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The
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It
was at times like this that Andrej Koscuisko hated the Scylla's
Chief Engineer, hated her face, hated her function, but most of
all hated her voice.
"Primary
hull breach on carapace forward, damage control in effect."
Her
voice, which sounded calm and dispassionate over the allship. Couldn't
she at least have the decency to get excited? Primary hull breach,
they were under attack, and a primary hull breach was about as bad
as it could get on board of a cruiser-killer class warship like
Scylla before things became desperate. If the hull breach
was carapace forward there were no casualties yet, those would come
when the damage control teams reached the site and things began
to fall on them. That was good news, as bad news went.
Andrej
grimaced across the body on the treatment table at the senior technician
who was helping him stabilize their patient's badly damaged right
hip. TOP
"Stores
and distilling," he joked. Of course it was no such thing. Distilling
was strictly controlled on board of Scylla, and intoxicants
were regulated issue. People kept trying, though. "With luck it
will be a direct hit on ship's victual supplies. The rhyti is getting
to be genuinely undrinkable."
Ship's
Infirmary, Jurisdiction Fleet Ship Scylla, was aroil with
receipt of casualties, strange and unfamiliar with the partition-walls
all drawn up into the bulkheads. Sarse Duro-one of the Scylla's
best soft-tissue specialists-smiled back, raising his voice to be
heard over the confusion of patients' voices, intership's braid,
triage calls.
"Rhyti
is always undrinkable. At least the way his Excellency prepares
it. That's done the tendon rejoin, sir, let's wrap for recovery."
Andrej
was the Scylla's Chief Medical Officer, Ship's Surgeon on
board, but his certifications were in neurosurgery and psychopharmacology,
not in bone or soft tissue. There was never any time during a mass
casualty exercise to even calibrate the surgical machine for his
specialty. All they could do was triage and hope for the best; for
the rest he was here in the midst of things with his entire staff,
doing whatever could be done to keep the patient stream moving until
the Captain had finished putting the ship and Security fighters
alike in harm's way.TOP
"Primary
hull breach, carapace median. Damage control to conversion feed
channel three. Damage control. All available resources to conversion
feed channel three, median."
There
she was again. Andrej scowled at the braidport overhead that broadcast
her voice throughout Infirmary. "As if we are interested." Of course
they were interested. Hull breach associated with ship's motivation
systems was much more critical an issue than having some storage
areas ruptured into uselessness. There were going to be more casualties.
"Why don't we simply stop fooling around and hit those wretched
platforms? This is becoming tedious."
The
orderlies were trading out bodies on the treatment table, Chirt
and Makula to move the unconscious patient out to recovery holding,
Robert and Flont to ease the next injured crewmember into place.
Andrej hoped Robert hadn't heard him. Robert St. Clare had been
Bonded for four years now, the victim of one of the earlier Nurail
campaigns; and Scylla was attacking what was confidently
expected to be the last resisting Nurail world even now. That was
why Robert was here, and not out with the Wolnadi fighters and the
rest of his team-Security 5.3. Fleet didn't trust a bond-involuntary's
conditioning to hold under circumstances of stress as extreme as
being required to fire on one's own affinial nationals.
Sarse
knew that as well as Andrej did, and Robert was respectably well
tolerated amongst medical staff-all of Andrej's Security did their
fifth-weeks in Infirmary. Sarse waited until Robert had gone back
with the gurney to move the next patient waiting before he replied.
TOP
"Shouldn't
be too much longer, sir." In point of fact Robert was more than
simply tolerated amongst the women that worked in Infirmary, but
that was by the way, and Sarse was talking. "We did have six of
the fifty platforms assigned as our targets, his Excellency will
remember. Captain estimated two eights to get the job done, and
it's been one and six already, hasn't it?"
It
wasn't up to him to keep all of his bond-involuntaries on board,
away from the shooting. If they'd been Andrej's to dispose of he
would have excused them all from Fleet and sent them home years
ago, not as though that was possible. They were only his in the
limited sense of being his resource to direct in Security Medical:
which suggested a wonderful idea.
"Concussive
trauma," Andrej pretended to read aloud to his patient from the
diagnostic ticket, giving himself time to think. "From uncontrolled
contact between patient skull and large blunt object, hypothetically
of the size and shape of a turbine engine flange." No such thing,
of course. She was sitting up-the orderlies would never have allowed
that, with concussive trauma-and looking at him with supreme confidence
that he was going to start to make sense at any moment now. "Miss
Nulmers, should you not rather simply give Millder a date, and be
done with it? Surely he becomes desperate."
