He could find it in him neither to rejoice nor weep.
He checked that the sterile field was up and active instead, and started to unfasten his duty-blouse once more. “Very well. Give me the medical report, I’ll want to check on this. You, there, technician, what are my clearances for practice?” As opposed to research. Obviously no decently run Infirmary would permit just anyone to gain access to proprietary stores, whether physician or no; and there was no particular reason for the Fleet to allow him to do so. Hadn’t there been a nasty comment of some sort in the administrative material about different levels of treatment support for bond-involuntary troops in need of medication?
Joslire took his blouse, and the technician blushed and bowed. “The officer is cleared to order at the officer’s discretion and best judgment. A credit ceiling of four hundred thousand, Standard, has been imposed to cover the cost of medication only. Doctor Chaymalt’s personal instruction.”
“I am deeply obliged to Doctor Chaymalt, and hope I will have the opportunity to tell her so. Joslire. Is there rhyti?” Supper would wait. Four hundred thousand, Standard, was it? The official replacement cost levied against a Fleet command whose loss of a bond-involuntary was judged to have resulted from criminal negligence. Even then it was the Command’s administrative budget, and not the Commander, who paid. But if Chaymalt was willing to recompense him in this manner for the surgery that he had performed under her authority, Andrej was more than willing to accept the grant as given, crude though it was.
He could hear the door open behind him; Joslire going for rhyti, he supposed. He hoped. The orderlies looked confused; he wanted them handy, he might be needing them later on. “Who is senior of the two of you? What are your orders?”
The shorter one was senior, a Binbin woman with her head half-shaved after the fashion of her kind. “With respect. We were tasked to provide primary support in the officer’s absence, and to assist the officer at his discretion. We’re at the officer’s disposal.”
And if he didn’t feel like troubling himself? There would be no secondary support. Or there would be treatment of the injuries, and it would stop well short of soothing for the pain. They would have been quite sure that he would do what was needful, though, having already paid such coin for the man. “Very good. Prepare me a double dose of hanerdoi, and I’ll want a good vasodilator as well. What have you got on hand for Nurail besides extract of sandspreader?”
The shoulder first, and hit it with a deep neural block straight off, so he wouldn’t have any problems if St. Clare began to wake up. Not that he expected that to happen any time soon, not with what the metabolic blood report had to tell him about protein starvation and too much jacherul for common sense and reason. They’d wanted St. Clare conscious to stand hi, hearing, well, that made a certain amount of sense.
Andrej wondered what St. Clare was going to think of all this.
There was a good deal to be done. The shoulder sprain, complicated as it had been by neglect and abuse and left untreated for so long, was just short of sustaining a permanent injury. It wouldn’t have mattered to Fleet, since crozer-lances were not Standard issue. But St. Clare wouldn’t have appreciated the chronic pain. Then there was a significant dehydration issue to be addressed, and it seemed that St. Clare had been fasting; but whether that had been because of lack of appetite — or because Fleet didn’t waste rations on dead men — Andrej neither knew nor cared to speculate.
Fluid and nourishment provided in solution, the shoulder numbed, the swelling seen to, there were still the bruises and the blood all down St. Clare’s back, all down his sides, his arms, his legs, the welts across his face. Tutor Chonis would require him to scourge St. Clare all over again, and he had promised. He was going to have to study how it could be done, to do the least amount of damage — hopefully without anybody catching on.
By the time that Andrej was ready for the orderlies to help him turn St. Clare over onto his newly bandaged back, the man was thinking about regaining consciousness, from all indications. It was true that St. Clare was in absolutely superb physical condition, recent events aside. And also true, as Andrej had some personal reason for knowing, that the right ointment applied with a careful enough touch could really make a difference when a man was hurting from head to foot. Andrej kept an eye on St. Clare’s face, watching for the movement of the eyes behind closed lids. He didn’t want to use any more soporific than he had to; it could interfere with the action of the painkiller he was using. He didn’t quite catch it in time even so. Cleaning fragments of rope fiber away from the torn flesh at his patient’s throat, he was distracted, and when St. Clare spoke to him he started in surprise.
