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The
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Andrej
Koscuisko awoke to confusion in the stuffy twilight of a dimly-lit
room. Lying on his back, tangled in bedclothes, he stared at the
ceiling in dread and dazed wonder for several moments before he
realized that he wasn’t alone.
There
was someone with him.
There
was a monolith filling the doorway between the bedroom and the outer
room. A great grotesque statue made up of black horror, and Andrej
tried to fathom what it might be, puzzling it out in fits and starts
while he struggled with all of the other questions that had to be
answered before he could go on.
A
monolith, yes. Between two rooms: so there were two rooms there,
but that told him nothing. Senior ship’s officers had two rooms
to live in. So he was a senior ship’s officer, he knew that, but
why should there be a monolith in quarters? What manner of monolith
would Engineering tolerate to stand in a doorway between rooms?
Wouldn’t it interfere with evacuation, to say nothing of normal
traffic patterns?  TOP
Oh,
this was ridiculous, Andrej told himself, almost too disgusted at
his own confusion to be afraid. If the black monolith was friendly
he could ask it for breakfast. And if it wasn’t—if the black monolith
was Vengeance incarnate, come for him finally after so many years
spent wallowing in sin—then there would be no escaping it.
He
had to get up.
He
tried to move, but he was too thoroughly tangled in bedding to make
much headway. The black monolith stirred, finally, and started
forward, coalescing from an ambiguous shadow of unknown intent into
the familiar and friendly framework that housed the Nurail bond-involuntary
Security troop, Robert St. Clare.
“I’ll
help you with that, sir. With your permission.”
With
the doorway clear there was more light in the room, and Andrej could
make more sense of what he saw. The head of the sleepshelf was
in the corner; he could look across the room, to his left, and see
the sidetable next to the sleepshelf where he kept his lefrols and
liquor, the open doorway into the next room, the half-open doorway
into the washroom at the other end. There were the storage closets
along the back end of the room where his uniforms were kept, and
the icon-table in the far corner.
His
uniform was already arrayed in proper order on the valet-stand,
waiting for him, but the light from the lamp on the icon-table was
dim. It was only enough to point up the sanctimoniously ghastly
features of St. Andrej Filial Piety, after whom Andrej had been
named. It wasn’t enough to illuminate the ship’s mark on the front
right shoulder of the uniform’s over-blouse. No hope for a clue
there.TOP
He
still didn’t know where he was.
Robert
stooped over him, calm and reassuring, working the wadded bedding
free from the crevices into which Andrej had compacted it during
the course of his uneasy sleep. Robert was safe. He trusted Robert.
He could ask.
“Who?”
His
voice was a hoarse croak in his own ears. Robert paused in his
work of unpacking Andrej from the tangle he’d trapped himself in
to take up a flask from the bedside table, holding it carefully
for Andrej to drink. It was tepid rhyti, but it was wet. Andrej
was grateful.
When
the flask was empty he tried again.
“Where
are we. What’s going on. What time is it.” Who am I.
But he didn’t ask the last one. He already knew some pieces of
the answer, and there were good odds he’d have the rest of the information
soon enough.
“The
officer is Anders, son of Ilex.” Robert’s voice was quiet and soothing,
calming without condescending. “Which is to say, sir, his Excellency,
Andrej Ulexeievitch Koscuisko. No offense, your Excellency.”TOP
None
taken. He and Robert had known each other for too long. Not even
the constraint imposed by Robert’s governor could damp the trust
and confidence they had in one another: and there was the fact
that Robert’s governor had somehow never worked quite right, from
the earliest Andrej had known him.
“Out
with the rest of it, then, man.” Unlike many of the souls under
Jurisdiction, Robert hadn’t learned Standard until quite late in
life—his seventeenth year, from what Andrej had gathered. Robert
had more of an accent accordingly. It always tickled Andrej’s ear
to hear Robert struggle to pronounce his name. “I’m hungry.”
He
was fully untangled from his bedclothes, now, and Robert helped
Andrej to sit up on the side of the bed, crouching down beside him
to steady him where he sat. Robert was much taller than he was.
