers hadn’t gone off in the suite where he’d burned the body, had they?

  “Surprisingly few,” the housemaster assured him. “All in all there seems to have been an orderly evacuation. There are injuries, but none of them very severe. Sprains and bruises mostly, from people being in too much of a hurry. But portions of the service house are apparently still burning.”

  Fire suppression systems had been as completely stripped out as the hospital had been, then. He should have stopped to think. Andrej stared at the sweet rolls, stricken with horror. Oh, what he had almost done. What he had done. That it had not become a disaster was clearly better luck than he deserved, and certainly no reflection on any merit of his.

  Or was it?

  Couldn’t he say that to have killed Captain Lowden and set the whole service house on fire, and nobody else killed, meant a species of approval for the act, from the Canopy of Heaven?

  It had been fairly early yet in the night.

  People had been drunk, but not too drunk to find their way out of a burning building.

  He was a sinner, but perhaps — just perhaps — the holy Mother had put out her hand to shelter and protect him, whether or not he was unreconciled still to her Church.

  “House-master. I am astonished. Almost I would say that I was sorry to have missed it. But my First Officer has probably been up all night, and would know this for a lie.”

  Wait. Should he say such a flippant thing about the event that was presumed to have taken the life of his commanding officer?

  Certainly he should.

  Nobody in Port Burkhayden, nobody on the Ragnarok, nobody in Fleet, nobody on the Bench would be the least bit astonished at an indication that the death of Fleet Captain Lowden did not afflict him with an excess of grief.

  “His Excellency’s First Officer has in fact just gone to bed two eights ago. And leaves expressed concern for your health and well being, sir. I’m directed to advise you that he’s been to hospital and everyone’s asleep. And that he will expect to see you at some time, but that you’re to satisfy the Bench specialists first on any issue.”

  Probably not quite as Mendez had said it, but Andrej took the meaning. It had been four years. He could speak Mendez.

  “Very well, then. I will go to the hospital, and then to see Vogel. But in the meantime I will have some more rhyti.”

  There was no telling what he was to confront, today.

  It only made sense to be sure he was well-fortified to face whatever might come.

  ###

  Security Chief Stildyne lay on a thin padded mat on the floor with a rolled-up wad of sterile wrapping under his head and a doubled thickness of toweling over his face to shut out the bright light from the un-shaded window. He’d had a long night. He’d slept through fast-meal, and he had every intention of sleeping through mid-meal as well. Why not? There was nothing to do, and nowhere to go. He’d spoken to First Officer. He didn’t want to see Koscuisko.

  He heard voices, coming down the hallway toward the front room of the ward his troops occupied. Robert in the inside room with the diagnostics, sleeping off the exhaustion of having experienced the extreme pain that he’d endured. Despite Stildyne’s expectations to the contrary, Robert had slept through fast-meal and mid-meal as well. If he didn’t wake in time for third meal they would have to call in a resurrectionist, Stildyne supposed.

  “Through here.” Stildyne recognized the voice. “Couldn’t leave them cluttering up the emergency treatment areas. Security being on the large side.”

  Who would Doctor Howe be speaking to like that? Respectful and restrained, to an extent. Quite unlike the way Howe talked to Stildyne himself. Someone come to see about Robert, obviously, and that meant —

  “Indeed I have always noticed that for large people they are capable of dealing with surprisingly confined spaces.” The officer. Andrej Koscuisko. Stildyne rolled off his floor-mat and staggered to his feet in one swift if ungraceful motion. Koscuisko. He wasn’t ready for this.

  “One of the tricks of the trade, sir, disappearing in place. So your Chief doesn’t notice you. Good-greeting, Chief, slept at all, did you?”

  Yes, coming into the room. Doctor Barit Howe and Andrej Koscuisko. Stildyne bowed, still clutching the towel that he’d been using as an eye-shade in the fist of one hand. “Tolerably, Doctor Howe. Your Excellency.”

  Doctor Howe wasn’t more than slowing down on his way through. Stildyne stood aside to follow behind Koscuisko, but Koscuisko paused, putting one hand to Stildyne’s arm and looking up into his face with a very measuring sort of an expression in his eyes — which looked almost white to Stildyne in the bright room, but he was used to that.

  “Have you had a bad night of it, Chief?” Oh, Koscuisko didn’t know the half of it. “I should apologize for being drunk, and not here to help out. Tell me what happened.”

  Damned if he would. Not here. Not now. There was no telling whether they were on monitor, somewhere. “Robert may have been upset that the murder had happened while he was nearby. I don’t know, your Excellency. All I really know is that he was suffering, and we assumed his governor was cooking off. We nearly lost him.”

  Sir, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did it. I didn't realize how much it was going to hurt him. I'm sorry you weren't here. But Stildyne knew that those were words he’d never say.