He
knew the technician Choli Nulmers; Engineering had sent her to repair
the rhyti-brewer in his office when he had arrived on Scylla
and found it inoperable. It had taken her a while to adjust the
calibration to his specification, and she liked to talk. He had
been following her love life with bemused interest ever since. TOP
Now
her dark brown eyes narrowed, a sudden twinge of irritated pain
crossing her heart-shaped face. Andrej checked the bloodrec readings
for pain medication hastily; but no, it was only the lameness of
his humor that she found noxious.
"I'd
rather patdance with a Pulibrain in estrus. With respect. Sir. -How
bad is it?"
"I
have never been offered such a courtesy, Miss Nulmers, I do not
know. -Oh, your arm." He was being flippant, almost inexcusably
so under the circumstances. But it helped him to control the fierce
anxiety in his gut over the lives of the Security outside, somewhere,
in the small fast heavily armed Wolnadis, doing what they could
to prevent the enemy from slowing Scylla down-before the
artillery platforms they were charged to destroy had come within
range of the main battle guns. "It's a spectacular mess, Choli,
but nothing that cannot be put right. It may be several weeks before
you can pull heavy maintenance, I hope that this does not too much
distress you?"
He
was distracted by the idea he'd had, the one that had to do with
the carapace hull breach in Stores. Secured Medical was tucked discreetly
away in Stores, up at the top level beneath the carapace hull. What
if Secured Medical had been destroyed?
"You've
got to watch this man," Sarse said to Choli Nulmers, in a tone of
awed amusement. "Genius with a neuropick."TOP
Andrej
stopped what he was doing, staring for an instant in complete bewilderment.
'Genius with a neuropick' came too close to why he wanted Secured
Medical offline, why had Sarse said such a thing?
Oh.
Because
he was using a neuropick to braid the fibers in Choli's elbow back
to where he thought they ought to be. Andrej covered for his confusion
with a hasty gesture, trading the neuropick for a stabilizing brace.
All Saints forbid Sarse should guess what he had been thinking of.
His
pleasant life here in Infirmary was predicated on a tacit agreement:
he declined to stand on rank as Chief Medical Officer, sensibly
aware of his relative inexperience. The rest of the medical staff
in turn declined to notice that his exalted rank was a function
of his dual role as Ship's Surgeon and Ship's Inquisitor; and everybody
was happy. Or as happy as a man could be, when his Judicial role
required him to go to Secured Medical on Command direction and commit
atrocities in the name of the Judicial order.
Any
potential discomfort that might have developed out of Andrej's confusion
in the face of Sarse's remark was swamped in the wave of fear that
swept through the Infirmary when the Ship's Engineer came back in
braid on intership.TOP
"Ship's
Onboard to maintenance atmosphere, the maintenance hull has been
breached. Sappers in the maintenance atmosphere. Fire suppression
in effect." Now that Andrej had got his wish at last-now that the
Engineer sounded every bit as worried as Andrej felt she should-he
could take no comfort in it. "All crew onsite to full environmentals.
Full environmentals in the maintenance atmosphere, the maintenance
hull has been breached."
Andrej
stared at Sarse in horror. They'd known the enemy was desperate.
Desperation had made the Nurail superlatively ferocious opponents-like
any sentient creatures who were fighting for their homes and the
freedom of their children. But sappers on the maintenance hull .
. . the maintenance atmosphere stretched the length and breadth
of Scylla's counter-carapace, the belly of the ship. A breach
in the maintenance hull could mean catastrophic loss of atmosphere,
along with everyone and everything too close to the open bays when
the air exploded away from the hull into the black void of limitless
Space . . .
Sappers
on the hull. Yes, you could get to the main battle guns through
the maintenance atmosphere, it was about the only way to enter the
ship's corridors in absence of a large cratering device with which
to blow a gaping hole in the carapace hull.
But
you had to fight your way in to the maintenance atmosphere to do
it. TOP
It
was an act of astonishing daring that could be hard to distinguish
from a vengeful last strike. Who knew if the sappers were in fact
making a desperate attempt on Scylla's main battle guns,
or simply trying to take as many casualties as possible by exploding
the maintenance atmosphere?
Things
had been manageable so far during this combat exercise.
They
were clearly about to get completely out of control.
He
had to get Choli disposed of and out of his patient station before
casualties from the maintenance atmosphere started to arrive.
Choli
Nulmers was watching his face fearfully, her golden pallor clearly
reflecting more than the simple physical shock she had sustained
with the injury to her elbow. Andrej interlaced the grippers on
the stabilizing brace, smoothing the tabs flush with the fabric
of the brace itself so that they wouldn't scratch against her skin.