Their faces were still almost on a level. Robert’s face had changed,
in the years Andrej had known him; how many years was that? When
he had met Robert, Robert had been short of twenty years Standard,
painfully young for the use to which Fleet had condemned him. Robert
did not wear a beard even now, since he had no Fleet exception to
do so, and Nurail men from Robert’s particular clan-group only grew
beards once they were married. There was still no question but
that Robert was a grown man, if a young man still. His face had
lost weight and gained gravity.
“Oh
board of the Jurisdiction Fleet Ship Ragnarok, as the officer
please. Fleet Captain Griers Verigson Lowden, commanding.”
Oh,
it was bad, then. Captain Lowden. Burying his face in his hands
Andrej rubbed at his forehead with his fingertips, trying to massage
his brain through his skull. He needed to think.
“And
it’s just coming up on firstshift, which means you’re to sit at
Mast in three eights. There’s fastmeal. Chief Stildyne will be
wanting you for laps.”TOP
Chief
Stildyne was always after him for his laps. Andrej wasn’t interested:
but he knew that it was one of the things he relied upon to keep
him going, to give his life order and meaning in the face of—what?
“And
you’re to see Captain after Mast, there’s the Record to be endorsed.
Sir.” Robert’s voice was careful and neutral, breaking only momentarily
over the word “record” as he helped Andrej to his feet. Yes. That
was right. The Record.
It
all came back to Andrej, the torture-work that was his life, the
soul who lay constrained in agony in Secured Medical even now, the
savage greed for pain that their Captain indulged so mercilessly
in the name of the Judicial order.
He
was Andrej Ulexeievitch Koscuisko, Ship’s Surgeon, Ship’s Inquisitor,
on board of Jurisdiction Fleet Ship Ragnarok. He was getting
up and getting dressed because he had work to do, and because his
fastmeal would get cold.
But
there was more.
He
had been Ship’s Surgeon for eight years, his term was to expire
within two month’s time.
As
long as it had been, as horrible as it had been, as many crimes
as he had committed in the name of lawful duty, it was over. He
was going home.TOP
On
his feet, now, Andrej patted Robert’s arm by way of thanks, and
staggered off to the washroom under his own power. Free. Two months,
and he was going home.
What
was to become of Robert and the other bond-involuntary troops once
left without protection, exposed to Captain Lowden’s whims by the
uncaring indifference of the next Inquisitor assigned?
There
was nothing he could do about that.
Andrej
switched the wetshower to its coldest extreme and turned his face
up full into its brutal blast to shut the voice of anguished impotence
away in his mind. Nothing he could do. He had exhausted all of
the options at his disposal, trying. Best not to dwell on it.
He
still had two more months to get through somehow before he could
go home.TOP
Ralph
Mendez presided over Ship’s Disciplinary Hearing once a week, whether
he needed to or not. As the senior Security officer on board it
fell to him to review the periodic roster of offenses reported,
violations committed, adjustments required in the day-to-day workings
of a ship of war; and the Ragnarok—was not one. No, the
Ragnarok was an experimental ship still in the final stages
of proving out its still-controversial black-hull technology and
a sixteen atop thirty-two lesser innovations: but there was discipline
to be maintained all the same. Ship’s First Officer, Ralph Manil
Mendez, son and grandson of men so named, to sit in judgment. Ship’s
Inquisitor, Andrej Koscuisko, to weigh the penalty, because the
only Bench officer on board was the Chief Medical Officer, and Koscuisko
would be tasked with the administration of any corporal punishment
deemed appropriate. Or its delegation; but Koscuisko was selfish
about the beatings, and held them all for himself. Four years ago
Mendez had supposed that was because Koscuisko had a particular
taste for the work. Koscuisko claimed that as his excuse still.
Mendez
no longer quite believed him.
Six-and-sixty
at Koscuisko’s hand was brutal, was ferocious punishment, but it
was survivable—Mendez had seen that. Six-and-sixty from anybody
else was a death sentence. Koscuisko knew what he was doing with
a whip.
That
was why the Bench had first mandated the restriction and ruled that
only medical officers were to execute the Protocols.
Ship’s
First, the Chief Medical Officer, and usually some representative
from Command Branch sat at Ship’s Disciplinary Hearing to round
out the panel. Today it was the senior of two third lieutenants
on board, Jennet ap Rhiannon, creche-bred, newly assigned, and a
little impatient. Koscuisko wasn’t quite arrived, not yet.
