An Exchange of Hostages Read online

  “What if the officer is irreligious? One item of a profane nature? Never mind it, Joslire, what am I supposed to wear to Tutor’s Mess?”

  On familiar ground with this, Joslire moved with confident assurance to the closet to cull the appropriate selections from the rack. “This is the officer’s informal mess dress. It has been prepared from the information in the officer’s medical profile, so the measurements may not be precise. There is time to arrange for alterations before the meal, but not very much time, and therefore the officer is respectfully requested to test these garments for size as soon as possible.”

  Koscuisko was a little different from the Students he’d seen through Orientation previously, perhaps.

  But he could hardly be that different.

  Which meant that the biggest problem facing Joslire in the immediate future — how to suggest that Koscuisko trim back the fine blond fringe of hair across his forehead to conform to the Jurisdiction Standard — didn’t particularly worry Joslire now.

  Anyone who could grasp the trick with his personal effects as quickly as Koscuisko had could surely be relied upon to submit himself sensibly to other Fleet requirements.

  ###

  Mergau Noycannir was prompt in her appointment for dinner with Tutor Chonis, as she made a point to be in all her dealings with superiors. She’d been ready for an eighth, her glossy black hair neatly tied up, her uniform crisp and precise on her tall spare frame. She’d reviewed the schedule and tomorrow’s ceremony several times, rehearsing the steps in quarters with her bond-involuntary’s assistance until she was certain she knew exactly what was required. She wasn’t particularly hungry, and she disliked wasting time over food; still, every opportunity to spend time with the Tutors was a valuable one, well worth the investment. The more she could learn about Tutor Chonis the better she would be prepared to manage him. And she would manage him, too, because she had no intention of going back to Chilleau Judiciary without her Writ, regardless of what it might take to obtain one.

  Her Patron at least recognized superior ability when he saw it; Verlaine knew what was in his own best interest. For that, Mergau was exactly as grateful as she ought to be. Once she brought the Writ to Inquire back to Chilleau Judiciary, she could reasonably expect due compensation in consideration of the valuable resource she’d obtained. If it failed to come, she’d be prepared to ensure that a satisfactory adjustment was made.

  She was always prepared.

  She’d had her bond-involuntary escort her here to Tutor’s Mess in good time. It wouldn’t do to come too soon and be seen standing idly in the reception area, waiting for the Tutor to arrive; that would give the appearance of anxiety or that she was conscious of being in a subordinate position. She’d sent Hanbor back to quarters and then left Tutor’s Mess, going down the corridor a few eighths around the nearest corner to wait.

  Now she tapped her earlobe thoughtfully, checking the time. Fifteen, the little chrono whispered, its timer connected to a neuro-thread that lay beneath the surface of her inner ear. Fifteen and seven eighths. It was time to go. Arrival prior to seven-eighths would have been early. Arrival much past seven-eighths would be almost late.

  She tugged at the unfamiliar uniform blouse to straighten the front creases, and made for the door.

  The entry to Tutor’s Mess was open four times a day, during each of the meal-breaks. Another Student was waiting in the small reception area just inside the door — a Student as tall as Tutor Chonis, with light-colored hair that wasn’t groomed to the Standard for uniformed personnel. The Student acknowledged her arrival with a nod that deepened into a polite salute. Mergau didn’t know enough about him to feel she could select the best response, so she merely returned the offered courtesy in precise measure, dismissing him from her mind. She couldn’t afford to waste any energy on people who would have nothing to do with her. Peers and subordinates could be used to support her, but Tutors could place obstacles in her way: She only needed to pay attention to the Tutors. She tapped her ear again: fifteen and sixty-two. Just two until sixteen. Surely Tutor Chonis would come soon.

  Tutor Chonis was coming through the open door into Tutor’s Mess even now. Mergau turned her back to the other Student to greet the Tutor with the requisite salute, smiling in her most ingratiating manner. Chonis answered her salute with a pleased smile of his own; but, then, he seemed to be distracted by something that was behind her.

