Andrej decided to try a modified scan. “Where is your family now?”
The Chigan groaned. “In custody. Your Excellency. Pending my trial, but . . . they are innocent . . . ”
The pain in the Chigan’s voice was no less persuasive for the fact that it was clearly emotional in nature. Andrej joggled Lintoe’s elbow, though, just a little bit, just to have an index of physical pain against which to measure this other sort. “That isn’t what I was told. I heard there was Free Government involved.” He wasn’t quite sure about the exact degree to which Lintoe’s physical pain matched the emotional pain involved with the issue of his family; perhaps a retest was in order. Hmm. Yes. Very much more closely matched, that time.
“They said it was fair salvage, Excellency — ”
“Who said?”
“There were. Two men. Infiltrated the camp. Brought it all on us . . . damn them . . . children have to eat . . . ”
Clear enough. And still though Lintoe could be said to have confessed there was a puzzle here. People had no business infiltrating displacement camps — unless it was to foment insurrection.
“You were going to tell me who it was that told you the grain transport was fair salvage.” Fair salvage meant up for grabs. But the Bench didn’t care; there were few allowances made for honest mistakes, under Jurisdiction.
“Family.” It was a sob of anguish from the bottom of the Chigan’s heart. “We sheltered them, but how could they have brought this on their own blood?”
Chigan familial relationships were nothing to Andrej. Still, if the man had been duped into breaking the law, he had suffered for the mistake he’d made in putting his trust in a Free Government agent. Family or no family.
“You aren’t telling me what I want to know,” he warned, taking the Chigan’s chin into his hand to raise the man’s head and make eye contact. He wanted to make sure the Chigan knew this was important. “Name for me the names. If they lied to you they must be punished.”
“But how could young Canaby do such a thing?”
From the tone of the Chigan’s voice he was beyond understanding just what he was saying. Or what it would mean to “young Canaby.”
“His own kin. To lie to us. Endanger the children. You’re no kin of mine, Alko. Alko isn’t even a Chigan name. I don’t care what he says about Free Government, Canaby. He’s up to no good. Are you sure it’s fair salvage? . . . ”
Enough was enough.
Andrej beckoned for Security to help him to his feet.
“The prisoner has confessed to the misappropriation of grain transport from Combine stores. He states that the crime was committed under persuasion that the stolen vessel was fair salvage.” So much was only fair, and he had been so unfair to Lintoe these hours gone past. “Further investigation may be focused on prisoner’s relative Canaby, with specific reference to a companion named Alko, described in terms that indicate potential Free Government involvement. The Administration may wish to consider the prisoner absolved of intent to commit the crime for which he has been arrested in light of this evidence, Confirmed at the Sixth Level. The Record is complete.”
And he was exhausted.
Joslire would come to take him to quarters.
He thought that he was going to want a drink.
Chapter Eleven
“Take a moment if needed. The officer has time. There’s no hurry,” Joslire soothed, holding Koscuisko by the shoulders from behind. The corridor was empty, naturally. Student Koscuisko pushed himself away from the wall with a species of irritation or desperation and stumbled on.
“Are we close yet, Joslire? Before all Saints I do not wish to disgrace myself — ”
“Quite close, as the officer please. Only three turnings.” Koscuisko had far from disgraced himself in his exercise; Koscuisko had outdone himself, rather. Joslire knew that Tutor Chonis had not expected any real information from the Chigan, let alone the by-name identification of the Free Government agent that the Bench suspected was involved. That wasn’t what worried Koscuisko now, though.
“This turning, as it please the officer. The door is . . . ”
Koscuisko was ahead of him, having recognized where he was now. More or less. It was hard to get one’s bearings. The corridors were deliberately designed to be as featureless and anonymous as possible. Koscuisko hurried on ahead, and luckily enough it was actually Koscuisko’s quarters and not the stores room next door. Straight through to the washroom.