“We
have—how many cases this morning, First Officer?” ap Rhiannon asked
carefully, reaching across the table for the rack of cubes. “Five?”
Creche-bred
Command Branch. A tricky piece of business, the third lieutenant,
short, stocky, dark hair, full oval face, blue eyes. More or less.
No nonsense about her, but she was polite; she hadn’t asked him
why Koscuisko was late, not in so many words. So far.TOP
Koscuisko
was just now coming through the far doors into the senior mess room
that served for this and other administrative functions between
the four meals that the ship served daily. It was early on in Koscuisko’s
most recent interrogation, Mendez noted; Koscuisko still seemed
fairly fresh and rested. Clean linen was a universal restorative,
and Koscuisko’s people took good care of him—as Koscuisko of them.
“My
excuses, First Officer, I mean to say apologies. I have overslept.
It is not Robert’s fault, he tried to wake me, and I believe I have
locked him into the wardrobe. Good-greeting, Lieutenant, ap Rhiannon
I think?”
ap
Rhiannon was on her feet, politely standing to attention for the
entry of a superior officer. Koscuisko nodded to her, climbing
the low steps that separated the back end of the mess area on its
raised platform from the more general area where the senior warrants
and junior officers took their meals. Yes, brisk and genial, and
unless a man knew to look he could easily miss the fathomless pit
of desperation behind Koscuisko’s pale eyes entirely.
“I
hate it when that happens,” Mendez replied, to make conversation.
“Hope you remembered to let him out, Andrej, he’ll get a crick in
his neck. Well.”
Koscuisko
took his seat to Mendez’ left, on the middle of the board. ap Rhiannon
waited till Koscuisko had settled himself to sit down. Mendez caught
ap Rhiannon’s gaze lingering on Koscuisko’s face as she sat, and
suppressed a grin of recognition. Yes, Koscuisko let his hair go
out of Standard tolerance from time to time. No, it wasn’t up to
any Command Branch officer on board except for Captain Lowden himself
to say anything to Koscuisko about it.TOP
“I
saw Wheatfields in the corridor, First Officer, perhaps if we started
in Engineering and got it out of the way?” Koscuisko suggested.
Naturally
Koscuisko wanted Wheatfields well clear of the area before he left
the room. In the four years that Koscuisko had served on board
of Ragnarok he had gradually developed a relationship of
grudging mutual respect with the moody Chigan whose partner had
been murdered by one of Koscuisko’s fellows so many years ago.
Wheatfields still had a tendency to knock Koscuisko into the nearest
wall from time to time for no particular reason. It was nothing
personal.
Mendez
nodded at the lieutenant. She called out to the sergeant at arms,
her voice clear and neutral—chilling, almost, in its professionalism.
“His
Excellency, Serge of Wheatfields, Ship’s Engineer. Willful disregard
for standard repair procedures on status checks resulting in avoidable
physical damage to the fabric of this ship.”
Ship’s
Engineer had to duck his over-tall Chigan head to step into the
room. The accused came behind his senior officer under Security
escort; a junior maintenance tech, pale but defiant. Mendez had
the scenario at once. Wheatfields was past his patience, and wanted
to make the point with the technician; who—to judge by his previous
history at Mast—had an attention deficit disorder of some sort.
“Technician
second class Hixson. State your name, your identification, and
the nature of the issue on which you have been called to answer.”TOP
Koscuisko’s
turn. Chief Medical knew the formal legal language cold, and could
probably recite it in his sleep. It should have given Hixson pause
to realize that he was faced with the man who held the Writ to Inquire
on Ragnarok. Unfortunately Hixson did not seem to be impressed.
“Yes,
your Excellency. Sallie Hixson, as previously identified. Gross
structural components forward, carapace hull, thirdshift. Sir.”
Hixson sounded bored: careful enough to express all due respect,
but beneath it all—as he finished his recitation—Hixson clearly
was not convinced that what he’d done was all that important to
the safety of the ship.
“Towards
the end of duty shift two days ago this troop failed to complete
items sixteen through twenty on pre-seal survey and failed to so
note on documentation, falsely attesting to completion of task.
Bulkhead subsequently failed under random test, resulting in physical
damage to fabric of ship. Sir.”
