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The
Text
Man-and-master
bonding, Joslire's POV, scene originally occurring around page
54 in published novel.
Inside
foot braced against the outside foot. Inside hand at the crook
of Koscuisko's elbow, outside arm stretched to make contact with
Koscuisko's other shoulder. Joslire was ready to begin, but he
knew that he was afraid, even so.
"Now.
The officer should feel an equal distribution of tension. Balance
the weight carefully, there is more stability to the offside foot,
in the present configuration."
Combat
drill started simply enough with a series of modified wrestling
holds. It was easy to teach, easy to learn. If Koscuisko was interested
they might get as far as flying drill with three on one, before
the end of the Term. But that was entirely up to Koscuisko.
"It
still seems rather odd to have gotten so close to an hostile party,
Joslire." Koscuisko was testing his weight, shifting his balance.
Koscuisko had a good point, but combat drill was easiest to teach
from the inside out. Not all the skill in avoiding or evading contact
would really serve Koscuisko well if he were to be at a loss as
to how to break contact if and when it should chance to be made.
He
couldn't stand here forever, no matter how nervous he was. "Even
so. The Student's attention is respectfully directed to the primary
disengagement from this position. Student Koscuisko reviewed the
drills?"
Koscuisko
nodded, still testing the balance of the grapple-hold restlessly,
if a little absentmindedly. Perhaps there was an instinct of a
sort in Koscuiskos after all, despite his stated diffidence, and
that was why he seemed intent on learning the moves, even if unconscious
of the intent. Or maybe Koscuisko was just nervous, as well. "You
will bend your straightened arm and straighten your flexed arm,
and that is to compromise =my= balance. To the extent that my balance
depends upon my right foot." TOP
The
balance would be quite so easy to predict, not with Koscuisko.
Joslire's other Students had been physically right-dominant, and
not as quick to shift their weight to their left side as Koscuisko
would be. But he could deal with that.
"As
the Student has stated. At the same time I will try to turn the
officer's body toward Student Koscuisko's left. My goal will be
to gain control of the Student by twisting Student Koscuisko's right
arm behind the officer's back."
It
would take more than just one Term for Koscuisko to begin to match
him on the exercise floor, despite the anomalous physical strength
of the Dolgorukij lineages. Fighting took aptitude, skill, technique,
and -- above all -- practice. Joslire wasn't worried about a serious
challenge to the instructional paradigm.
What
he=was= worried about . . .
"On
the count of two, if the Student permits. One. Two."
Koscuisko
didn’t' lose as much of his balance as Joslire had expected, even
taking preparation into account. Joslire had to make his pivot
a little more swiftly, a little more sharply than he had planned,
in order to be able to ensure a good demonstration. His momentum
carried through to the finish, with Koscuisko's arm twisted up behind
his back, and Joslire could hear Koscuisko grunt with evident pain
even as he released his grip.
He
would find out, now, perhaps.
He
didn't want to know.
Seeking
refuge in formal silence, Joslire stood at a carefully respectful
command wait while his Student, his back still turned to Joslire,
shook his arm as if the muscle strain could be stripped out at the
fingertips. "It is very convincing, Joslire," Koscuisko
said, and Joslire could not for the life of him decipher Koscuisko's
tone of voice. Remind me, I would prefer to relax the shoulder
next time, perhaps there would be an advantage. -- What next?" TOP
"The
Student is to practice the same technique. Somewhat slowly, at
first, and we will also repeat the demonstration, at the Student's
discretion."
Koscuisko
turned to him, finally, and Koscuisko was grinning. "I am
unsure. Show me how I am to do this, first, then we will repeat
your demonstration, yes?"
It
was too early to feel relieved, Joslire reminded himself. "As
the Student wishes. The Student's inside foot is to be braced against
my offside foot . . ."
And
still the maneuver had clearly caused Koscuisko appreciable pain,
more than Joslire had anticipated because he'd been caught off guard
by Koscuisko's solid balance. When people were hurt, especially
when they were hurt sharply and suddenly, their first reaction tended
to be one of anger. Surely he had hurt Koscuisko enough to make
him angry, even if it was just at the beginning, even if it didn't
mean that Koscuisko wouldn't get angry later.