"There
you go, Miss Nulmers." Waving for a patient transfer team, Andrej
wondered how long they had before they were to be overwhelmed, and
whether it would matter. If the sappers got through to the main
battle guns they could more than disable Scylla-they could
destroy the ship-and there would be no worrying about his triage
stream once that happened, after all. "The injury you have sustained
is quite serious. But it can be made right, there need be no permanent
damage whatever. Doctor Sersiguid will evaluate the medication you
require, now, it may be possible for you to return to limited duty,
and we may need all the extra arms and hands that we can muster."
TOP
It
could be too easy, sometimes, to get caught up in trading quips
with his technicians for the sake of the relief from tension it
could bring, and forget that one's patient had keen anxieties that
should be laid to rest.
"Thank
you, sir," Choli nodded with good courage. "For everything."
In
case this should be the last they ever spoke.
Yes.
But
there was no time to entertain the fear that lay heavy in his heart,
here was his next patient, and beneath the surface charring of the
uniform that clothed the unconscious man Andrej thought he caught
a glimpse of green piping on the cuff of the nearest sleeve. Bond-involuntary.
One of his, oh, someone he knew, was he to be beside himself with
anxiety that Kamblynn had been injured-or comforted that whatever
had injured Kamblynn had not destroyed the ship, with all of Kamblynn's
team on it?
There
was no time.
"Translation
or burn?" Sarse asked, readying the pincers to lift scorched fabric
out of the wound that blackened Kamblynn's chest. Andrej had a peculiar
horror of burn wounds, but they were survivable; more so than if
they were to find a wriggler lodged in Kamblynn's body cavity, for
instance. He had to concentrate on what positive elements he could.TOP
"A
little of both, as tagged, on-board explosion with fragmentation
of the console. We could be lucky." Not an anti-personnel seeker,
then. Perhaps it would not even be so bad. "Ready? Pull."
If
it was too bad Kamblynn would have the right to request termination,
and be freed of his Bond. But Kamblynn was unconscious. And Andrej
was not about to permit him to claim the Day until he had a chance
to sit down, evaluate, discuss the issue with Kamblynn; which was
obviously going to have to wait.
Sarse
and Andrej together between them cleaned out the body cavity, sutured
where they didn't have time for surgery, slapped a temporary blood
channel through where the natural one had been too badly breached
by a piece of metal, closed the body core with a film of anaerobe
and signaled for transfer. There was a new patient on the table
between them almost before the orderlies had carried Kamblynn away,
and then another, and then another.
Abstractly
Andrej knew that the actual attack on Eild had been projected at
only two hours' duration, start to finish.
Subjectively
it was taking forever; not because time passed slowly in Infirmary,
but because time stopped-while the wounded continued to arrive,
and the bodies still came on.TOP
He
cleaned the ragged edges of a traumatic amputation with swift sure
movements of the surgeon's flint, one ear cocked to his patient's
drunken singing to ensure that the pain medication continued to
penetrate deeply enough through the shock the patient's body had
sustained to do its work. Mekintz in solution did that to class
three hominids like Spalt. It was the most effective pain medication
in the inventory, but unlike the operation of most such preparations
mekintz didn't make Etting hominids lie down and go to sleep.
It
made them drunk.
It
was a very rude song.
Andrej
made a note to himself to try to get the lyrics from Spalt, later;
then drew the temporary cuff carefully up to Spalt's shoulder to
keep everything in order until cyborg augmentation could be instated,
and stepped away so that the orderlies to switch the bodies out.
The
next patient was different.
The
next patient was Nurail. TOP
Staring
at the diagnostic ticket in confusion Andrej tried to understand
what he was seeing. Nurail, the ticket clearly said Nurail, but
it couldn't be Robert-glancing around him anxiously, Andrej made
sure of that. Robert was at the triage station. It wasn't Robert,
Robert was taller than this man. He hadn't thought there were other
Nurail on board, Nurail weren't usually to be found in Fleet except
Bonded ones like Robert, but the ticket said Nurail, what —
Of
course.
And
the orderly was trying to tell him, too, if he could only refocus
his attention for long enough to listen.
"—of
the sappers, sir. Got clear through to Cannon Four before we stopped
him. We were on light loads, too, or else we would have killed him
for sure, but he's not dead, and he can't go to Secured Medical
like this, sir, can he?"
The
enemy. A Nurail sapper, and wracked horribly from neck to knee with
the fearful blow of a contact bolt fired at close range. Not enough
to have killed him, no, they wouldn't have wanted to risk full charge,
so close to the main battle guns. But oh, holy Mother, fearfully
wounded. Andrej checked the bloodscan just to reassure himself:
but it was all right, it was as he expected, nobody in his Infirmary
had stinted on pain medication just because the patient was the
enemy. TOP
"With
luck Secured Medical's been stove in." An indirect answer, but the
orderly grinned and looked a little relieved. "Thanks, Mool, I suppose
we'd better send him to secured quarantine, shouldn't we? Once he's
stable."