For Student Koscuisko’s sake Joslire hoped he made it to the basin before he vomited, since that was what Koscuisko was doing now. It didn’t make much difference to Joslire; Koscuisko hadn’t eaten all day — too absorbed in the exercise to break for his mid-meal — so it wasn’t as though there would be much to clean up either way. Koscuisko would be humiliated if he’d missed, though.
Koscuisko would wish to be left alone in his suffering. Joslire ordered up the officer’s meal, and a good quantity of wodac as well. Starch-flats and curdles, sweethins — sweethins didn’t seem to go with wodac in Joslire’s mind, but Student Koscuisko had a sweet tooth. Koscuisko was going to be drinking. Joslire was still experimenting with things he could get Koscuisko to eat while he was drinking.
Koscuisko was in the wet-shower longer than perhaps he needed to be. The therapeutic effect of hot running water seemed to work some of its species-wide magic; Koscuisko looked moderately refreshed when he sat down to his third-meal. Joslire was glad, in some obscure sense.
Students were expected to suffer in reaction to what they did. As assigned Security, Joslire had always felt it only right and proper that Students suffer for what they did, in howsoever limited a fashion. Koscuisko was different. When Koscuisko suffered Joslire hurt.
“The officer is respectfully encouraged to try some of his meal prior to availing himself of his wodac.”
Naturally Joslire had suffered for Students’ pain before — Students who, when they were in pain, struck out. Koscuisko had yet to strike out at him. Koscuisko seemed genuinely intent on doing his best not to strike out at Joslire as a near and convenient target. That only made it worse.
“Thank you, Joslire, as you like. You have brought arpac-fowl, I see. Well done, I do like arpac-fowl.” Koscuisko’s voice threatened to wobble into hysteria and he shut up, reaching for a thigh portion with a trembling hand. Well, anything was better than meld-loaf, as far as Joslire was concerned. But Koscuisko’s dutiful address to his meal had nothing to do with any liking Koscuisko had for the food, and everything to do with Koscuisko’s habitual response to Joslire as a subordinate peer of some sort. Where Koscuisko came from, authority was absolute and focused in the person of the Autocrat; and Koscuisko was one — not the Autocrat, of course, but heir to a great House and master of all within. Well-socialized young autocrats were apparently expected to cherish a keen sense of the dignity of the people who washed their linen and provided their meals.
Koscuisko treated him as though he were a man — a full-grown and mature adult; in some ways Koscuisko’s equal, and his ungrudgingly acknowledged superior in others, even while he respected the distance that the Bench had set between them. A feeling creature like himself, with a sense of honor and a right to self-respect, who only incidentally happened to be a bond-involuntary.
And Joslire felt helpless against the effect Koscuisko’s respect had on him.
Bite by bite, portioning his food with careful precise gestures of the tableware in his trembling hands, Koscuisko forced himself to eat his third-meal dutifully. Joslire stood and watched and suffered for Koscuisko’s anguish.
Then Koscuisko let the tableware drop to the tray, and put his head between his hands and wept.
There was nothing Joslire could do, not and respect Koscuisko’s agony. He could offer no embrace. He could extend no comfort. They both knew it was only right and proper that a man suffer for having done such things to a helpless prisoner, or to any sentient being constrained and helpless.
Joslire cleared away
the remnants of Koscuisko’s meal, too dispirited to finish off the untouched portion of the arpac-fowl for himself. He liked arpac-fowl, too.
But Koscuisko’s grief was terrible.
How could he pity Koscuisko for his grief, when he had seen Koscuisko work the Chigan?
Well, he had an appointment to see Tutor Chonis during first-shift, since Koscuisko was to be occupied in lab all day.
Maybe then he would find out the answer.
###
“Koscuisko’s settled into workspace, then, Curran?”
Joslire Curran stood at strict attention-wait in front of Tutor Chonis’s desk, reporting promptly for the meeting he’d requested. Tutor Chonis coded the secure for the office door.
“Yes, as it please the Tutor. With Sanli More assigned to see to Student Koscuisko’s needs as they arise. Thank you for seeing me, sir.”