Maybe
Koscuisko was not going to get angry, when he was hurt during practice.
Maybe
it was going to be safe for Joslire after all.
"Now.
The Student will push -- slowly, for demonstration purposes the
exercise can be walked through. The upset of equilibrium should
start the opponent's turn -- like this -- and the Student can easily
gain control of the arm. Yes, precisely so, if the Student permits."
Koscuisko
carried the gesture through far enough to se where it was going,
not far enough to start to hurt Joslire in turn. "But it is
too easy with a passive partner, Joslire. Perhaps again, more quickly?"
Joslire
shut his relieve away inside him, deep, locked down. He had to
concentrate. "As Student Koscuisko wishes. Once again."
Had
he really been so afraid that Koscuisko would be angry, being hurt?
TOP
An
excised Andrej-and-Chaymalt scene, fit into around page 260, her
POV. There is a reference surviving in the text to the issue
of the cost of pharmaceuticals, and Andrej's intention of making
a thank-you call, surviving on page 198.
"Student
Koscuisko to see Doctor Chaymalt, as arranged. Good-morning, Doctor."
Ligrose
Chaymalt looked up at the talk-alert tone, a little surprised.
Yes, Koscuisko had an appointment, but he'd also had his Sixth Level
just yesterday, and she'd more than half expected a postponement.
At the very least, some visible signs of wear and tear on the man.
"Good-greeting,
Andrej, do please be seated. You may put your man at ease, if you
like."
Koscuisko
looked just fine from where she sat; more rested than when she'd
seen him last, and the uniform looked particularly well on him,
for some reason. He certainly didn't look like most of the Students
she'd seen, when they were just coming off the Intermediate Levels.
"Thank
you, Doctor Chaymalt, St. Clare, you may be at ease. It is actually
about St. Clare that I have come, Doctor."
There
was a little discomfort, there, but no more than usual. He'd get
used to it. He'd be talking about bond-involuntaries as if they
weren't there in no time. It was either treat them as invisible,
or have to take their suffering seriously, and as far as she was
concerned that was far too much suffering for anyone to be expected
to take seriously.
"Then
I'll have my say first, Andrej, if you don't mind." As if
he'd argue with her. "If you'd care to consult the monitor,
there -- " The screen at the front of her work-table would
show the same information she had been studying; Idarec, Koscuisko's
neurosurgery. They'd taken a secondary prelim scan just yesterday,
and the evidence was -- if anything -- even more impressive than
it had been immediately after the operation.
"I
thought you might find the progress report gratifying. I'm afraid
there won't be many opportunities for you to practice your art in
Fleet, however." TOP
He'd
gotten absorbed in the stats, so much was clear. "Yes, well,
a man could wish for time to do a maintenance run here, with the
optic bundle. -- Excuse me, Doctor Chaymalt, you had said?"
She
stifled a laugh; he was so easily distracted, so easy to lead aside.
Fleet was going to chew him up and spit him out in eight different
dysfunctional directions. She didn't feel much like smiling, actually;
better for her to find out what he had on his mind and get rid of
him, before she had time to get really depressed about his prospects.
"It is a sad truth that the patient load on a cruiserkiller
does not exactly challenge a man of your evident abilities. I'm
sure you are as aware of that as I am?"
Getting
depressed would only sour her mood and mean nothing to him, and
Ligrose hated to waste energy.
"I
hope that I have studied the indices, Doctor Chaymalt." A
little touch of frost, there. Or maybe he thought it was depressing,
too. "That is to say, it will be enough of a challenge to
oversee a staff of career physicians, all of them with experience
superior to mind. I imagine that I will have my hands full."
None
of his staff would dream of challenging his authority; none f his
staff would want to face the less strictly medical duties that the
assignment entailed. Still, career staff respected ability, and
Koscuisko had an abundance. "I'm sure you will do very well.