  This was confusing.

  Moving forward to take her place at her Tutor’s side, Mergau realized that what had captured Chonis’s attention was the other Student.

  “Good, I’m glad to see you both in good time. Shall we go in?”

  A modest smile and a diffident bow would be the most suitable response, Mergau decided. But the other Student was already bowing with a sycophantic grin on his face, so Mergau made sure to keep her expression utterly solemn.

  She’d overheard Tutor Chonis complaining about a Student just yesterday as she waited outside his office. This was Student Koscuisko, then, the man who had so little respect for the Administration and his fellow Students that he had come at the last possible moment?

  She would take precedence without hesitation. She had demonstrated her commitment to the program and the Administration by arriving in plenty of time to get settled in and complete in-processing. It was too bad she hadn’t known who he was earlier, though. She could have used the few moments of wait-time to draw him out a bit, probing to discover his strengths and weaknesses.

  Tutor Chonis had gone through to the mess without waiting for further response. Mergau hastened to take first place in following the Tutor, but the other Student made way for her quite naturally and carelessly, giving no sign of meaning to contest with her for precedence — as if he felt the issue was not important, which indicated that he did not take her as seriously as he should.

  Tutor Chonis was waiting for them at a table set just short of the administrative equivalent of the Captain’s Bar, the railing that divided the room and marked off the raised area at the back as privileged space for senior officers. She and her fellow Student would be sharing the bench, of necessity; protocol prohibited junior officers from turning their backs on Command Branch.

  Mergau paused in the middle of the room, gazing at the Bar. Once she’d taken up her Writ, she would be entitled to turn her back to the Bar with impunity, as long as the Captain wasn’t present. Ship’s Inquisitor, Chief Medical Officer, Ship’s Surgeon was subordinate only to the senior officer in the Command, and since it was the Writ that defined the Chief Medical Officer, she would be one of Ship’s Primes.

  Tutor Chonis knew well enough that Mergau would never be assigned to a cruiser-killer, since she could not serve as a medical officer of any sort. That had been part of the agreement that Secretary Verlaine had made with Fleet when she’d come here. Fleet’s requirement that its Inquisitors be Bench-certified medical practitioners was appropriate for on-Line warships but hardly applicable to a Bench setting. Secretary Verlaine didn’t need a Ship’s Surgeon; Chilleau Judiciary already had Medical support. All he wanted was an Inquisitor on staff, a Writ on site at Chilleau Judiciary. A Writ that he could direct as he saw fit — without having to negotiate for a loaned Inquisitor from Fleet resources to support what was, after all, a Judicial function.

  They were waiting for her, her fellow Student standing politely until she took her seat. Suddenly she was annoyed at him for making her feel awkward, even clumsy, twice already in so little time. Being here was just another step in a well-mapped career for him, and from what she’d gathered about Student Koscuisko, it wouldn’t destroy his life if he failed- — he was a rich man, playing at doctor, playing at Inquisitor. But she represented First Secretary Verlaine and Chilleau Judiciary, Second Judge Sem Porr Har, Presiding.

  The honor of her Patron depended upon her ability to survive the tests that Fleet would put her to.

  “ . . . Senior Security, in other words the Warrant Officers — ” Tutor Chonis was say
ing, obviously responding to a question from Koscuisko — “the Engineer’s Mates, and your own shift supervisors. You’ll take your meals above the Bar, of course.”

  He continued to talk to Koscuisko as Mergau slid into place along the bench, Koscuisko waiting until she was settled to sit down beside her. “Then there are typically four, sometimes as many as six Fleet Lieutenants, usually one to a shift. Sometimes the noise . . . but I’m getting too technical. We’ll be covering this all in session, in detail.” An orderly had approached their table and was waiting for instruction. “Meal three, please. And for my Students, of course.”

  “You seemed to be reminiscing, just now,” Student Koscuisko said as the orderly went off again. “May I ask if you were posted to such a vessel yourself?”

