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The
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"'The
successful reduction of Eild would be good cause to congratulate
Chilleau Judiciary and the Doxtap Fleet alike,'" the First Secretary
read aloud, "'were it not for persistent questions concerning the
nature and necessity for the campaign. While all under Jurisdiction
can only applaud the valiant performance of the Doxtap Fleet, reasonable
souls still question the basic presumptions that formed the grounds
for this latest, and it is to be hoped final, action - ' oh, chots."
Crumpling
the offending textrans into a small limp wad Verlaine lofted it
toward the cycler on the corner of his great gleaming worktable.
"And a very great deal more along the same lines. The Eighth Judge
is having a field day with this, gentles."
Hinen
Pilask—Third Undersecretary to the First Secretary, Chilleau Judiciary,
Second Judge Sem Por Har Presiding—watched the discarded textrans
waver on the edge of the cycler before being sucked in at last,
and held his peace. He wasn't about to call attention to himself.
There were plenty of other people in the First Secretary's office,
all nine Undersecretaries, several others of Verlaine's support
staff. Somebody else could just make the obvious point: they were
in over their heads at Eild, and it was going to get worse before
it got better, and if they were able to conclude this whole sorry
Nurail business without a major public relations disaster it would
be a wonderful surprise. But it wasn't likely.
"Point
isn't whether we should have put our mark on it in the first place,"
Senior Undersecretary Turboden rasped. "Point is demonstrating that
we're doing the best we can with what we've got. Once the Nurail
are successfully disposed of it will blow over. It's not as though
we don't have other problems."
True
enough. The Bench had more than enough to keep it occupied with
ever-increasing problems with the Free Government, and the chronic
difficulties presented by trying to maintain the Judicial order
over as wide an expanse of space—with as many different worlds,
and intelligent species, and degrees of mobility—as were presently
described as under Jurisdiction. TOP
There
were calls to increase the number of Judges Presiding to try to
deal with the increased complexity of Bench administration; for
himself Pilask wasn't sure that would really accomplish much. There
were also voices that proclaimed that the Jurisdiction had reached
the natural limit of its breadth and scope generations gone by,
that the unrest to be found across Jurisdiction space was merely
a symptom of a larger problem within the Bench itself. That argument
held that the ever-increasing degree of political repression exercised
by Bench resources in support of the Judicial order was ineffective
at best and exacerbated the problem at worst.
It
was better not to listen to such views.
They
all seemed to head back to Free Government insurrectionaries.
"Relocation
fleet is standing by, First Secretary?" someone asked. Verlaine
quit fidgeting with his stylus for long enough to punch the stats
up onto the overheads, so that they could all see.
"Dramissoi
Fleet, in fact, Purcha. Yes. Bench Relocation Officer Shinjosi Vopalar,
Commanding." Verlaine sounded frustrated, or maybe he was just bored.
Like many small and wiry men the First Secretary seemed to have
a low threshold for quiet meditation on single problems: though
it certainly hadn't stopped him from rising to his current position
of influence, nor diminished his material contributions toward increasing
the Second Judge's power on the Bench as he came along. "And she's
got a good reputation, the transmit pulses haven't dug up any dirt
on Vopalar yet. Our problem isn't the Dramissoi Fleet at this time.
Our problem is rather what we do once we load the pops at Eild and
haul them out of there."
The
Second Judge was already being criticized for Chilleau Judiciary's
role in the Nurail campaigns; there were influential voices within
the Bench that maintained that Chilleau Judiciary had no business
making a Bench Precedent out of the Nurail in the first place. That
was old news. TOP
Whether
or not the Nurail had posed a genuine threat to the Judicial order,
or simply fallen prey to the machinations of an ancestral enemy
with undisclosed connections at Chilleau Judiciary, was something
for the historians to figure out. Their solution would have more
to do with how well Verlaine maintained the Second Judge's position
than anything else, but that was by the way. That was what history
was all about.
What
was needed now was damage control. The voice of outraged accusation
would die off soon enough without additional fuel for the wrathful
diatribes. There was no way around the Second Judge's role in the
Nurail campaigns; but the Nurail campaigns were over. Time to redefine
Chilleau Judiciary's image a bit.
"Once
the evidence starts coming out of the prison at port Rudistal there
shouldn't be any more question about the Second Judge's handling
of this whole mess," someone over toward the wall noted. Pilask
turned in his seat, straining to see: Monahill. One of the First
Secretary's personal support staff, as opposed to an Undersecretary
who operated in more or less independent support—whatever that was
supposed to mean. Pilask hadn't ever been called upon to operate
in "independent support," and he really didn't care if he never
was. "But until we have Evidence on Record anybody can say just
about anything they like. And we have no answer."
"No
question." The First Secretary's voice—oddly deep, coming from such
a reedy man—was reflective now, as though he had recovered from
his irritation at the Eighth Judge's criticism. "We've got to get
that processing center going, and I mean producing hard results.
Fleet's been balking on the issue of resources, but with the Doxtap
Fleet on administrative refit for a while they should find themselves
without much more to say about it."
It
was an effort not to turn around and glance back in Monahill's direction.
He'd seen Mergau Noycannir back there with some of the others. Everybody
knew what Mergau Noycannir thought of the problems the First Secretary
was having getting Fleet to release resources to activate the Judicial
function at the Domitt Prison; she'd been vocal enough on the issue.
For Verlaine to be talking about resources in her presence in front
of all these senior staff members was clear evidence of how badly
her position had eroded since her return from Fleet Orientation
Station Medical three years gone past, Standard.v
Nobody
wanted to be the one to speak up. Noycannir would take it personally,
whatever was said. And Noycannir was unpleasant to deal with.
Noycannir's
sharp shrill voice filled the waiting silence, as if she had to
speak despite herself, even though she surely understood that she
was only exposing herself to a public snub. "Chilleau Judiciary
already has a Writ at its disposal," Noycannir said. "And it's the
First Secretary's to dispose of. It's the only way to be sure that
the truth will be speedily exposed, completely disclosed."
Send
me.
Mergau
Noycannir, Verlaine's pet Sabaled whore, the first—and probably
only—person ever to be so much as admitted to Fleet Orientation
Station Medical without Bench medical certifications. The first,
and probably only, person ever to graduate from Fleet Orientation
Station Medical without a Chief Medical Officer's berth as her reward
for completing a torturer's apprenticeship.
Noycannir
had been an experiment, from a period when the First Secretary had
been pursuing several different avenues of increasing the Second
Judge's influence and authority. A failed experiment. For all Noycannir's
drive, intelligence, and demonstrated willingness to manipulate
the system by saying just what senior management wanted to hear
Noycannir had proved once and for all that to implement the Protocols
at an effective level a qualified medical practitioner was absolutely
necessary; and she wasn't one.
"I
had originally intended to dispatch you to activate the Domitt Prison
two years ago, Mergau." There was a note of curiously gentle regret
in the First Secretary's voice. He had never blamed her for her
failure, for the unnecessary deaths or the ruined interrogations,
not where anybody had ever heard him to report it; doubtless aware
of the fact that there were elements aplenty at Chilleau Judiciary
who would have been more than eager to take any sign that she had
fallen completely out of favor as their license to put her out of
the way permanently. TOP
But
she had cost him much in favors and influence, and in the end it
had been worth nothing to his purpose or the Second Judge's position
on the Bench.
"I
ran into a problem right away, though, as we've discussed before.
We're already getting so much heat, our management of the Domitt
Prison has got to be clean from the dirt up. I'm afraid evidence
obtained under your Writ would be discounted at best, Mergau, discredited
at worst. That would be counterproductive. And unfair to you, as
well."
She
had learned the forms and the procedures at Fleet Orientation Station
Medical, right enough. She had learned how to torture, had demonstrated
her enthusiastic mastery of how to make men scream and beg and die.