Mendez
could empathize, to a certain extent. If Hixson had never served
under fire he had no personal experience of catastrophic hull failure
during a firefight. Unfortunately there was no margin under Fleet
protocols for learning the serious nature of a hull failure on the
job: a person was expected to take it as a given.
“Third
offense,” Wheatfields reminded them, just in case they hadn’t noticed
from the record. “You’ll remember the conversation we had last
time, Hixson?”
It
was for Koscuisko to carry the inquiry forward, but Koscuisko prudently
kept shut. This had more to do with Engineering anyway.TOP
“Yes,
your Excellency.” Hixson had begun to sweat a little. “But, ah,
under the circumstances, sir. No harm done, after all, no need
for extreme sanctions.”
“I
decide whether or not harm was done, Technician.” Mendez was impressed.
Wheatfields was angry. “We were lucky. You could have gotten someone
killed.” Wheatfields had been standing behind Hixson and his escort,
while Hixson made his statement. Now Wheatfields closed the distance
between the accused and the Bar. “You and I have had this conversation
before and I’m tired of hearing excuses. We agreed on assessment
of penalty last time, Hixson.”
Mendez
checked his ticket, casually. Yes. They had. Wheatfields had
waived his right to demand blood. Hixson had promised it wouldn’t
happen again.
“Yes,
sir. We did, sir. Guilty as charged, sir.”
Not
as if that would make a difference if Wheatfields had decided to
give up on Hixson. Ship’s Engineer was within his rights to summarily
dismiss Hixson from duty in section on board of Ragnarok,
forever. That would mean reassignment for Hixson, under less than
auspicious circumstances. And Hixson had just about exhausted his
issued ration of second chances before he’d even got to the Ragnarok.
Wheatfields
turned around, away from Hixson, nose-to-nose with Koscuisko where
he sat, leaning over the table from the other side. Koscuisko did
a good job of not looking startled. “What’s my range, Chief Medical?”TOP
Technically
speaking—once again—that was up to the Bench officer to decide.
Koscuisko just frowned a little, thinking. “Couldn’t really see
one-and-ten at this point, Serge. You’re going to have to start
at two-and-twenty. It’ll take up to eight-and-eighty, depending
on how dangerous the failure might hypothetically have been. But
that’s pushing it.”
Koscuisko
spoke quietly, but it was a small room. Still Hixson had been warned:
and if Hixson couldn’t quite believe that he could be put to death
for faking a check-off list on an inspection chit he was a least
beginning to think a little harder about why inspection chits were
important.
“I
want four-and-forty from the son of a bitch,” Wheatfields said firmly.
“It’s going to take four shifts to get structural integrity restored
along that piece of wall. But I want him back on duty before we
make Burkhayden, too.”
“You’ll
have to make due with three-and-thirty, then.” Koscuisko’s voice
was regretful, but firm—as if he wasn’t simply stating what Wheatfields
had been after all along. “Three-and-thirty, and I can see return
to duty in five days. Deal?”
Three-and-thirty
was enough to get anyone’s attention, whether or not the Bench standard
saw it the same way. Mendez cleared his throat. This was his Mast,
after all, when it came down to it.
“All
right. Hixson, your senior officer has asked for three-and-thirty
in consideration of the failure in duty you have acknowledged.
Chief Medical states five days are to be provided for recovery.”
If Hixson had been bond-involuntary, now, rather than a free man,
Lowden would cut that recovery time in half as a matter of course.
“What’s your call?”
“Sir.
Chief Engineer is within his rights, sir, we had agreed. Just and
judicious that it should be so, First Officer, three-and-thirty
prudent and proper as penalty. Sir.”TOP
Maybe
it would work.
Hixson
wasn’t stupid. He could interpret negotiation as well as anyone.
Wheatfields wanted to salvage him for the Ragnarok. But
Wheatfields was tired of making excuses for him.
“Let
the Record show, then. Thank you, gentles, return Hixson to duty-ward
pending execution of penalty assessed. Good-greeting, Serge.”
One
down.
Four
to go.
“Next.”
All
fairly innocuous, especially after the first. Brawling in common-room
over an opprobrious name which might or might not have been spoken
aloud. Extra duty to be performed to balance out having evaded
an assigned duty shift without taking adequate care to ensure that
arrangements for coverage were honored.