  Student Koscuisko wasn’t supposed to be controlling the conversation. She was supposed to control the conversation. And if she didn’t eat her meal, the Tutor would have to ask whether something was wrong with it. She’d be able to make a point about the fact that he should have consulted her preferences beforehand, rather than being distracted by Koscuisko’s obvious toadying.

  Tutor Chonis seemed in an expansive mood, answering Koscuisko readily-almost eagerly. “The last was the Oxparen, of honored memory.” He slapped the table lightly with the fingers of his left hand twice in a gesture of apparent respect that Mergau had seen him use before. “Destroyed during the reduction of Karset, but that was after my time. I was called in to help activate this facility before all of that was well begun.”

  Koscuisko had chosen the correct approach. She had to give him points for that; maybe Koscuisko was going to take managing. Chonis clearly seemed to be enjoying himself, rather than merely tolerating the conversation. “In my father’s time,” Koscuisko said, “such activity — as this facility represents, I mean to say — was considered to be a Security function.” Koscuisko was working it entirely too well; she could not find her way into the conversation. He must have planned it that way. People with rank and education never spoke without such hidden purposes. He would know that no Clerk of Court had ever taken a Writ to Inquire.

  Until now.

  “Your father’s time? I suppose that’s about right.” Chonis was mulling Koscuisko’s statement over, obviously distracted from Mergau’s very existence. “Hasn’t been a Security function for, oh, fifty years. Fleet Medical only gained control of the office rather recently, compared to the history of the Fleet. . . Where was your father posted?”

  “A Security assignment, the Autocrat’s Niece, on the Desular Line. A lieutenant. When Fleet forwarded its invitation that I serve as Ship’s Surgeon — ” There was an abrupt break in his response, and Koscuisko looked down at the table, very briefly. “But I am being inexcusably rude. It is a family matter, of no consequence. Please accept my apologies.”

  On the other hand, it might prove good policy to let Koscuisko talk. He seemed to have run into quite a sensitive subject all unawares, to judge by his abrupt silence. And Tutor Chonis also apparently shared the interest that she found in whatever could seem so delicate to Koscuisko.

  “I understand it is traditional in your culture for the eldest son of a great family to go into the Fleet.” Chonis’s remark gave notice that the subject would not be permitted to drop quite so easily. Koscuisko seemed to swallow a sigh of resignation, and his pale profile looked a bit more melancholy than it had before.

  “As you say, Tutor Chonis. Once the inheriting son went to do service to the Autocrat’s Household as an officer in Service. But now in some of our old families, an oldest daughter has also come to inherit, though it is not yet so in my father’s House.”

  What was the point of all this? Was Koscuisko saying he had an older sister? How could Koscuisko possibly expect anyone to care? Why didn’t Koscuisko answer the question as bidden, and be still?

  “The Home Defense Fleet has no tradition to include a woman warrior, and therefore it becomes the Jurisdiction Fleet that we serve in the Autocrat’s name. There is also a matter of prestige to consider, because there are no cruiser-killer-grade ships of Scylla’s rating in the Home Defense Fleet. My family is old, and my father is proud to send his son to Jurisdiction Fleet rather than to a post of lesser rank.”

  A mild and impersonal response on the face of it. Koscuisko’s points about the differences between them-he was going to Fleet as Ship’s Surgeon-didn’t escape her notice. One way or another, however, it gave Mergau the opening she’d been waiting for to expose the irrelevance of Koscuisko’s remarks.

  “It is very interesting. And this activity, it accomplishes?”

  Koscuisko turned his head to look at her as if he were a little startled to hear the sound of her voice. His mild frown might seem to be simple concentration, but he didn’t fool her. He didn’t mean to yield the ground to her. “Two things, Student . . . Noycannir? Thank you, Tutor Chonis, Student Noycannir. One, it gives one something constructive to do while one is waiting for one’s father to arrive at the year of his Retirement. And also — two — it gives one’s younger brothers, of which I have four, reason to live with good hope for their futures.”