What she could not do—what she had time and again demonstrated her
inability to do—was obtain information, confession, names and dates
and facts to be cross-validated.
She
did not have the skill of some Inquisitors to torment a creature
without harming it beyond the point where confession could be had
while sense could still be made of it. She did not have the in-depth
medical knowledge required to mine the Controlled List for drugs
that would elicit damning information against the prisoner's will.
Since the Judicial process relied upon confession to validate the
torments it invoked, the end result was that Mergau Noycannir was
functionally useless to the First Secretary and Chilleau Judiciary.
"Resources
from the Doxtap Fleet, you said, First Secretary?" Sips Benur asked
from beside Pilask, no hint in her smooth neutral tone that she
despised Noycannir for the failure that the Sabeled woman was. "Who've
they got for us to use, do we have a name?"
Noycannir
had made Benur look ridiculous in front of the First Secretary's
staff, once, two or three years gone by. It had been something to
do with an instruction that the First Secretary had issued for Noycannir
to promulgate but that Benur hadn't heard about. There had been
pointed questions from the First Secretary about Benur's non-compliance,
and Pilask at least had come away feeling that Verlaine suspected
Benur of dragging her feet on implementation. TOP
Noycannir
had protested afterwards—strictly in private, of course—that it
had been an honest error on her part. Noycannir had also declined
to explain the confusion to the First Secretary on the grounds that
the incident was over and forgotten; but Benur had neither forgotten
or forgiven the incident, and still smarted from the sting of it.
Pilask couldn't help but suspect Benur had a specific reason for
asking her specific question. What was on her mind?
The
First Secretary sighed, and stood up from his desk to signal close
of staff. "Not to put too fine a point to it, Benur, yes, resources
from the Doxtap Fleet. Several of the foundation ships sustained
major damage, but only one lost its Secured Medical area. It will
be some time before Scylla is refitted to support the Judicial
function in Secured Medical, and Fleet has agreed to loan out Scylla's
Chief Medical Officer on several months' assignment. Anything else?"
The
question was directed at the whole room, rather than just Benur;
the First Secretary was clearly done with staff for now.
"Shouldn't
we find out whether there's someone more suitable available?" Mergau
Noycannir sounded half-strangled with fury, too quick to grasp the
point for her own good. "There have been problems with that individual
before, First Secretary, you were unhappy enough to consider issuing
a reprimand after the last incident."
Nobody
said a word.
Verlaine
simply stood there and scanned their faces for a moment, almost
too clearly still waiting to see if anyone had anything important
to say.
"Very
well." Nodding decisively at last, First Secretary Verlaine dismissed
them to go off and chew on the meaning of the recent events at Eild.
"Mergau, I will meet with you thirdshift, please have the model
interrogatories prepared. Good-greeting, gentles all, I'll see you
again tomorrow, thanks for coming." TOP
Model
interrogatories for the Fleet Inquisitor to take to port Rudistal,
a skeleton, a framework that would explain just what the Second
Judge believed to have been happening at Eild and just exactly the
sorts of confessions Chilleau Judiciary wanted to obtain. Model
interrogatories to be prepared by Mergau Noycannir for Andrej Koscuisko's
use, for who here hadn't learned by now that Noycannir's fellow-Student
had been Andrej Koscuisko on board of Scylla, a man whose
skill and expertise in both aspects of his dual role made Noycannir's
inadequacies all the more painfully obvious to one and all?
"Low
blow," Pilask murmured, quietly, to Benur as they left the First
Secretary's office. Benur only smiled.
"I
know." Beaming like a well-fed scrumblecat with a patch of sun all
to itself, Benur clearly didn't care who saw her. Or heard her.
"And I enjoyed every fraction of it. What goes around comes around.
She'll learn."
It
wasn't as though Andrej Koscuisko himself was likely to appreciate
the posting. Perhaps it was just as well these staff frictions were
kept confined to Bench offices.
Let
Koscuisko guess that he'd been chosen at least partially to put
a political agenda forward for Chilleau Judiciary, and the odds
of getting good ammunition against the Second Judge's critics out
of those interrogations to come would probably diminish into utter
improbability. TOP
This next scene was interesting to rediscover
for me because it's the first time I think I ever wrote a scene
from the First Secretary's point of view. The last time, too,
so far as I can tell.
Mergau
is referring to the action of the second sapper sequence when
she refers to "the reports from Eild," immediately below. Verlaine's
comment that Koscuisko was "quite right about Norib," later in
the scene, was meant to indicate the existence of other similar
stunts on Koscuisko's part that had come to the attention of the
authorities — implying in turn that there are many more examples
of Koscuisko's stunts that have never come under official notice.
It was all intended to support your perception of Andrej Koscuisko
as a man who is playing the rules for all they're worth to get
what he wants.
"The
Patron has reviewed the reports from Eild?" Mergau Noycannir asked
in a careful tone of voice whose surface neutrality could not disguise
the underlying eagerness Verlaine knew was there. "I'm very concerned
about the issues that Koscuisko's recent behavior raises. He doesn't
seem to be very responsive to coaching, could be a sign of potential
trouble."
First
Secretary Sindha Verlaine swallowed a sigh of resignation. It had
to be hard on her, sending her arch-rival to the Domitt Prison in
her place to enjoy the almost absolute power the Writ on site granted
its holder. That Andrej Koscuisko himself almost certainly had no
clue that he was Mergau's arch-rival—in her own mind, at least—could
only make the pain the more galling to Mergau.
"If
you mean the prisoner report. Yes. I've read it. And forwarded it
to the Bench Intelligence Specialist assigned, for analysis."
In
fact he had Specialist Ivers' draft report in cube on viewer even
now, though there was no reason to trouble Mergau with that information.
That Koscuisko had apparently engineered the death of a Nurail prisoner
under cover of an attack in Infirmary was not nearly so interesting,
in Ivers' words, as the fact that Fleet Captain Irshah Parmin hadn't
brought his Ship's Surgeon up on Charges of insubordination over
the incident. TOP
In
fact Irshah Parmin had only good—if somewhat guarded—things to say
about his Ship's Inquisitor. It was unusual for veteran Command
Branch to tolerate any such officer playing fast and loose with
the rule of Law, not so much because they were dedicated Bench officers
but because Fleet traditionally tolerated little that might be seen
as taking matters into one's own hands.
"This
is only the latest example of Koscuisko's unsuitability for his
post. I wonder he hasn't been at least disciplined before now. It's
flagrant disrespect for Command. As well as a violation of Bench
protocol."
She
would love to call it mutiny, and have it stick. Mergau Noycannir
would sell her soul—if she believed she had one—for a Tenth Level
Command Termination judgment to be executed against Andrej Koscuisko,
even if she could not be the one to implement it.
It
had been a mistake from the beginning to try to obtain a Writ for
Chilleau Judiciary. Mergau blamed Koscuisko for her repeated inadequacies,
as if Koscuisko had anything to do with it simply because he was
developing into the most obvious example of why Fleet wanted Inquisitors
with medical skills. But Verlaine knew it was really his own fault.
"Absent
formal notice by his Command we can do nothing, Mergau, regardless
of how we feel," he reminded her, leaning back in his chair. He
was tired of Noycannir's resentment and disgusted by her duplicity
and hostility. He knew very well what she said about him when she
thought she was safe from Record. She had enemies. "So long as Fleet
Captain Irshah Parmin chooses to tolerate his behavior there is
no problem with his behavior. And his ratings are actually quite
good."
She
wouldn't like to be reminded, but he couldn't help that. Koscuisko's
ratings were excellent as far as Irshah Parmin's assessment of him
as a Chief Medical Officer and Ship's Surgeon went. There was something
there that was causing Irshah Parmin to overlook the way Koscuisko
seemed to re-interpret the requirements of Judicial procedure so
creatively from time to time, something that explained Irshah Parmin's
tolerance of Koscuisko's indiscretions.