“What are . . . Why did . . . ”
Andrej snapped his fingers for the dose he’d had the technician hold in reserve, and she pressed it through with commendable efficiency. “Shut up,” he advised St. Clare, watching the muscles of his patient’s face fall slack as St. Clare sank into deep unconsciousness once more. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk about it later.” He was certainly not going to address any of those issues now, with all this work on his hands. And he wasn’t sure he had the first idea of what he was going to say when the time came.
“Is there a bed reserved?” he asked the senior orderly. They were almost done, except of course that rehydration and nourishment did have to continue, and there should be someone to see to pain reduction medication should St. Clare wake again during the night.
“Full supportive, if it please the officer.” Andrej let his hand rest against the least bruised skin that he could find on St. Clare’s naked chest, considering his progress on the tracks the rope had left. He’d known when he had started with the rope that it was liable to shed a myriad of irritating fragments of stiff fiber, wearing away at St. Clare’s throat like spun glass ground into a wound. At the time it had struck him as an interesting concept, one that would contribute to a certain degree of erosion in the prisoner’s self-control. Now he wanted to know what kind of a pervert had ideas like that, when they involved making such a mess out of a perfectly good physical machine, the body of the prisoner.
Clearly there was a conflict of some sort, here.
As if he hadn’t known.
“All right, then.” Beckoning to Joslire for his rhyti, Andrej wondered suddenly what time it had gotten to be, and how late he’d kept his poor Joslire up again. “There’s stasis on the bed, of course? Well, one must be sure, no offense was meant. You may remove the patient to his bed. I have logged four units of amart to be delivered every two hours, and seven of storliva to be administered if his temperature should chance to rise. If there are any other developments, I should like to be notified, immediately. I trust there will be no problem with that?”
Not that he expected any unforeseen developments, because St. Clare really was rather a splendid young animal, and there was nothing wrong with him that rest and food and drink and painease could not mend. It was a good thing for them both that he was so new at his craft, Andrej decided. St. Clare would carry no scars. Joslire wore too many, even if most of the evidence had been cosmetically concealed — to render him more aesthetically pleasing in the eyes of his Students? To remove the checking influence it might be said to have if one should chance to notice that the man one was preparing to strike was already scarred, to face brutally vivid evidence of past punishment as one worked oneself up to deliver punishment? The Administration did not want young Students to think twice about beating people. The Administration did not want them to think about it at all.
And there was another problem.
Andrej knew how hard he’d struck St. Clare, and how much pain it had created, quite apart from the nasty trick he’d played with the crozer-hinge.
How much more pain had Joslire suffered, to have given him such scars? And — had it been some other physician there might have been no grant of medication, not even for worse welts —
Two-and-twenty could be decided and delivered without Charges brought, w
ithout hope for appeal or moderating influence. Two-and-twenty was Standard issue for bond-involuntaries.
He could not bear to think about it. He had been through too much today. And he had come out ahead of it all, at least in one thing, and that was an important thing — the life of the man who lay unconscious beneath his hand. St. Clare belonged to him, and he was responsible for St. Clare. It was a bit of comforting familiarity in this alien place that persisted in Andrej’s mind even as the orderlies removed his patient to his bed.
Alone in the room now with only Joslire for company, Andrej drank his rhyti and remembered that he was hungry. “Joslire, am I to see Tutor Chonis, or am I to go to bed?” His rhyti was still hot, and that was odd. How many times had Joslire had to go for rhyti, to have it hot and ready for him now?
“Tutor Chonis has requested that the officer meet with him after fast-meal, in the morning. For the remainder of this duty-shift, there is no training scheduled.”
No, Joslire was sitting on something, Andrej was certain that he could hear it in his voice. He glanced behind him sharply, but Joslire gave no hint of an expression on his somber, guarded face.
Maybe he didn’t want to know.