Sloppy
cleaning in the recyclers in mess leading to the loss of a day’s
run on one of the ration lines, no great loss as far as Mendez was
concerned but rules were rules. Extra maintenance for three weeks
to be performed by one of Two’s people, caught napping on duty station
after celebrating too hard over a co-worker’s promotion. TOP
This
was the daily stuff of discipline and punishment on a ship of war,
and if it hadn’t been for the relatively unusual occurrence of Wheatfields’
invocation of corporal punishment Mendez could have slept through
it himself and not felt any harm done.
“That’s
it for today, then?” Koscuisko asked, gathering a set of disposition
tickets into his left hand as he rose. “I’ll take these to Captain,
First Officer, I’m on the agenda anyway. Lieutenant.”
ap
Rhiannon stood in turn a little abruptly, as though surprised at
Koscuisko’s relative informality. She was new. And creche-bred
stood on their dignity far more frequently than even other Command
Branch officers. Mendez was perfectly comfortable with letting
Koscuisko take the report forward: he and Captain Lowden had years
of negotiation between them, now, they had it down to a fine art.
“Captain
will go with three-and-thirty, do you think? Andrej?”
Captain
Lowden was a relatively strict disciplinarian: prior to Koscuisko’s
arrival had been a ferociously strict, by-the-book assessor of the
maximum available penalty for a given offense. That was part of
the negotiations between Koscuisko and the Captain that had nothing
to do with any softening on Lowden’s part and everything to do with
the alternative entertainment Koscuisko could offer down in Secured
Medical to while away the long hours of Lowden’s usually uneventful
days.
Mendez
knew it went on.
He
just didn’t want to know anything more about it, since there wasn’t
anything he could do.TOP
“Good
odds, First Officer, depending. I think it’ll be all right. Good-greeting,
I’m late.”
The
door at the far end of the room closed behind Koscuisko’s back.
Jennet
ap Rhiannon sat back down.
Mendez
waited, curious as to what she would say.
“There’s
a prisoner in Secured Medical, First Officer.” Interesting choice.
No question about why it was Ship’s First who asked Chief Medical
about what decision the Captain would make on a disciplinary issue,
rather than the other way around. “This is the first time I’ve
been assigned to a rated warship. I’d like to have a look at what
goes on, as long as there’s an Inquiry in process.”
She’d
already been to Secured Medical to have a look, in fact—Mendez had
Stildyne’s morning report. But Secured Medical was just that:
secured. Nobody went into Secured Medical without prior and explicit
authorization from Chief Medical.
To
her credit she hadn’t tried to bully her way past the bond-involuntary
Security on watch over the prisoner.
“Surely
they covered it in orientation, Lieutenant.” That didn’t mean he
had to make things easy for her. It was bad enough that the Captain
treated Koscuisko’s Judicial function as recreation. There was
no reason to tolerate any similar tendency in junior officers.
“What’s to see?”TOP
The
lieutenant frowned. “True, First Officer. But I’ve been active
now for four, five years. And if I’m to be responsible, one day,
I’d like to know what I’m to be responsible for.”
All
right, maybe it wasn’t prurient interest, maybe it was a misplaced
sense of responsibility. “Best bet is to let Stildyne know, he
can pass the word on to his officer. I’ll tell Chief, Lieutenant.
Is that all?”
Koscuisko’s
Chief of Security could find the best time to put her request before
Koscuisko. Koscuisko listened to Stildyne. Koscuisko didn’t listen
to lieutenants, Command Branch or no. Koscuisko hardly listened
to him, Ralph Mendez, and he was senior; it wasn’t insubordination,
though, not really. Captain Lowden simply kept Koscuisko strung
out too taut to operate on anything more than a very basic level.
“Thank
you, your Excellency.”
All
right, then. “Staff in two eights, Lieutenant, there’ll be visitors
from the occupation fleet. Bench intelligence specialists, no less.
You don’t want to miss it, see you there.”
She
might have wanted to protest that she wouldn’t think of missing
a command formation. But she’d been dismissed.TOP
If
Koscuisko got Lowden to accept so mild a punishment as three-and-thirty
for Wheatfields’ technician it would be because Lowden expected
to split the difference with the prisoner in Secured Medical—
None
of his business.
And
nothing he could do about it either way.
Ralph
Mendez put the familiar resentment away and left the room to return
to his office and prepare for staff in two eights.
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