  “We’d met the gardener,” Koscuisko said, as if he was agreeing with Stildyne on something. “Before, I mean. I knew Robert was unhappy about the Captain’s accusation. I cannot say I was pleased myself. It
may have been enough to push things over.”

  Yes, that made sense. And it didn’t have to. All it really needed was for Koscuisko to say that it made sense. That was what senior officers were for.

  “Let us go in,” Koscuisko suggested, and started forward. Let us go in was not a suggestion from a senior officer. Not really. So there were drawbacks in having senior officers available to one, as well as advantages.

  Doctor Howe was standing by the cot where Robert had been sleeping. Robert was sitting up on the edge of the cot in his hip-wrap, with his naked feet splayed firm on the floor and his knees every which way. It was a low cot.

  “Name of the Mother,” Koscuisko said, as Robert started to stand up. “Sit as you are, Robert. For the love of all Saints.”

  It couldn’t be that Robert was undressed, because he did have some clothing on. Koscuisko was just responding to how white in the face and generally unhealthy Robert still looked. Joining Doctor Howe at the bedside Koscuisko leaned forward to peer into one of Robert’s eyes, pulling against the lower lid of the eye with a touch of his thumb; Robert suffered the examination in stoic silence, apparently resigned to letting Koscuisko express his anxiety that way. “How do you go?”

  For his own part Stildyne hung back, unwilling to present himself where Robert could see him. Afraid, after all, that Robert would remember at least enough to blame Stildyne for what he’d done.

  “Well, thank you. Sir. Your Excellency.” Robert’s voice was strong, but hesitant. Stildyne realized he’d half-expected Robert to sound different. “Confused, though, with respect. I don’t know what’s happened. Except — something’s missing — I think — your Excellency.”

  “Indeed, something is missing,” Koscuisko agreed, and put his hand to the back of Robert’s neck in an affectionate gesture that Stildyne had envied Koscuisko’s Bonds on more than one occasion. “There is a soreness, here? It is as it should be.”

  Robert bent his head in apparent response to some gentle pressure from Koscuisko’s hand; Koscuisko examined the back of Robert’s neck, carefully, in the light from the un-shaded overhead fixture. “I wish someone would tell me what’s going on,” Robert grumbled. And then seemed to hear himself talking, and find himself startled by what he had said. “I mean. With respect. Sir. I’m confused.”

  “A beautiful mark, here,” Koscuisko said to Doctor Howe. And it was Doctor Howe who came to Robert’s rescue, as Koscuisko continued to consider the site where the surgeon had gone in with whatever he’d used.

  “Your governor went critical on us, Mister St. Clare. We had to go for emergency disconnect I have to remind you, now, don’t get used to it. Fleet will see to it that you’re Bonded again in double-quick time.”

  That was a point, Stildyne realized, though he wouldn’t have thought of it. Not right away. Koscuisko stepped back from Robert, lifting his hand, apparently happy with his examination; Robert reached out and snagged Koscuisko’s hand on its way past.

  “Sir. I’ve got to tell you. If I could have a word. Please.”

  Stildyne shot Doctor Howe an angry glance, betrayed. Oh, this was bad. Doctor Howe had promised. Hadn’t he? “Now, Robert, it’s nothing that won’t wait, I’m sure — ” Stildyne started to say. In the best, most convincing, shut up now or I'll shut you up myself tone of voice that he could muster. But it never did him any good with Andrej Koscuisko around.

  “Chief. Be still.”

  And Stildyne shut up. Seething in internal torment: but Koscuisko was the senior man here. And nobody argued with Andrej Koscuisko. It wasn’t done.

  “Robert, be easy. What is it? Of course.”

  Robert looked up past Koscuisko to Stildyne where he stood, to Doctor Howe on Koscuisko’s left. As if he was trying to decide on something.

  “Sir. You might not remember. But Megh. It’s my own sister, sir. My Megh.”

  Koscuisko raised his free hand in an abrupt gesture of warning. “Be careful of what you say, Robert. Someone has murdered the Fleet Lieutenant. Do you not remember? Last night? At the party, at Center House?”

  This was the meat of the problem, just so. Yes. Stildyne hadn’t thought to be hitting it so soon: but maybe it would work out better this way. Get it all over with. Finished. Complete.

  Robert looked confused. “Murdered. The Lieutenant? No, sir. Don’t remember. I’m sure it’ll come to me, though. If you say so.”

  Too clear and too open, too honest. Too real. Stildyne was convinced, but he wasn’t the expert. Nor was he the person whose judgment mattered in things of this nature.

  “Doctor Howe?” Koscuisko looked back over his shoulder; and Doctor Howe stepped up to the bedside.