Your man, there, what's-his-name, I understand he is doing very
well also."
Koscuisko
glanced up over his left shoulder to where the bond-involuntary
stood immobile and impassive. He was a big boy, Koscuisko's man.
Not bad-looking, for a Nurail, but it was a shame he couldn’t wear
his hair a little longer. Nurail could be actually quite attractive,
with their hair down their shoulders. Not that she cared.
"He
heals well and quickly, for which reason I wished to see you. I
have also read Fleet protocols concerning cost management and the
rising price of pharmaceuticals." Oh, she hoped he wasn't
going to say anything embarrassing. Thanking her for an impulsive
act, committed during a moment of weakness, would only remind her
of her little lapse.
She
set her teeth against the chagrin she felt, having let herself be
caught in the middle of a sentimental weakness, and waited for the
worst. "Yes?" TOP
"The
issue is one of obvious concern. It would not be possible to return
St. Clare to duty status for three days yet, had the stress delayed
his healing."
As
if that stopped anybody. Bond-involuntaries did as they were told,
no matter how much it hurt while they were doing it. And medical
staff -- generally speaking -- made it their business to get them
out of Infirmary as soon as possible, because it was too negative
a morale factor to be unable to do the natural thing and press a
couple of eighths of the nearest narcotic through to ease the suffering.
"And
I hoped you might be able to advise me, Doctor. There may be some
way in which the problem might be approached, to stay within one's
budget and optimize the healing process, at the same time."
Cunning
little bastard. He wasn't going to make an issue of her lapse of
impersonality. But he =was= going to pump her, for ways in which
to persuade future Captains to grant him as much leave with their
restricted stores as she had.
"You've
been spending a good deal of your time down here, haven't you?"
Speaking slowly, thinking fast, she thought that it was just possible
that she knew the answer. "Your Tutor explained that you were
working a Controlled List problem, for him."
Koscuisko
ducked his head, nodding. A tender subject, perhaps. She wondered
that he hasn't seen the obvious implications.
"Two
choices present themselves. There is a bounty, attached to new
approvals." Not enough of one for a man as rich as Koscuisko
to have noticed; but one recognized as budgetarily significant by
Fleet. "The bounty usually attaches to the administrative
budget of the station where the work was performed. I dare say
your Captain wouldn’t care how you spent the money, as long as you
kept it coming in." Koscuisko's research would make a nice
little sum to Clellelan's credit, now that she came to think of
it. Enough to pay for a bond-involuntary at least, St. Clare, for
instance. "And your other option, of course. You get first
refusal on lab space, as Chief Medical Officer, and your research
is a valid Fleet enrichment activity. If your Captain won't release
the budget, why not just synthesize the drug you want?" TOP
Koscuisko
looked both intrigued and alarmed, and Ligrose hastened to erase
the negative impression she feared she might have created. "I'm
not talking bootleg or contraband, mind you. No-one will fault
you if you happen to re-invent the universal soother, though, and
you'll have to test it, won't you? The odds are good that no-one
will even care to notice."
No,
of course she wasn’t talking Bench commercial irregularity. Koscuisko
would hardly be manufacturing in bulk, or for personal use or gain;
and Fleet didn't consider itself bound by Bench commerce regulations
anyway. Koscuisko would know what to do. She was certain of it.
"I
am -- very grateful to you, Doctor Chaymalt." Once the initial
shock had passed it was clear enough that Koscuisko grasped the
entire tape, and liked it, too. "I would not have thought.
-- May I excuse St. Clare, for a moment? I have brought his release
documents."
She
didn't see why he should feel it necessary; but there was no reason
not to let him have his own way. She merely nodded her permission,
and Koscuisko waited until the bond-involuntary had left the room
before he spoke again.
"With
your permission, Doctor Chaymalt. I am grateful to you most of
all for the use of your -- pharmaceutical budget. It was of significant
comfort to me, that St. Clare was spared unnecessary torment."
He
was too sincere for it to be embarrassing, Ligrose was glad to note.