Verlaine
thought he knew the answer. TOP
He
thought the answer was that Koscuisko was simply a very tolerable
battle surgeon, and Irshah Parmin was too surprised—even after these
three years—to have been sent a Ship's Inquisitor with genuinely
solid medical skills, rather than the mediocrities the program usually
managed to recruit, to let himself get aggravated.
It
wouldn't help to point these things out to Mergau Noycannir.
And
in point of fact Verlaine himself was still aggravated at Fleet
for sending Koscuisko off to Scylla in the first place to
prevent Verlaine from drafting him for Chilleau Judiciary under
pretext of a research posting; at Koscuisko for having gone to Scylla
to avoid assignment to Chilleau Judiciary, and for having consistently
declined all of the opportunities Verlaine had created for him to
change his mind and come work for the Second Judge.
First
Secretary Sindha Verlaine was accustomed to the fact that people
were not always going to respect him.
But
he considered that Koscuisko's insistence on keeping to Scylla
amounted to disrespect of the Second Judge: another matter altogether.
"Perhaps
the prison administration in Rudistal will have some pertinent remarks."
Mergau's suggestion was undisguisedly gleeful, and Verlaine suppressed
a wince at the malice in her voice. "He has too vital a mission
at the Domitt Prison. I have already sent an informal message to
ensure that he can find no fault when he gets there, no easy outs
this time."
Frowning,
Verlaine tagged a note. He would have to get someone to recover
that message, whatever it was. She had exceeded her authority, but
as long as it was sufficiently informal he could probably allow
the error to pass without formal notice.
"Koscuisko
was quite right about Norib, Mergau, and as far as I'm concerned
the matter's closed. You shouldn't be meddling in Judicial matters,
it's potentially compromising." TOP
He
couldn't let it go without notice taken in private, though. The
prison administration at Rudistal, where the Domitt Prison had been
built to process Nurail prisoners, didn't necessarily understand
Mergau's position at Chilleau Judiciary, partially because Verlaine
had kept it ambiguous precisely in order to save what face for her
he could.
She
had hoped for so much, when she'd gone to Fleet Orientation Station
Medical. She had gone for him, and for him she had willingly studied
the theory and practice of torture. She'd made all the sacrifices,
and gained none of the prize she had hoped to win. She had been
cruelly disappointed, and through no fault of her own. They had
known all along that she didn't have the medical education to support
the Writ in the traditional manner. That was his responsibility.
His fault. He owed her a debt of obligation to keep her with as
much face as could be managed.
Now
she was angry at him, and would be off to complain that he thought
her incapable of understanding procedure. He'd hear all about it,
he was sure. She wasn't popular. People were happy to make sure
he knew all the unflattering things she had to say about him; he
had almost come to rely upon it as a useful check to his ego.
"Oh,
well, if you don't think we should be giving them a heads-up." Mergau
shrugged, her body language an exaggerated expression of yielding
to irrationality on the part of a superior. "I didn't realize you
were going to let them manage on their own without any help from
us. I won't let it happen again."
Even
her language changed. At times like these Verlaine was most tempted
to cut his losses and let her find the fate that awaited her at
the hands of her enemies at Chilleau Judiciary: but that was bad
for morale and discipline. As well as being ultimately unfair to
Noycannir.
Suffering
the unpleasantness of her pretentious behavior was the least penance
he could do in atonement. TOP
"I'm
just saying we need to exercise good judgment. We're in the target
registration of every critic on every Bench under Jurisdiction,
you know that. The last thing we need is for some regional prison
administration to misunderstand the nature of a communication from
us and take inappropriate action."
He
didn't really know why he bothered. It never did any good. And he
hated himself for sounded so conciliatory when any other Clerk of
Court who took that tone of voice with him would be out of her job
so fast she'd be lucky if the backwash didn't flatten her. And a
good chance of coming up on Charges for misuse of Bench resources,
misrepresenting source communication. "Thanks for raising your concerns,
Mergau. You know I've got my eye on that young officer."
Three
years ago and more Mergau Noycannir had first tipped him off about
her then-fellow Student, Andrej Koscuisko. He had seriously considered
making a preemptive requisition when Fleet had pulled Koscuisko
out from under him; and he'd been keeping tabs on Andrej Koscuisko
ever since, more convinced as time went on that Koscuisko was the
resource the Second Judge needed to ensure her developing influence
continued to be supported by the very finest resources under Jurisdiction.
He'd been watching Koscuisko, all right.
All
the same it wasn't necessarily what Mergau wanted to hear. She knew
as well as he did that his interest in Koscuisko continued to be
acquisitive as well as skeptically judgmental. She bowed stiffly,
almost impolite, making little effort to disguise the scowl that
disfigured her otherwise perfectly agreeable face.
"Thank
you, First Secretary. I only want what's best for our Judge."
Threatening
him—howsoever implicitly—with going over his head to lay her concerns
before the Second Judge?
No
sense of propriety. TOP
"That'll
be all for now, then, Mergau. Dismiss."
Once
things were under control in port Rudistal he was emphatically going
to have to think seriously about a special assignment for Mergau
Noycannir.
We're back to Hinen Pilask with this one,
a reaction shot to the incident in the prison camp in which Andrej
got on his high horse, logged the release of prisoner without
prejudice due to violation of the Protocols, and rode off into
the sunset. Well, into Captain Vopalar's office, but whatever.
More importantly, this scene marked the first appearance of the
Bench Specialists in the Koscuisko story. Garol Vogel and Jils
Ivers tell a story of their own in Angel of Destruction.
Somewhat
smaller than the usual staff meeting, for a fact. There were only
five people here beside the First Secretary himself, assembled by
Verlaine's invitation to discuss what the notice had described merely
as a "development." It didn't matter what the subline said, of course.
With Verlaine's name on source transmit nobody would dream of waiving.
Hinen
Pilask guessed by Mergau Noycannir's presence that the developments
had something to do with Andrej Koscuisko and the Domitt Prison.
TOP
Verlaine
nodded his head at the Bench Intelligence Specialist who sat at
the back of the room, and she got up and closed the door, keying
security in effect. Bench Intelligence Specialist Jils Ivers. Hinen
didn't care for her being here; Bench Intelligence Specialists made
normal people very nervous. Their Judicial powers were all the more
impressive for being undefined, and the things they were asked to
do—and could accomplish—were far beyond the scope of normal souls.
What
it was, precisely, that Jils Ivers was doing at Chilleau Judiciary
was anyone's guess: Bench Intelligence Specialists were a Bench
resource, not bound to any given Judiciary.
Her
being here was an intriguing hint to be chewed over later.
For
now, First Secretary Verlaine was rocking back in his seat and putting
his feet up on the wastecabinet to one side of his worktable, clearly
in preparation for opening his meeting.
"Thank
you for coming, gentles all. A development that Mergau will share
with us. I wonder how we are to interpret this. —Mergau, please."
He
sounded relaxed and amused. Mergau flushed red, and then scowled
at the worktable. She thought he was making a joke out of whatever
it was. She didn't like being used for a joke. What made her think
she was in any position to object to whatever use the First Secretary
might put her to? She was lucky no-one had pushed her through the
reedcurtains to her death.
"The
First Secretary is pleased to make light of it, but there's no question
it's a very serious matter from a Judicial standpoint. This report
has come this morning from the Dramissoi Relocation Fleet. It states,
among other things, that Andrej Koscuisko has been taking the rule
of Law into his own hands. Releasing prisoners on pretext, without
Command endorsement."
That
didn't seem to be a problem on the face of it. Andrej Koscuisko
had been specifically chartered to take the rule of Law into his
hands, after all. That was what the Writ to Inquire was all about.