“Let’s have my blouse, then, if you please.” Well, they’d go back to quarters and be done with the day. He did want to see Doctor Chaymalt, but a formal appointment would probably take a day or two to set up through the proper channels. He’d have to read up on his Sixth Level, and he wasn’t looking forward to that any more than he had to any of the preliminary exercises, but he didn’t have the energy to waste in indulging himself in conflict of that sort. “Can you call ahead for my supper, I wonder? Or perhaps a mid-meal and a third-meal at once, if it is possible, unless there are rules against permitting Students to make gluttons of themselves?”
Joslire helped him into his blouse, stone-faced and silent. Joslire keyed the door and bowed, silent and stone-faced, for Andrej to precede him from the room. Andrej could see Sorlie Curran and the rest of the security team in the corridor beyond, two on each side, standing to attention. Had they really been there all this time? If they were St. Clare’s jailers, why hadn’t they followed the orderlies when the orderlies had taken St. Clare off to Ward?
Andrej went out into the corridor thinking about his supper, and came to an abrupt halt.
It wasn’t only Sorlie Curran, and the team who had been with him for the exercise.
There was a Bigelblu, and a Mizucash, and the Holy Mother only knew how many others besides. All bond-involuntaries. And the corridor was absolutely solid with them, standing to attention against the walls on either side to wait his passing.
Staring about him in wonder, Andrej started down the hall toward the door at the far end. How had all these people gotten in here? And he recognized the Mizucash and the Bigelblu from his Preliminary Level exercises, both saluting him with precise and respectful bows as he went past. He could hear Joslire behind him, but he could also hear the troops turning to close ranks across the corridor just behind the two of them, forming row upon row of Security troops that deepened the closer he got to the door at the end of the corridor. And when he got to the door, it was worse, because there were more of them on the other side, and most of those were Station Security and Infirmary staff, and not bond-involuntaries at all.
What was a man to do in such a circumstance?
Andrej paced the distance with grave deliberation, keenly aware of the silent formation that surrounded him. Reaching the end of the gauntlet at last, he turned to face back the way he had come, Joslire moving quickly to stand behind him.
There could be only one response truly appropriate, truly adequate to express his confused appreciation for this astonishing tribute.
He looked through the ranks for a long moment, trying to make eye contact with everyone there, trying not to wonder why they weren’t at their duty stations.
And he bowed.
With every bit as much heartfelt gratitude and respect as a filial child bowing to his father, or before the Canopy.
“You do me very great honor. And I thank you for it.” It was a poor return, but it was the best he had to offer. “Good night, gentles, all. I will. Never. Forget this.”
Now he should leave the area quickly, so that they could disperse with all deliberate speed; but not so quickly that they would feel he was slighting their profound gesture by discarding its importance with his haste. Forcing himself to take unhurried steps, Andrej walked out of the area, with Joslire following. He could only just hear Joslire behind him, close to his shoulder, speaking soft and low, his voice pitched to Andrej’s ear alone.
“Neither will we. Your Excellency.”
He didn’t believe that he deserved this accolade, strangely as it had been given. But there was no arguing with one’s Household. When they decided that one had done well, the only thing that one could do was to accept in all humility and submit with as good grace as one could muster.
He only hoped that no one would come to grief for it.
Chapter Nine
There had been a disturbance of sorts in Infirmary during third-shift, and although Tutor Chonis hadn’t heard many details, he considered it almost certain that Koscuisko had been involved somehow. Koscuisko was expected after fast-meal, but — Chonis realized, frowning at his time-strip — he hadn’t specified a time when he’d given Curran his instructions yesterday mid-second. He’d not been quite sure how much Curran would be able to retain of what Chonis had wanted to tell him. The whole roomful of Security had been in shock, Bonded and un-Bonded alike, after witnessing the actualization of the impossible.
He need not have worried. It was the mark after the start of the normal training period, precisely as close to “after fast-meal” as a man could get; and here was Student Koscuisko, signaling at the door.
“Student Koscuisko respectfully reports at the Tutor’s convenience.”