It was in Chonis’s best interest to see Joslire Curran, since Curran had requested command-time. Offhand, Chonis couldn’t remember Curran ever doing that before. Not even with Student Pefisct. “The least I can do, and your natural right, Curran.” Of course bond-involuntaries didn’t really have any rights under Jurisdiction. That was one reason why the Administration — and Security generally, even in Fleet — tried to treat them carefully. To make up. “Stand down, Curran. Administrative orders in effect. What’s on your mind?”
Slowly Curran’s tense body relaxed into the much less formal Administrative command-wait. Taking a deep breath, Curran sighed. “Need to ask a question, sir. Respectfully hope the Tutor won’t be offended, feel compelled to emphasize importance of the truth. Sir.”
Even under administrative orders, Curran avoided the personal pronoun, though it was there by implication. Curran had tremendous discipline. The business with Student Pefisct had proved that clearly enough. But right now Curran looked visibly worn. “What’s the question?” Tutor Chonis prompted.
If he slid the top-tray out of his desk surface, he could see the Safe. It was the only Safe on Station, and if a Tutor wanted it he had to explain to the Administrator why. Tutor Chonis had told Administrator Clellelan that Joslire Curran was coming to see him, and that Chonis thought Curran might be in distress. Clellelan had loaned him the Safe. It was as significant a mark of the respect they had for Joslire Curran as they could make.
“Sir. After last Term. Some time in Infirmary, Tutor Chonis. Peculiar emotional response to Student Koscuisko, sir. And.”
The tension was all back, even if the stance was still informal. Curran chose his words with evident deliberation.
“And I. Need to know. Was my governor adjusted. Experiment on Student-Security bonding, or something. Sir.”
Oh, for the aching void of limitless Space.
Tutor Chonis rose to his feet, the Safe concealed in his closed fist. “Joslire Curran.” He didn’t quite know what to say. “No. There was no adjustment to your governor. No such experiment is conceived or contemplated.” As if the Administration wouldn’t give it a go, if there were governors sophisticated enough to do the trick available. “Sit down, Mister Curran, I’ve got something to say to you.”
It was an order; Curran was required to comply. The man was willing to listen. The governor, however, was confused, and that meant conflict. Tutor Chonis moved around behind Curran and slipped the Safe over his head, to dangle on its chain around Curran’s neck.
Curran stiffened.
Safes transmitted a carefully encrypted master signal to the artificial intelligence at the heart of the governor, setting up interference within the governor itself and lulling the thing into a state of suspended function for as long as the safe was sufficiently close to the governor in question. Curran had been on Safe once, and only once, before — all volunteers for the Intermediate Level prisoner-surrogate exercise were given the opportunity to make their final decision on Safe, so that their decision could be made independent of their conditioning. As far as that went.
Chonis put his hands to Curran’s shoulders to steady him. “You know how to run the call-ups, Curran. Check it out for yourself, if you need to. Clellelan said you were to have full shift on Safe. Because we are concerned about your welfare.”
This was Curran’s opportunity to tell Tutor Chonis exactly what he thought about the Administration and its concern for his welfare. The man was on Safe. The governor was in suspension. Still Curran kept shut, and Chonis grinned in pained recognition of Curran’s core self-discipline. “You can stay here and I can leave. You can go to gather room. You can go there alone or we can call up some people for you. Take a moment, Joslire. Then tell me what you want to do.”
Curran stood up from the table slowly, his back still to the Tutor. “I’m to be allowed the Safe for eight eights, sir?”
Full shift, yes. “That’s right.”
“Student Koscuisko has just gone to lab. Let me postpone it. Let me go on Safe at third-shift.”
Whatever for?
Did Curran want to say something to Koscuisko?
Did Curran want to do something to Koscuisko?
“Curran, I don’t know what you have in mind — ” Chonis started to say. Curran interrupted. Chonis was shocked into silence; then he remembered. Curran was on Safe. Yes.
“I swear by holy steel that I mean neither thought nor word nor deed to the discomfort of Student Andrej Koscuisko. But if I could have the Safe and third-shift. And never imagine I don’t appreciate that you’ve brought it for me now, Tutor Chonis.”