TOP
"What
pretext, Noycannir?" the Bench Specialist asked, without any color
whatever in her utterly neutral and non-committed tone of voice.
Mergau didn't like Ivers either: so much was obvious from the disgusted
glare on Mergau's face. It was a waste of energy to develop feelings
about Bench Intelligence Specialists, though. Bench Intelligence
Specialists didn't care. They didn't have to.
"There
is some talk of violation of Protocol." If Noycannir could have
swallowed the reply she clearly would have done. "But that isn't
the point. The point is his failure to respect his chain of Command.
This doesn't look good for his usefulness at the Domitt Prison,
First Secretary."
Verlaine
himself seemed a little less inclined to dismiss the actual facts
than Mergau clearly wished to. Taking up a flimsy from the padrest
before him, Verlaine read to them aloud, for them to mark and meditate
upon.
"'Incident
report, Dramissoi Relocation Fleet, Eild. Prisoner determined to
have been subjected to abuse outside of Protocol, released without
prejudice by order, Andrej Ulexeievitch Koscuisko, Writ detailed.'
There's a different interpretation we could put on this, Mergau.
I don't think it needs to be a problem."
She
should recognize the rebuke and submit to it; after all, Verlaine
was giving her ample opportunity to smooth over any conflict by
feeding him the next line in clear acceptance of his inclination
to put a good face on things.
"The
First Secretary has long been too lenient with this Koscuisko—"
She
didn't seem interested in letting him make peace with her. Her angry
retort seemed clearly on its way to some outburst that Hinen Pilask
did not want to be witness to; not because he had any desire to
protect Noycannir, far from it. The fallout from angry scenes tended
to poison the performance evaluation of both the parties involved
and anyone unfortunate enough to have simply been present: so he
needed to head off this particular pyrotechnic display, before it
had a chance to adversely affect his salary increase for the next
term.
"You
mean publicity, First Secretary?" Hinen asked, interrupting firmly.
TOP
It
was hard to pretend not to notice Noycannir's angry reaction and
talk over her at the same time. The only thing that helped was that
everyone but Noycannir wanted her to shut up before she said too
much; each for their own reasons. Oh, except for the Bench Intelligence
Specialist, maybe.
"You
take my meaning exactly, Hinen."
Once
Verlaine responded to him, not to her, the issue was no longer in
doubt. Noycannir shut up, while Verlaine continued. "In some ways
we couldn't ask for it better. Our Judge is already getting so much
heat on this Nurail thing. The more independence of mind the Inquisitor
we send to the Domitt displays on his way there, the more credibility
we'll have for the evidence he produces."
Well,
that was one way to look at it, for a fact.
In
the moment of silent appreciation that followed Noycannir spoke,
and she didn't seem to be making any effort to disguise the bitterness
in her voice.
"Has
the Domitt Prison heard of this great delicacy on Koscuisko's part?
Because it's only fair they know if they're going to be set up."
First
Secretary Verlaine seemed to surge to his feet, his anger unmistakable.
"Quite enough, Mergau. Thank you, gentles all, that is all
I have for you. If Miss Ivers would be good enough to stop behind,
I have a question."
Enjoy
Noycannir's evident loss of face though he did, Hinen couldn't help
but feel that the First Secretary was being a little unfair. There
were so many other times he could just as well or better have told
her to shut up. And she had a good point about the Domitt Prison:
they needed to be put on notice if Koscuisko was going to hold them
to the procedurals. TOP
Initiating
the useful life of the Domitt Prison by staging a purge of its Administration
would not put the Second Judge's agenda forward. He would make sure
the incident report was summarized in Chilleau Judiciary's daily
distribution to Administrative resources assigned. He wouldn't have
to do anything obvious like contact Rudistal: the point was obvious
enough just from what the First Secretary had just read to them.
The
Domitt Prison would know what steps to take to protect itself from
any excess of Judicial leniency on the part of Andrej Ulexeievitch
Koscuisko.
Here's a bit of character development and
interaction. In these next three scenes Goslin Plugrath gets his
fifteen seconds of fame; his role in the printed version was cut
to almost nothing, so I'm including this look at the developing
relationship (such as it was) between him and Andrej Koscuisko.
It also develops by incidental reference the idea that Andrej
already knows more about Nurail culture than many other people
might, as witnessed by his sensitivity to the issue of identification
of Burice's weaves. This is important because it motivates his
error (in Hour of Judgment) with respect to his assumption
about Hanner's genetic background.
I
wrote these scenes to show ways in which Andrej was continuing
to frustrate the authorities, and why; and there's Joslire in
it. Not much of Joslire, but since he won’t be in any more scenes
I might as well publish what I've got. Again, you'll see references
here to the second version of the sapper sequence, cut from the
final draft.
Catching
Kaydence's eye, Koscuisko nodded, ready for the next. Kaydence Psimas
bowed enough to make it plain he'd understood, and gestured with
one hand through the open doorway to the briefing room for Jorfie
and Erish to bring the next person of interest forward. TOP
They
had been interviewing persons of interest all day.
They
would be interviewing persons of interest until they got to port
Rudistal.
The
Dramissoi Relocation Fleet certainly seemed intent on making the
most of Andrej Koscuisko, now that they'd got him.
This
one came willingly enough, but Jorfie and Erish held close beside
him regardless; there was no sense in taking any chances. Otherwise
reasonable people all too frequently became utterly impossible to
deal with once they but saw his Excellency's rank, and recognized
his function for what it was. Kaydence scrolled through the referral
as Erish helped the Nurail to sit down.
"Darset
Nurail," he read aloud. Joslire was waiting with the osmo-stylus
and the drugs, but his Excellency would want to be sure about the
details. "Shastip in solution is suggested, your Excellency, six
parts per unit body weight. One hundred and forty-three, that would
be eight point five eight, sir?"
Koscuisko
had listened from his seat behind his Record-table, leaning his
chin into the palm of one hand, his arm propped up against the table's
edge. "Darset? No, let's not do shastip. Talfer. Five point six
three, talfer, Joslire, if you will. And your name is?"
Joslire
went searching in Koscuisko's stores-satchel for the appropriate
drug, and Koscuisko turned his attention to the Nurail seated before
him. Not very tall, and dirty—but they were all dirty. The sheer
number of people the Bench had decided to relocate put a strain
on shipboard sanitary systems. Basic hygiene could be maintained
amongst the deportees; but it was very basic. TOP
"My
name is Burice." The voice that came out of that scrawny unprepossessing
form was so deep and rich that Kaydence almost looked around to
see who else might be in the room. "From Collit. But my mother's
people—"
Koscuisko
held up his hand, and the Nurail paused. "It is none of my business,
your mother's weave," Koscuisko said. "It is only my business to
put the preliminary interrogatories before you. Joslire is preparing
a speak-serum, are you familiar with such a thing in concept?"
Someone
had already gone through the preliminary interrogatories with this
Burice, without benefit of speakserum. And, since his Excellency
had made his point publicly and early about abuse of prisoners outside
of Protocol, without any of the threats or rough-housing that might
otherwise have characterized the process of winnowing unfortunate
but otherwise innocuous souls from Nurail that the Bench might find
of interest.
Burice
frowned. "Which kind of speak-serum is it to be, then? That kind
that makes to say what isn't so? Or only that kind that makes to
say what's none of the Bench's business, with respect, your Excellency,
certain and it must be so?"
Joslire
had the dose prepared to press through, but paused, grinning, to
wait his Excellency's response. Kaydence knew that Jos was grinning.
The outside corners of his eyebrows lifted. Obvious, once you but
knew the man.
Koscuisko
squared himself to the table, ignoring the sudden affronted stiffening
of the Bench observer behind him at the back wall. "That which encourages
true utterance, whether or not it is prudent for one's self-protection.