And, oh, but didn’t he sound polite this morning. Pale, and there were dark stains beneath his eyes, like those that signaled incomplete restfulness in some of the races of category-six hominids. He always had used polite language, that was true. It was all the more interesting how different it sounded when Koscuisko appeared to actually mean it.
“Step through. Thank you, Curran, stand by. Good-greeting, Andrej, have you slept well?”
Koscuisko took his seat a little heavily. “Thank you, Tutor, I believe so. But I have a good deal on my mind, if perhaps we could discuss it.”
Yes, he’d just bet Koscuisko had a lot to talk about. “All right. Where shall we start?” That should be an interesting choice, given the range from which Koscuisko could choose.
Koscuisko lay his hand out on the table flat, palm uppermost, studying his fingers. “Well, there is St. Clare’s status, and I would like to be permitted to follow up. I understand there is to be an evaluation of the speak-serum, and I wonder if I am permitted to adjust the formulation to include the Nurail lineages. Also there were some gentles to see me to my quarters last night, and I can’t help but worry that the Administration might misinterpret their courtesy. I have promised to enrich the Controlled List; I would know how the Administration wishes to define my contribution, a schedule, or whatever. Also, finally, my Sixth Level. I have some anxiety on all of these points, Tutor Chonis.”
He had just about hit all the marks, that was true. “I’ll see if I can’t set your mind at rest. You’ll prompt me if I leave anything out.” Because there was a good deal of ground to cover. “Let’s start with the unusual occurrence last night, since I’ve just found out about it. The Administrator’s morning report describes it as a not-unlawful assembly, not outside the range of customary and acceptable procedure. Though it seems to have pushed the limit? Hmmm?”
Koscuisko blushed and bit his lip. It was an unfair question, Chonis supposed. “No matter. There don’t seem to be any problems, at least not at this time. A natural expression of concern for two fellow Security troops and bond-involuntaries, th
at is all.”
Perhaps not all. Perhaps very much more than that, and all to do with Andrej Koscuisko, marked for the rest of his Fleet career as a man who could command personal loyalty from bond-involuntary troops.
“As to St. Clare. You will assume the responsibilities of attending physician until he can be returned to duty to stand evaluation of the speak-serum. You will administer appropriate punishment for the violation you mentioned to me . . . Do you remember?”
Koscuisko was uncomfortable with this part. Chonis intended that Koscuisko be uncomfortable with this part. That was the whole point of the exercise — or of what was left of the exercise, at any rate.
“I remember, Tutor Chonis. And I have not yet thanked you for taking my petition forward. I . . . cannot say . . . ”
His knuckles tight against the tabletop, his mouth pursed white, Koscuisko fought to contain his emotion, while Chonis watched, fascinated. Passion was not usually seen in Students, either because they had learned neutrality in their medical schooling or because they had drawn a layer of callousness over themselves for self-protection. Koscuisko was a passionate man, and it was instructive to see how he handled it in himself; though it was surely not necessary — Chonis reminded himself, a little guiltily — to let him suffer, in this manner.
“You are quite welcome, Student Koscuisko. No one on this Station but welcomed your suggestion.”
There, that was better. Koscuisko took a deep breath, and his shoulders seemed to smooth out a bit as he relaxed. “Even so, I will not forget, Tutor Chonis. I understand that I must discipline St. Clare, as I have sworn to do. Naturally I would prefer to restrict myself to two-and-twenty, but that might not satisfy the requirement. I therefore must ask . . . ”
Chonis already knew that Koscuisko would just as soon go two-and-twenty and forget it. He was tempted to let it rest at that. The idea had been to ensure that Koscuisko suffered for his lapse of taste in embarrassing the Administration, and that he would continue to shudder for his sins every time he laid eyes on Robert St. Clare. It was clear enough to Chonis that Koscuisko was suffering rather flamboyantly over the risked Class Two itself. There was the question of the Administrator, however; Clellelan would not understand letting it go so lightly. Given the leniency Administrator Clellelan had granted in the matter, Chonis felt it was better not to push things.
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