"You
did beautiful work, with Idarec." She might as well be candid,
to match his unguarded candour. "I was glad to render a token
of appreciation. Now let me witness the release documents, and
let you get back to whatever it is that you're supposed to be doing."
With
Koscuisko's anxious eyes on her she found she could not treat the
orders as briskly as she would have liked. Doubtless Koscuisko
expected her to actually read them. He had been right; St. Clare
had healed well, and quickly. But it had less to do with her and
more to do with Koscuisko than Koscuisko seemed willing to acknowledge.
"Be
on your way, then. Good-greeting."
The
more she saw of Koscuisko's work the less she liked the thought
of wasting him on Fleet. Obviously the best thing to do was not
to see any more of Koscuisko than she could help.
"Thank
you, Doctor Chaymalt. By your leave."
Otherwise
she was going to end up complaining to Clellelan again. She just
knew it.
TOP
A
scene where Joslire does his best to help Andrej face his first
test . . . This would have been on or about page 55 in the printed
text. I took the opportunity to give a bit of physical description,
in the printed version; part of the meditation about the loss
of his carefree student brawling-in-taverns lifestyle (to the
extent that he ever really lived one) stayed in. On reflection,
this scene, while kind of fun, trivialized the turmoil that Andrej
was in on the morning of that exercise by reducing it to aggravation
about scuffed boots and tepid rhyti.
Andrej
could hear Joslire's quiet movements from the room beyond, but lay
on his back on the sleep-rack without stirring, savoring his relative
privacy and trying to nerve himself up to face the day's requirements.
The second practical exercise was not likely to be as simple as
the first had been, distasteful as it was. Once he had grasped
the joke of it he'd been too disgusted to be nervous, even though
Tutor Chonis had not really been a good sport about the matter.
Curran's
respectful cough at the entry to the cubicle but an end to Andrej's
meditation on Chonis' utter lack of any discernible sense of humor.
It was time to get up, now, of course. Curran was the best morning-chimer
he had ever had, and never failed to wake him in good time to prepare
for the day. Andrej stretched and glanced over at the chrono near
the sleep-rack, smiling, well content to verify Curran's impeccable
timing.
Except
that there was a problem.
Today
Joslire was a full two-eights after the usual mark, and he was going
to have to hurry, and he was in enough of a turmoil over what the
morning held for him without needing any more confusion just at
present. There was no question of being a few marks late to the
exercise theater, not when he dreaded the experience that awaited
him so. Tutor Chonis would unquestionably take any tardiness as
evidence of a case of insufficiently controlled nerves, which would
be absolutely unacceptable.
Swearing
to himself, he threw himself into the washroom to splash some water
into his face and put himself to rights. There wasn't any toweling
by the basin, and there weren't any cleansing packets for washing,
and he hadn't even checked until he was dripping -- Joslire had
never failed to see that all that was necessary was at hand, ever
before. Well, at least he could count on Curran to have his uniform
ready for him, and his fast-meal set out. Bond-involuntaries were
apparently taught to be mindful of the details, this business with
the washroom aside, and Curran had quickly learned what Andrej liked
best for fast-meal, gratifying his early-morning appetite in a pleasingly
thorough manner. TOP
Andrej
concentrated on that pleasant prospect while he dried his face on
his sleep-shirt, trying to equalize his humor. Rhyti and sliced
acetos, hot toasted bread with Vilesa marmalade . . . it was enough
to take a man's mind off any inconveniences. Almost enough to take
a man's mind off of the problem of having to trot off to class and
strike some inoffensive prisoner for the crime of having stolen
flour to feed his family, or some such nonsense.
Almost.
When
Andrej had finished combing his hair -- which was going to need
cutting, soon, since it was beginning to show signs of thinking
about falling into his face again -- he stepped out into the main
room in happy anticipation of his fast-meal, already forgiving Curran
for his morning's lapses on the strength of Vilesa marmalade to
be forthcoming.