  Chonis snorted in amusement. Mergau hadn’t heard any joke. Their meals were arriving; she could channel the fury choking in her throat into politely muted but clearly visible distaste for her food. Now she wasn’t sure she could afford that bit of business, though. Koscuisko had her at a disadvantage.

  “You’ve reminded me, young man. I’ve been remiss. Mergau, your companion is Andrej Koscuisko; Andrej, you have the pleasure of Mergau Noycannir’s acquaintance. You are expected to use the formal title of Student with each other during class hours, in token of respect for each other’s . . . rank.”

  She understood Chonis’s momentary hesitation. Other Students would respect each other’s status, each other’s ability, each other’s shared education and background. Chonis had been told to give her every assistance, and to make sure that she got the same training and practice that any other Student might have. Tutor Chonis was not going to let anyone forget that she was just a Clerk of Court, without Bench certifications.

  “But we’re not quite into Term yet, and officially this is an informal meeting. How are you liking the fish?”

  Be smooth, she told herself. Feel the pavement. It could hardly be a conspiracy. Koscuisko had no reason to go out of his way to make her feel small. Tutor Chonis’s comments were innocent, if ill-advised. Keeping her focus on the goal was one thing. Going out of her way to look for opposition was a waste of energy. Revealing that she even noticed petty slights or attempts to put her down would only work against her.

  She could deal with Tutor Chonis later.

  She had to obtain the Writ first.

  ###

  Dinner was over, finally. Joslire stood waiting for him outside Tutor’s Mess, along with another bond-involuntary who would logically be the one assigned to Noycannir. He wasn’t sure what to make of Noycannir. She was attractive enough in a somewhat severe fashion, and she had certainly exercised herself to be pleasing to Tutor Chonis; but something gave him the idea she didn’t like him.

  Andrej wasn’t sure he cared one way or the other.

  His feet hurt, but luckily for him they didn’t have too far to go to gain sanctuary.

  Safely back in quarters, Andrej sank down into the chair at the study-set and stretched his legs out toward the middle of the room, beckoning Joslire with a wave of his hand. “Give us a hand with these boots, if you would, please. My bootjack was one of those items that you have so kindly forwarded to Scylla for me, to await my homecoming.”

  Though he couldn’t be sure — having just met Joslire, and unacquainted with his expressions — Andrej thought Joslire was smiling to himself as he turned his back and straddled one leg to get the proper angle on the boot.

  “The officer’s footgear will be broken in within a day or two. Generally speaking, the process is completed during pre-Term Orientation.”

  The comment and its del
ivery were both aggressively neutral, even passive. But Andrej’s feet hurt. He knew very well what Joslire was really saying; if he’d reported in good time his boots would have been broken in by now. The fact that Joslire was absolutely right was only annoying. He was in no mood to be nagged by anyone.

  “What, are you being impertinent with me, you ruffian?” he demanded in a tone of outraged disbelief.

  Joslire flinched fractionally before straightening up with Andrej’s boots in hand, directing a swift sidelong glance of wary evaluation at Andrej’s face.

  Andrej knew almost as soon as he’d said it that he’d made a mistake. He expected to be lectured by his body-servants; and cursing at them extravagantly in affectionate response was the only protest he was allowed, whether the criticism was deserved or not.

  But Joslire Curran was a bond-involuntary, not a servant in Andrej’s House. He had no reason to expect this stranger to understand. How could he tell whether Joslire interpreted his joking rebuke as a serious one? And if Joslire believed he had offended an officer, Joslire’s governor — responding to the specific physiological stresses created by such an apprehension — would apply corrective discipline, no matter how undeserved.

  Andrej tried to clarify. “That is to say, you’re right, I am quite convinced. Your point is well taken.”

  This was intolerable.

  But souls in Joslire’s category of servitude were allowed an uncharitably narrow margin for joking. There was no indication on record that primitive behavioral modifiers like the governor were capable of developing a sense of humor.