Prudence is not a Nurail virtue that I have been able to tell, please
forgive me if I malign you, Burice." TOP
Kaydence
laid the disposable fabric sterile-square down across the Nurail's
neck, on guard for any signs of sudden resistance. There were none,
which was prudent indeed, despite his Excellency's slander; there
were four Security here beside his Excellency and the Bench officer,
and all of them were bigger than the Nurail. Not as if that meant
a great deal, necessarily. They were all bigger than Andrej Koscuisko,
and their officer still took two and three of them to handle from
time to time.
Times
such as they could anticipate in their near future at the Domitt
Prison —
But
that was by the way. Joslire pressed the dose through; Kaydence
could have reassured the Nurail, if anyone had asked him. Koscuisko
had given the drugs to Joslire to be managed. If it was anything
but an honest truth-teller Koscuisko would prepare the dose himself,
and press it through, too. Andrej Koscuisko was peculiar that way.
The Bench had provided bond-involuntaries to Inquisitors to implement
the Protocols, to do the dirty work; their officer preferred to
keep them out of it, to the maximum extent possible.
It
would be a moment before the drug crossed the blood-brain barrier
and set to work. Koscuisko used the time to review the documents
that had been forwarded. The set of five questions was standardized,
and Kaydence could easily recite them: what is your name,
explain your presence at port Eild, what was your role
in the hostilities recently concluded. Have you been a member
of any unlawful resistance to the Judicial Order. Describe
any contacts you may have had or attempted to initiate with terrorists
representing themselves as the so-called Free Government.
"We
will be official now." It was serious business, even if a person
could easily be tempted to find some humor where they could after
the eleventh or seventeenth repetition of the same set of questions.
The answers—or his Excellency's evaluation of them, in his role
as a judicial officer—would make the difference between simple relocation,
garden-variety exile, plain ordinary displacement on the one hand
and referral for further questioning—the Question, torture—on the
other. His Excellency was deadly serious about that.
"I
am Andrej Ulexeievitch Koscuisko, and I hold the Writ to which you
must answer. Let the Record show that this interview is assisted
by talfer, standard dose, for a Darset Nurail not on Charges here
present. For the Record, state your name and your identification."
TOP
The
Nurail seemed a little irritated, and Kaydence could sympathize.
"As if I haven't these eight and eighty times since your kind came
to Port. My name is Rabin Burice. Darset for five generations. Hasn't
changed."
Your
Excellency, Erish signaled, in finger-code. The prisoner would
be expected to be on his best Bench manners, and answer politely.
Maybe that was the point. The Nurail wasn't a prisoner, not technically,
not yet. Other people seemed willing enough to grant Koscuisko the
dignity of his rank, though—there being no sense in borrowing trouble,
or in antagonizing the man who had to make the decision between
life and probable death. Maybe that was the Nurail's point: innocent
of any Judicial malfeasance, he had no need to play up to their
officer.
"Just
as you say, Burice. Here is the next question. It is necessary for
you to describe, explain your presence at port Eild." The whole
system had been under Bench interdict for months, so what as a Darset
Nurail doing there? The Darset Nurail had been forced into submission
two years ago and more.
Well,
had accepted the rule of Law under Jurisdiction by public vote,
but there was little secret made about the coerced nature of that
public vote, it being common knowledge by now that Darset had bent
its collective neck to avoid a bloodbath. So the fact that Burice
was Darset Nurail was of particular interest in and of itself. That
was quite possibly the reason Burice had been referred in the first
place.
"Also
no change." It was as though the Nurail would have liked to sneer,
but found himself unaccountably sleepy instead. "What's happening.
To me."
"It
is the drug, Burice, the speak-serum. It is not to be enough, that
you state for me that there has been no change. You must in explicit
words provide the answer. If you please." TOP
"I-am-a-trader-in-raw-fleeces."
Burice recited the sentence in sing-song, his clear disgust with
the proceedings more than evident. More proof that he felt no fear
or threat, and therefore probably had no reason to. "Port-Eild-is-my-customary-market.
I was there when the ban was cried, couldn't get out. You've confiscated
my fleeces as well, and there's five thousand two hundred and thirty-seven
owing, write that down. You. Inquisitor."
There
was a disgusted snort from the Bench observer, but the Bench Lieutenant
kept his peace apart from that. The relocation fleet's First Officer
had shackled this Lieutenant Goslin Plugrath to the officer's ankle
after the incident with the tortured Nurail prisoner. By and large
the Lieutenant kept out of his Excellency's way, but it had not
taken long to realize that Plugrath resented the assignment and
didn't particularly care who knew it.
Perhaps
Plugrath felt they should terrorize this Nurail in order to amend
his manners and correct his language. Plugrath didn't understand.
Koscuisko would insist on precise and respectful address from a
prisoner. Burice's disrespect helped Koscuisko remain focussed on
the fact that the man was not for Koscuisko's pleasure in Inquiry—yet.
"Next
question, what was your role in—"
Suddenly
agitated, Burice half-stood, interrupting. "Wait, what does it say,
what is the Record? Read it back to me. Fifty-two and—"
"Thirty-seven."
Koscuisko's voice was patient, reassuring. "The figure you have
stated for the Record is fifty-two hundred, thirty-seven for your
fleeces, is this correct, or do you wish to amend your testimony?"
Calm
again, Burice subsided back into the chair, slumping against the
curved seat-back. "Could have claimed fifty-four hundred and been
within my rights. But it's been a bad year for fleeces. And there's
the smoke damage to consider as well, all right."
"Your
role in the hostilities just completed. If you would." TOP
"My
role, he says, such lovely language it's got. I sat and watched
my fleeces lose value, your Excellency." So Burice did know what
one called a Ship's Inquisitor, even if he didn't care to observe
the proprieties. "I sat on dispatch for the firemen. And I carried
bodies for the healers. It was a horror, port Eild, I hope to never
see anything like it again in my life."
"By
the firemen you mean who, exactly?"
"The
people who try to put out the fire," Burice explained with deliberate
care, as though to a child. "So as to keep the houses from burning.
People need houses. It's to live in."
His
Excellency was well satisfied, to judge by the twitching at the
corner of his lip. He'd been worried that someone would misinterpret
"firemen" at some later date, so much was obvious. "Have you undertaken,
or supported the undertaking of, unlawful resistance to the Judicial
order, in any way direct or indirect?"
"We
voted, at Darset." Burice was apparently resentful of this question.
It was a little broadly stated, that was true. Technically speaking
membership in an organization with a secret agenda would be compromising,
whether or not the man had any knowledge of insurrectionary intent.
"And I've minded my business since. There's no market for my fleeces
in a war zone. I'm a loyal citizen. I'd be starving, else."
Now,
this was an interesting problem in Judicial procedure. Burice hadn't
answered the question. Instead he'd made several statements which
might be taken together as forming an acceptably direct response.
Had he not answered the question in due form because he was under
the influence of a speak-serum, and dared not hazard a direct answer
for fear of compromising himself against his will?
Or
was his answer in fact complete and compliant because he was under
the influence of a speak-serum, and therefore speaking only candid
and unedited truth? TOP
Kaydence
knew which way Koscuisko was likely to judge. Lucky for Burice.
The curse of the blood was on Andrej Koscuisko, he had the truth-sense.
He knew when people were lying to him, speak-serum or no.
"Consistent
with what you have told us previously, now confirmed under compulsion.
Finally. That which is to do with the Free Government."
This
was the critical question. The Bench had invoked the force of arms
against the Eild Nurail on the grounds that their resistance to
assimilation was evidence of Free Government activity, rather than
the natural reluctance of a free people to accept restraint and
regulation.
They
would have Evidence in time, Kaydence was sure enough of that; there
almost certainly had been Free Government at port Eild, and someone
almost certainly would be found to have coordinated with them for
arms and supplies. There would be enough to validate the Bench's
rationalizations, for what little that was worth.