Joslire Curran was an Emandisan fighting man, and Emandisan knifemen recognized no rank nor respect except for their own sworn associations. By that token, and the tone of Curran’s voice, Tutor Chonis knew that Curran was utterly sincere about what he’d said. It was no small thing to have a grant of gratitude from an Emandisan.
“Well. If that’s what you want.” Curran had sworn by holy steel, and if there was anything more sacred to an Emandisan knifeman than his five-knives, nobody under Jurisdiction knew about it. The Administrator had granted eight hours; Chonis didn’t think Clellelan had said when. “I’ll take the Safe back for now. It’s up to you to decide when to call for it. No later than sleep-shift, though, it’s got to be returned before tomorrow.”
Which of course implied that sleep-shift was the latest that Curran could call for the Safe and still enjoy the eight full hours that Clellelan had granted. Tutor Chonis couldn’t imagine that Curran would want the Safe just to go to sleep a free man for once.
“Thank you, Tutor Chonis.”
Joslire Curran bent his head and lifted the Safe off and away, slowly, but with great deliberation. Determination. The man had control.
“If the Tutor please. Mean to avail self of this very significant privilege at third-shift. Wish to express deepest appreciation for the opportunity. Sir.”
Curran turned around as he spoke, but there was no reading the emotion on his face. Tutor Chonis held out his hand for the Safe, surprised and impressed that Curran had been able to bear taking it off himself.
“You’re clear to go to gather room regardless, Curran. Give yourself some time to think. I’ll see you at seven and fifty-six, second.” Just before third-shift, that was to say.
Curran had sworn by holy steel that he meant no harm to Andrej Koscuisko.
If he’d misjudged the man — if Joslire Curran turned on Student Koscuisko to assassinate him, for whatever obscure Emandisan reason he might have . . .
With any luck Curran would assassinate Tutor Chonis first.
Because otherwise he was never going to hear the end of it.
###
Joslire Curran waited outside the open door to Koscuisko’s lab space for the moment to arrive. He’d never dreamed of an opportunity like this; he’d never hoped so far as to pray for it. On Safe, and going to exercise drill with Student Koscuisko, after what he had learned about Student Koscuisko during the Term . . .
Time.
Tutor Chonis said the Administrator had given him eight eights on Safe, a
full shift. It was an almost unimaginable privilege; freedom from his governor — for howsoever short a period of time. For a full shift he was to be permitted to think and act like a free man.
He would have to wait until the Day for another chance like this, because the token could only be passed between free men. The Administration didn’t know. Would they have denied him if they had?
“With respect, Student Koscuisko. The officer is scheduled to participate in exercise at this time.”
What he could say. What he could do. Was this how Koscuisko felt in theater, when the awareness of absolute license came upon him? He didn’t dare. Koscuisko could be permitted to suspect nothing.
Student Koscuisko came readily enough, tense and harried though he looked. “Lead on, Joslire,” Koscuisko suggested, with a visible effort to be cheerful. “And I shall follow. From in front, which is awkward, but you manage well enough. Shall we go?”
He didn’t need to wonder anymore if his governor had been adjusted in some hellish experiment to bond Security to their Students of assignment. He was on Safe. And he was determined to mark Student Koscuisko as Student Koscuisko had never been marked before, as Student Koscuisko could never be marked — save by an Emandisan. A free Emandisan knifeman. He could have grinned to himself in gleeful anticipation of what he meant to do; but someone might see.
“To the officer’s left at the second turning, if the officer please. There will be a lift nexus down sixteen.”
“This way is not familiar,” Koscuisko warned. “Is there something I should know about this exercise? Not that I mean to object in either case.”
No, Koscuisko hadn’t been to this exercise area before. “For this exercise period the practice of throwing knives is to be initiated, and a suitable range is required for such exercise. The officer is to see Miss Vanot on the same range at mid-shift tomorrow, as the officer please. To further his mastery of the driver.”
An Exchange of Hostages Page 29