And
Curran was not ready at table to pour the rhyti -- not that Andrej
needed Joslire's help to pour his own rhyti, just that Curran had
always had his uniform ready for him, before. Curran was not ready
to serve his rhyti because Curran was sitting in the corner by the
door, polishing one of Andrej's boots with a look of furious concentration
on his face. Andrej sighed -- perhaps the moons were wrong in Curran's
quarter, or something -- and trudged to the study-set, feeling considerably
deflated.
In
such a mood depressing fore-fears of what he was going to be expected
to do today returned in full force. Without adequate distraction
Andrej brooded, taking up a slice of aceto in his fingers. It was
sour. It was the first sour aceto he'd had all Term, and he could
not stomach sour acetos.
He
didn't mind hitting people, not really, and that was al today's
exercise should entail -- hitting someone. Frequently, perhaps,
but with no permanent ill effect, and he certainly hadn't come all
the way through his medical training without hitting people. After
class hours, usually in a tavern of some sort, and never without
either having been hit or being immediately hit back. Recreational
brawling, with a little thin-blade dueling thrown in. Servants
at home were sometimes beaten even in these days, on Azanry -- but
seldom at Rogubarachno. His father had been a progressive man,
who loved his wife and declined to bead his children, no matter
how they tried his patience; and therefore it had come to pass that
Andrej had never struck anybody in his life who had not been in
a position to retaliate, without hesitation or restriction.
He
reached for the toast. Two pieces cold; one piece cold and soggy,
as well. Curran was still working on his boot. Andrej frowned
at the rhyti-jug, unsure of the wisdom of going three for three;
but he was hungry, and so he reached for the jug and poured himself
a cup.
And
found it tepid, under-steeped, and flat. TOP
Frowning
at Curran, now, in his turn, Andrej considered the situation. If
Joslire had been an Aznir body-servant, there would be a simple
explanation, to wit: Andrej had offending, in some way, and would
be punished in this manner to bring his offense to his attention
until he found some opportunity to make amends. But Curran was
not Aznir, Curran was Emandisan, coal-black hair and cross-eyed
look and all. Nor -- as Andrej understood it -- could a bond-involuntary
undertake such guerilla warfare without clear and present danger
of immediate, and brutal, reprisals. So what he was to make of
it all?
"Joslire."
Curran
jumped to attention, scuffing, the otherwise flawless shine of Andrej's
boot against the wall-board as he did so. "The officer requires?"
"Joslire,
you are being very irritating this morning." Curran couldn't
duck his head, from a position of attention; but it seemed to Andrej
that the muscles that underlay those flat Emandisan cheekbones twitched
with frustration and resentment.
"The
officer's displeasure is understandable. There can be no excuse.
The office will wish to discipline -- "
"No,
you're not listening to me, Joslire." Glancing at his chrono,
Andrej pushed himself away from the disappointments of the fast-meal
to finish dressing. He was hungry, cross, and aggravated. And
he did not want to go to his practical exercise and hit somebody.
"I said that you are being very annoying. It has only been
three eighths, Joslire, but in three eighth's time I have never
seen you even think anything without some specific underlying reason."
Trousers.
Underblouse. Boots. Joslire brought him his boots, kneeling to
help him get the angle right to get them on. The uniform required
tightly fitted footgear, and there wasn't much room for error.
It
was a moment before Curran answered his implicit question. When
he did, it was from his kneeling position, his head quite close
to Andrej, his voice low - as if he hoped not to be overheard, even
while he surely knew better than Andrej that his words were being
continually monitored.
"The
officer," Joslire began, meeting Andrej's curious gaze with
a flash of black eyes otherwise prudently lowered. " -- is
respectfully encouraged to use whatever energy may be available
to him, to assist him in his study."
Was
that it?
Subject
him to every petty inconvenience Joslire could imagine, in order
to send him to his practical exercise so full of unfocussed frustration
that he would =want= to hit somebody?
"Hurry
with my overblouse, if you please, I wouldn't care to be late."
It had succeeded, whether or not that was the reasoning behind the
stratagem. Andrej was genuinely irritated.
But
more at the all-too-successful attempt to manipulate him, than for
any other reason.
—
End —
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