Burice
seemed to be thinking hard, but whether it was because he had something
to say—or was trying to avoid blurting out an incriminating truth—Kaydence
could not easily guess. "A'think. There may have been. Some people
chased through the streets, and the mob after them, not long before
it was lost for good and all. Someone said it was Free Government,
and people bitter at promises made, not kept. Something."
Koscuisko
had tensed as Burice had started talking, as though afraid that
the interrogation would turn sour on him so close to a satisfactory
completion. There was nothing actionable in having witnessed a mob
scene, however; and Koscuisko relaxed, the line of his shoulders
smoothing as he sat.
"The
Record absolutely requires an answer in good form, Burice. Have
you had any personal contact with persons representing themselves
as belonging to the Free Government?" TOP
A
fractional hesitation, as Burice thought; then his expression lightened
in relief. "No. Your Excellency."
"And
have you attempted to initiate any contact with such persons?"
"No,
your Excellency."
Koscuisko
was already making his mark in the documentation as Burice spoke.
"Very good, thank you, Burice. There are no grounds for referral,
citizen is remanded to custody of the Dramissoi Relocation Fleet
without prejudice. No Cause for investigation exists. The Record
is complete."
That
was that, then. The Bench Lieutenant made a disgusted face to himself
in the corner, but Kaydence didn't care whether Plugrath was disgusted.
One less person referred for Cause was one less potential prisoner
to suffer beneath his Excellency's hand. That was all that really
mattered.
Koscuisko
set his stylus down and met the Nurail's eyes. "Do you have anything
else before you're dismissed, Burice?"
Burice
surprised Kaydence, and it was an unpleasant surprise. If something
should come up now, with the Bench Lieutenant observing, Koscuisko
would have to re-open the Record, there would be no way around it
. . . "Something of that. If you don't mind. From Scylla,
they're saying, is it true?"
Koscuisko
nodded, clearly a little apprehensive himself. What harm could there
be in so innocuous a question as that, though? "I am assigned to
Scylla, yes. That's right."
"There's
rumor about the sappers that tried for Scylla. Some are saying
one survived." TOP
And
there were people in custody related to the people who had come
so close to destroying the ship. That was too obvious to need statement.
Nor was there any reason to suspect an ulterior motive behind the
impulse to ask, given access to the one man who was most likely
to know.
"Survived,
but not for very long," Koscuisko assured the man—for the sake of
kin and loved ones. "In fact I can't even tell you who it was. We
had him on wards pending referral to Secured Medical, and the first
I knew he was even conscious he had attacked me. With one of my
own knives."
Just
as well Koscuisko himself wasn't on any speak-serum, any truth-teller.
Because although no words could be exchanged between bond-involuntary
Security on the subject, the unspoken assumption on board Scylla
was that Koscuisko had very likely engineered the entire incident
specifically in order to keep a wounded enemy from the horror of
a death by slow torture.
"I'm
still black-and-blue where he cut me, here, shall I show you the
scar? No? As close to a war wound as I am ever likely to get, would
that the story were a more romantic one."
Burice
did not respond to Koscuisko's mock-forlorn lament. "Dead, then.
And cleanly. With no disrespect, your Excellency."
"And
very nearly took me with him. There is no disrespect in wishing
a swift death to any man, rather than Secured Medical. Gentlemen,
we are finished, escort Burice to a recovery room, we will not be
seeing him again."
Joslire
took one elbow, Kaydence took the other, and finally it occurred
to Burice that he was free to go. On his feet and to the door in
record time, not that Kaydence could blame him a bit for it; but
he was safe, now. Almost as safe as that dead Nurail sapper, in
a manner of speaking.
Still—Kaydence
mused, following Joslire and Burice down the corridor to the recovery
room where Burice would wait out the metabolism of the speak-serum—he
could wish that Koscuisko had not suggested that he might have been
killed, he, himself, Andrej Koscuisko. TOP
Ship's
Inquisitors were shot at frequently enough as it was.
A
relocation fleet full of Nurail in shock was not the best place
to stand upon a pillar and cry out that one was mortal after all.
In
the waiting stillness of the briefing room Andrej Koscuisko reviewed
the morning's work, checking off points one by one with his stylus-point.
He knew what was coming. It had been coming since the first of these
follow-up interrogatories, hours ago now. The back of his neck—where
the Nurail sapper had cut him—pricked unpleasantly; but not because
the wound itself troubled him. It was Lieutenant Plugrath's eyes
boring into the back of his head. Lieutenant Plugrath trying to
decide what to say, how to say it.
Maybe
he would handle it better if he spoke first.
"Thank
you, gentlemen." Jorfie and Erish were due to take rest-shift, Code
was coming on, and Calleigh Samons to stand fourth-man. Chief Samons
didn't mind this sort of interview, he'd already checked. And at
least so far he'd successfully avoided referring more than two souls
to the next level; which brought him right back to his problem.
"You
may be excused, perhaps you will for me ask Code for my mid-meal.
Lieutenant Plugrath. Do you wish for mid-meal to break, or do we
continue? There are so many to be gotten through."
Twenty-one
days from port Eild to port Rudistal, and this only the middle of
the first of them. Andrej hadn't counted the number of referrals.
There were so many. And it depressed him. TOP
"At
your disposal entirely, your Excellency." Lieutenant Plugrath's
voice was careful, clearly restrained in some way. "There are other
calls for his Excellency's attention, of course. If the officer
would permit a question, sir."
Oh,
here it was. And yet Andrej could not find it in him to fault the
Lieutenant, not as careful as he was clearly trying to be. Plugrath's
language was as formal almost as that of a bond-involuntary; and
Lieutenant Plugrath was Command Branch. Captain Vopalar had wished
to impress upon him the fact that an observer was required out of
necessity, not lack of respect. "Of course, Lieutenant Plugrath.
Please."
"It
was impossible to avoid noticing a variance—or what seems to be
a variance—between the model interrogatories we received from Chilleau
Judiciary, and the way in which his Excellency puts the inquiry
forward." Rising to his feet, Plugrath came to stand at the side
of the worktable in a modified position of command wait that either
served to underscore his careful approach or was simply habitual.
Andrej
couldn't tell which.
And
he didn't care.
Did
Plugrath think Andrej didn't know perfectly well the multiple faults
Plugrath had elected to find with his conduct of the inquiry? Just
because he'd had his back to the Lieutenant all morning didn't mean
he couldn't hear. That, and Andrej had been working with his bond-involuntary
Security for more than three years now, and he knew how to read
their body language, expressionless as it might seem on the surface.
Plugrath
chose his words as daintily as any man could wish, as he continued.
"If his Excellency would care to discuss this seeming discrepancy.
I will know what to say to Captain, when the issue should arise."
TOP
Very
well. It wasn't an unreasonable request, on the face of it. "Here,
let us set these side by side, Lieutenant." He had the model interrogatories
that Chilleau Judiciary had so thoughtfully forwarded. There was
a place for model interrogatories; they had a legitimate role in
clarifying the information that the Judicial authority believed
to be in the possession of the Accused. "Here, from the Second Judge.
Here, from our last interview. Examine in particular this last,
if you please."
He
had asked about contact or attempts to contact Free Government insurrectionaries.
Chilleau Judiciary's questions were much more general than that.
Plugrath
obliged readily enough. "The Second Judge asks whether the subject
under inquiry has ever supported Free Government agendas covertly
or overtly, sir. With respect, it seems more to the point than the
way in which his Excellency has chosen to phrase the question."
Just
so. "Now put yourself in the place of any honest Nurail, Lieutenant,
for just one moment. Port Eild has been under siege for weeks. There
has been sickness and want, and at the end of it killing. Your goods
have been confiscated, and you yourself taken against your will
to as depressing a refugee camp as I never hope to see again; to
be carried away and exiled to some alien work regardless of whether
or not you had ever actually done anything against the Jurisdiction."