  “Going by what the Chief could tell us the governor was probably dying all day, your Excellency. It was already out of maximum tolerance when they reached the hospital last night.”

  A long moment, as Koscuisko considered this. And during that moment Stildyne imagined that he could see Robert realize what the issue was; but Robert didn’t flinch from it.

  Why should he?

  Everyone knew that a bond-involuntary was ruled both by conditioning and by the governor.

  The last thing a bond-involuntary was supposed to be able to do was to assault a superior commanding officer. They knew it was wrong, by the rules they’d been taught. And knowing that it was a violation rendered them incapable of executing it without invoking sanctions from their governor well before any actual act of violence.

  In a manner of speaking Robert was protected by the fact that he was a bond-involuntary . . . except in the eyes of people who knew that his governor was faulty. And who could guess that what Robert had done had been overwhelmingly right, in his own mind: right enough to overpower even his conditioning.

  “The authorities will want a statement, Robert. You were on duty at the time of the murder. As part of the rest of the special event security. It will have to be a speak-serum, I suppose.” Koscuisko was thinking out loud. Not revealing, but seemingly unable to quite accept what Doctor Howe had told him, nonetheless. “Robert, it would be better, I think, if you did not tell anyone else, unless of course the Bench specialists ask, and there is no reason for them to . . . that she is your sister.”

  And as much sense as this made to Stildyne at least, Robert seemed incapable of accepting it. The pain in Robert’s voice was too much like the pain that had been there yesterday evening. Stildyne didn’t like hearing it.

  “But to know that she’s here, sir, and not see her. So many years. Please. Stildyne, speak for me. Couldn’t I be allowed to just sit with her?”

  If Robert could appeal to him, of all people, then Robert truly did not remember. Stildyne thought fast.

  “Sir, if there’s evidence, speak-sera will bring it out.” Unless the searing agony of a governor gone critical had well and truly erased the slate. “So it’ll clear him. Why not, sir? No harm done.”

  And Robert might never see her again. That was the unspoken subtext, here. Either because he would not live to see the Day, and come back to Burkhayden — Security troops suffered a much diminished life expectancy, by definition. Or else because the Bench would decide that sufficient circumstantial evidence existed to take Robert for the crime, and he would be executed. Which wouldn’t happen. Robert would be killed first. Stildyne was sure of that.

  Was Koscuisko trying to read some special meaning from his words, trying to fathom some looked-for secret message in his face?

  It seemed to Stildyne that the moment stretched.

  But neither Doctor Howe nor Robert apparently noticed any such thing.

  “It would be very difficult to deny the justice of your claim. Very well. Doctor Howe, there is the orderly’s duty, the salve for her bruises. Perhaps Robert could be put to work on ward.”

  Robert turned his head away, and rubbed at his forehead with one hand. Covering his eyes.

  “Settled, then,” Doctor Howe agreed.

  “Mister Stildyne. I must to the Bench specialist Vogel go
and speak. Do you care to come with me?”

  So Stildyne would know if there was to be a problem, perhaps?

  Or so Koscuisko could pump him in transit for any additional details?

  He could leave Pyotr in charge. Pyotr had been in charge, right enough. Stildyne hadn’t been doing much chiefing over the last few hours. “Very good, sir. Robert. Get rested. Your orderly, Doctor Howe.”

  Maybe Robert had done the crime, and maybe Robert would be put to death for it — one way or another.

  At least he could see his sister once or twice before he died.

  ###

  Andrej meant to take Chief Stildyne out of doors and walk the secret out with him, as soon as he had satisfied Bench intelligence specialist Vogel. There was a secret, he could tell. He and Stildyne had known each other for too long, and while their intimacy had not approached the sort that would satisfy his Chief, it had developed over time into a true relationship of sorts.

  Stildyne would confess himself, Andrej was certain of it. Stildyne always did. Because as painful as it was to him to suffer diminishment in Andrej’s eyes, it was more painful yet to enjoy a false regard founded on concealment.

  Andrej meant to have it out of Stildyne, and he had to speak to Specialist Vogel.

  But he wanted to see how last night’s victim fared, before he did a thing else.

  He knew the hospital well enough after his brief tenure here; he didn’t need a guide to get from here to there, and no one seemed to think twice to see him in the halls. Well, perhaps they did think twice — they would all have heard of his disgraceful behavior last night.

  Though they had known him to be Inquisitor before, the near reminder could not but create some consternation. He only appreciated their courtesy in simply greeting him and going on their way all the more deeply for that.

  On his way in to the intensive care wards Andrej heard a commotion of a sort in corridors ahead, and quickened his pace. Commotion was not allowed in hospital. There were too many unavoidable emergencies to countenance the raising of voices for any other reason than great grief or agony, and since he thought he recognized the voice Andrej felt sure it was not so dire a cause as that.