Leaning
back in his chair, Andrej counted his points off on the fingers
of his left hand, wondering why he bothered. Plugrath would not
be convinced. Still, he had asked. "I have given you a talking-drug,
Lieutenant, you must to me answer fully and frankly. If I under
such circumstances ask the model question would not every Nurail
soul in this convoy answer in such a way as to incriminate themselves?
Because surely it can be expected they have resentment. Should resentment
be actionable?"
From
all the reaction Plugrath showed him he might as well have been
talking to himself. Plugrath seemed clearly unimpressed by this
line of reasoning. On the other hand Plugrath hadn't asked to be
persuaded, merely informed as to what explanation he should give
if and when Bench Captain Vopalar asked him why Koscuisko's questions
were not the ones Chilleau Judiciary wanted answered. TOP
"Thank
you, sir. You elect a conservative approach, or what might otherwise
be described as a liberal interpretation. Is that the reason you
substituted the drug? If you don't mind my asking, sir."
Quite
suddenly Andrej did mind, very much. He was tense to begin with,
fearful with each new soul brought forward for interview that he
would not be able to keep this one from the torture. Knowing the
growing anticipation that he felt was fixed on the contrary goal,
intent on having as many prisoners as possible, only too persuasively
beguiled by the prospect of an entire prison full of souls to be
subject to atrocious torment at his will.
"No,
shasti is wrong for a Darset Nurail at this level. There's a side-effect
that comes and goes, an intense—if artificial—desire to please.
It can make a man agree to things he never really had to do with.
Talfer is much safer. More reliable in its effect."
More
than his personal conflict, more than the constant tension within
him between his desire to keep souls safe from Inquiry and his consuming
desire to have them scream for him, over and above these personal
issues Andrej felt professional affront, pure and simple. He was
Andrej Koscuisko, he held the Writ to Inquire, and although his
Captain had set strict limits on the exercise thereof there had
been sufficient practice over the years to convince Andrej that
he knew more about what he was doing than any Bench Lieutenant—Command
Branch or no—or Chilleau Judiciary either.
"I
don't know how you keep it all straight, sir. With respect." Perhaps
Lieutenant Plugrath had simply been curious. "I'm to attend mid-day
briefing, sir. And will wait upon his Excellency once more upon
completion."
Oh,
then perhaps he would have a nap. But there were so many interrogatories
to be got through. The more people he could clear here and now in
transit the fewer would remain to be processed through the Domitt
Prison. There was a consistent peculiarity that Andrej had noted
on field exercises before: a man was much more likely to be treated
as innocent absent good and convincing evidence to the contrary
while he was not within prison walls. TOP
Once
bring a man to prison—even unaccused, even only as a person of interest—and
the presumption of guilt increased noticeably.
He
didn't need to be greedy.
He
could be certain—either bitterly so, or comfortably so—that the
prison administration would have work enough for him, one way or
the other.
"It
was my second-rating in school, Lieutenant, psychoactive drugs,
I mean to say. My respects to Captain and Primes, if it is appropriate
to forward them second-hand. I will the next interrogatory start
without you."
Plugrath
saluted with crisp precision and left the room. Andrej tilted his
chair back further—almost dangerously so, with the front legs well
up off the ground—and stretched luxuriously. All alone for once.
All alone for now. He could have a nap.
Then
Code signaled at the door with a mealtray, and Andrej put all thoughts
of everything that wasn't to eat out of his mind firmly.
There
were priorities.
Right
now midmeal was at the top of the list.
He
might be having his last meal, should Captain Vopalar decide to
take offense at his creative liberties with Chilleau Judiciary's
interrogatories. TOP
Bench
Captain Shinjosi Vopalar sat at her desktable with the latest scans
from Chilleau Judiciary before her, and tapped her blunt finger
against the flimsies irritably. "He's the Inquisitor, he should
know from interrogatories," she reminded her junior Lieutenant,
Plugrath, who stood at command-wait in the middle of the staff assembled
for meeting. First Officer to her right. Chief Medical to her left,
senior Security at the back of the room, and Engineering late as
usual.
"And
according to the Privilege of the Writ he can be as insubordinate
as he likes and get away with it, as long as we can't cry mutiny
against him. Editing a model interrogatory is just appropriate exercise
of his professional judgment. Chilleau Judiciary is simply going
to have to choke on it, they're the ones who sent him."
She
didn't blame Koscuisko if he bridled at the model interrogatories,
not really. There was a distasteful hint of a political agenda to
the ones she'd reviewed; and if she thought there was a hint—she
being a Bench officer—a Fleet officer, whose tolerance was much
lower, was almost certain to smell a subordinated purpose.
That
the Second Judge needed evidence to protect herself from criticism
was well understood by all parties.
That
the Second Judge would all but direct a Writ to obtain confession
in specific form and detail was a violation of Protocol that would
only get Chilleau Judiciary into more trouble if the issue were
to be raised in public—by an irate Inquisitor, as an example.
Andrej
Koscuisko seemed to be a touchy sort. It was probably better to
leave him to his own devices as much as possible until he could
be safely made over to the Domitt Prison.
"Very
good, your Excellency. With respect, the Captain might wish to note
that Koscuisko has refused all but two of the persons of interest
interviewed this shift last. Amounting to twelve persons, in total."
TOP
Vopalar
suppressed a wince. She wasn't going to reverse herself in front
of her young Lieutenant, but she had to admit—if only to herself—that
the statistic was a discouraging one.
"He's
the Judicial officer, he's not subject to independent audit. If
it comes to that I expect he'll be asked to explain himself to the
First Secretary at Chilleau Judiciary, but that's his problem, not
ours. Anything else? Thank you, Lieutenant."
This
was Plugrath's signal to leave; saluting, he did so. Vopalar waited
for a moment after the door slid closed behind Plugrath's back,
curious as to whether anyone would want to comment.
First
Officer obliged.
"Well,
we were trying to make sure no-one fell through the slatting. It's
possible we pulled in so much ash with the ingots."
A
point. There had definitely been a move on to deal severely with
Eild for having put the Bench to so much trouble. "How many are
there for Koscuisko to get through, First Officer? Assuming he's
to review the preliminaries before we sign them over to the Domitt
Prison."
First
Officer was opening his mouth to answer, but her chief medical officer—Doctor
Clontosh—interrupted before First Officer could speak.
"There
are nearly four hundred souls on referral, your Excellency. But
I was promised some of his time on rounds. If you remember, Captain."
That
many? Ouch. Still, Koscuisko had gone through twelve in a shift,
from Plugrath's report. Two shifts in a day, three if they pushed
it. Twenty days left, that was theoretically four hundred and eighty
souls interviewed, at a rough estimate. And rounds did need to be
completed. TOP
"What
do you suggest, Doctor?" Medical was understaffed. Medical was always
understaffed. Vopalar was determined to do the best she could with
what resources she had regardless. Being relocated was bad enough
in and of itself without being made to suffer some wound or illness
without so much as basic medical care during the transit to Rudistal.
"Half-shift
a day, every day. If I can have half a shift I can keep things covered.
He'd still have a shift and a half for interviews, more if he wanted."
There were four shifts in a day, that was true enough. Generally
divided into two duty shifts, one for personal time, and one's sleep-shift,
but Koscuisko could easily borrow against personal training if it
was important to him.
"That's
not unreasonable." There was no particular requirement that she
knew of for Koscuisko to complete his review of preliminaries prior
to the arrival at Rudistal. Rounds were not the sort of thing that
could be made to wait. "Doctor Clontosh, you have my authority to
request Koscuisko's support for four eights a day, on rounds. He
has any questions I'll be glad to tell him myself, but I don't think
it'll come to that."
Koscuisko
might be a little impetuous—his handling of that prisoner back on
Eild proved as much. But he wasn't stupid. He was different from
most Inquisitors that way. What limited gossip crossed service barriers
between the Bench and Fleet indicated that Andrej Koscuisko was
a genuine exception to the norm—a Ship's Inquisitor who hadn't ended
up in that unenviable position for lack of any chance of a decent
job anywhere else.
"Now.
First Officer. What happened in Limited Secure while we were boarding?
Do we know yet if we lost anybody we meant to keep hold of?" TOP
The
displacement camp had been carefully segregated and secured, but
it had nevertheless been basically one giant encampment on one large
piece of level ground. Loading meant confusion, no matter how carefully
controlled. There had been indications that prisoners had escaped
from Limited Secure into the general passenger list under cover
of one of several incidents during loading: but the numbers all
seemed to add up.
It
stretched the imagination a little past its point of maximum flexibility
to imagine anyone substituting themselves for a prisoner from Limited
Secure, when those political prisoners were for the Question from
the start.
"All
we know for certain is that we've got the right number of bodies,
Captain," First Officer shrugged. "The transfer records are all
pretty minimal. At this point, if we've got the wrong body, we can't
tell, and if we can't tell, does it really matter?"
Well,
of course it mattered. There was the reputation of her Command as
a well-ordered Fleet, for one. But First Officer's point was a little
to one side of that: if they couldn't tell, would anybody ever find
them out?
It
wasn't as though Koscuisko, or the Domitt Prison, was to lack for
prisoners to interrogate.
"First
Officer. You disgust me deeply. And I mean that as an official statement,
strictly off the Record." But First Officer merely raised his eyebrows
at her, clearly impervious to any such insincere criticism on her
part. "Thanks, gentles, and we'll meet again tomorrow. Good-greeting
to you."
Clontosh
would get good service out of Koscuisko, whether or not Chilleau
Judiciary was to gain any satisfaction from the man.
The
honorable discharge of her duty—shepherding the Dramissoi Relocation
Fleet to Rudistal—was all Sinjosi Vopalar really cared about. TOP
Last but not least, a short reaction shot
as Captain Irshah Parmin announces Joslire's death to the bond-involuntary
troops who remained on the Scylla when Andrej went off to the
Domitt Prison.
Scylla
had not carried a full complement of bond-involuntaries for as long
as Captain Irshah Parmin had commanded. Bond-involuntaries were
difficult to come by and difficult to maintain. He didn't even particularly
want them, because what they were needed for was first and foremost
supporting a Ship's Inquisitor in Secured Medical; and Captain Irshah
Parmin disapproved in principle of Secured Medical and everything
that went on there.
It
was nothing personal.
Bond-involuntaries
were elite troops, in a sense, because it took a superlative fighter
to be able to bear up under the strains a bond-involuntary suffered
and still do their duty.
The
fact that he respected them only made it worse when he had to do
something unpleasant.
Because
Scylla was assigned only eleven of them there were few enough
left on board that he could have them to his office for the news.
They'd guess, of course.
They'd
know there was a special reason for them to be called to the captain's
office, when under normal circumstances they would never have reason
to go there. They'd know it wasn't that something had happened to
Koscuisko, because there'd be a formation in Infirmary, if that
was it, and them asked in to be part of the sharing of information
there. TOP
And
they'd know it wasn't to do with Chief Samons, because it wouldn't
be them called into command territory then but the other Warrants
and the Ship's Primes, and if that had happened the rumor would
have gone from one end of Scylla to the other already. Rumor
was like that.
So
the bond-involuntary troops left on board—Tonivish, Lorig, Vance,
Ipner, Fiskka, and St. Clare—already knew that one of their fellow
Bonds was dead.
Captain
Irshah Parmin stood up from his desk as the First Officer reported,
forming his detachment up on the plush carpeting between the desktable
and the briefing pit. Attention-wait. Faces expressionless, and
still somehow all too expressive; dread, fear, apprehension. Curiosity.
"Gentlemen,
be at ease." Or as much at ease as a bond-involuntary could be in
the presence of unfamiliar and superior rank. He wasn't really unfamiliar
rank, he knew these people on sight, but it wasn't anything like
as comfortable as they'd got with Koscuisko over the years.
In
fact there had been more than one occasion on which Irshah Parmin
would really have liked to take severe measures with Koscuisko and
had been deterred by witnessing a quick word exchanged between the
offending officer and one of the Bonds, or by some other reminder
of the unusual relationship Koscuisko had developed with his people.
Bond-involuntaries
were grudging with their trust and confidence. There was something
there in Koscuisko that the bond-involuntaries valued, and Irshah
Parmin had let his awareness of that fact balance out aggravation
time and again. He trusted their judgment. Even when he didn't share
their high opinion of Andrej Koscuisko.
"You
will have guessed that there is news which concerns you. And that
the news isn't pleasant news." Except that it was in a limited sense
for one bond-involuntary at least. The best news, for the dead man,
who could have had no idea of what the Captain was trying to accomplish
for him and his surviving team-mates. That only made it worse: Joslire
Curran was a free man, if a dead one, but had he lived for long
enough— TOP
The
Captain closed that stream off firmly. If any of them lived long
enough they would be both free and alive to enjoy it. It was only
a matter of relative degree. Maybe.
"It
never gets any easier to say this. I'll put it to you straight.
We've lost one of our crew, in an ambush at port Rudistal." Taking
a deep breath, he tackled the worst of it, knowing that there was
nothing he could do to ease the shock. "Joslire ise'Ilet has claimed
the Day. He isn't Curran any longer."
Any
name, no matter which, would hurt. Bond-involuntaries were very
close with one another. It was a matter of necessity, a survival
response. Joslire had been popular with his fellows in a severe
restrained Emandisan sort of way. And Robert St. Clare had begun
to weep, tears like the condensation of his grief glittering on
his impassive face. There wasn't anything Irshah Parmin could do
or say to comfort him, either.
"Erish
Muat has been injured, but not critically, and they've gone on to
their assignment. There'll be an investigation of the ambush, of
course, but that isn't the point."
What
was the point?
The
point was that they'd lost a man, and while he was away from the
ship as well. They hadn't even been there to say good-bye. No closure.
No sense of making a good end. Only an abrupt snapping of a thread
in braid, and a frayed cord where a strong support had once been
there to be relied upon.
"I'll
be announcing this to formation tomorrow. Take fourshifts to remember
your dead. I'm sorry I don't have any more details for you, but
that's what I have." He had to get them out of here. The sight of
all that silent shock and suffering was almost more than he could
take. "First Officer. If you would move your troops to gather-room.
Dismissed." TOP
Robert
St. Clare had come with Koscuisko and Curran—now ise'Ilet, once
more—from Fleet Orientation Station Medical when Koscuisko had come
to Scylla, and a little before he had been expected, too.
There wasn't any way he could have sent St. Clare to the Domitt
Prison. It wouldn't have been decent.
Yet
if he had St. Clare would have been there to grieve for his fellow
Bond when he had fallen.
And
more than that.
They'd
sent five-point-four in the first place because Joslire could manage
Andrej Koscuisko on a drunk; Joslire, and Robert St. Clare.
Samons
was alone in a prison with Koscuisko and a short team of Security,
all of whom had suffered a ferocious loss. Koscuisko would be taking
it personally. And Koscuisko was going to be drinking, because that
was what Koscuisko did when he was in the middle of an Inquiry.
Joslire dead, and St. Clare here in Scylla . . .
Calleigh
Samons had her work cut out for her.
But
even with Joslire Curran dead Captain Irshah Parmin could not settle
his mind on anything but that it would have been an atrocious cruelty
to send St. Clare to the Domitt Prison.
—
End —
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