He
was talking to himself. A prisoner couldn't be left on Wards. Desperate
people were capable of desperate measures; and among those desperate
measures lay the superhuman power to rise up from sickbed even with
wounds that would normally fell a man, and walk to do what mischief
could be found. Secured quarantine would do very well.
They
could imprison the Nurail safely in there, but there was full medical
support still in place.
"Very
good, sir." Yes, relief. The mission of triage was to divide patients
for treatment according to the severity of the injury and whether
the wound could wait without suffering too much deterioration; from
that standpoint this sapper clearly qualified as next in line. It
could have been a source of conflict, though, whether the enemy
should receive any treatment at all before all of Scylla's
assigned resources had been seen to.
Andrej
was proud of the decision his people had made, but not surprised.
They were a medical unit. The ship was at war; but Infirmary was
still a hospital function, first, last, and always. He was the only
exception to that undivided focus on the healing of mind and flesh
- and even then it was only when he was directed to Secure Medical.
The Bench declined to contaminate Infirmary with torture.
TOP
What
was this Nurail's fate to be, if not the Question?
What
point was there in saving the man's life, if Andrej was only to
be made to murder him later, and much more horribly than if he were
simply to be permitted to die quietly of wounds received in battle?
Andrej
couldn't stop to think it out. He didn't have that luxury. He had
to stabilize and refer to secured quarantine, and free the table
for the next in line.
He'd
think about what fate the Nurail faced later, if there was to be
a later.
"Some
sprynge-brace to shore up the chest wall, Sarse, do you think?"
Andrej suggested, reaching for a cleaning patch.
For
now he needed to keep the casualty stream moving as best he could.
"Well,
we didn't lose any of the cruiser-killers," Captain Irshah Parmin
was saying sourly, watching as Koscuisko slit the fabric of Calleigh's
trouser-leg well up her thigh to expose her sprained knee in all
its swollen, purpling glory. "But it'll be a few months before the
Doxtap Fleet is ready to go on Line again. Damn, these Nurail beggars
have no sense of proportion."
Chief
Warrant Officer Calleigh Samons sat upright on the treatment table
watching her officer of assignment critically. It wasn't up to her
to comment on what the Captain had said. The most part of the day's
duties had been completed; she had fought for her ship, she had
mustered her assigned teams, she had made her report. As far as
her official duties went she was clear to go to administrative rest
break status with the rest of Security Five-Point.
Unofficially,
however, Koscuisko would want a word with her; and although Koscuisko
would rather die than suggest she put herself out to satisfy his
whims-when she was genuinely tired from the battle-the truth of
the matter was that Koscuisko would fret until he knew. TOP
She
was responsible for Koscuisko's health and well-being, if only in
a limited sense. If Koscuisko didn't get to sleep for wondering
what had become of his Security he would not be up for combat drill
next exercise period. It therefore behooved her to see that her
officer of assignment was fully apprised of crew status; so he would
be rested and fit for training when the time should come.
"I
don't care about the Doxtap Fleet." Koscuisko was concentrating
on a strained fiber or tendon at the back of her knee, clearly not
paying a very great deal of attention to what he was saying or the
tone of voice in which he said it. "That is, I mean to say, sir.
Safety and good shepherding of vital Fleet resources aside, all
I want to know is how this ship stands, and what happens next."
He'd
found a knot, a tear in the sinew, something. Calleigh grunted in
surprise at the sudden pain, and Koscuisko glanced up at her face
swiftly, giving a quick wink of one of those mirror-silver-pale
gray eyes as he reached for the osmo-stylus to put a dose through
at her thigh.
"Two
of the fighters we sent out didn't get back, Andrej, one of First
Officer's, one of the Engineer's. One of yours only just barely
made it in, what was that all about? Miss Samons?"TOP
Security
teams were traditionally divided up into five sections and described
as belonging to one of each of the four Ship's Primes, one reporting
to the Captain himself. As far as the other officers were concerned
they were all Ship's First Officer's; only Koscuisko took a particular
interest in Security assigned - not because the other officers were
insensitive or uncaring, no, it was just that Ship's Inquisitors
tended to have a more personal relationship with Security than Command
or Engineering.
Ship's
Inquisitors were more likely to need Security assigned for escort
offship on special assignment; far more likely to be shot at when
they did so. The Chief Medical Officer-Ship's Inquisitor-was the
only officer on board of Scylla to whom bond-involuntaries
could be assigned, because that was why the Bench had come up with
them in the first place-to support Ship's Inquisitors in the performance
of their Judicial function.
"Security
5.1, your Excellency. Alluring, Silbritz, Kamblynn, Zhakar." She'd
been on 5.3 herself, filling in for its navigator since St. Clare
was to be confined to Infirmary for the duration. "Successful intercept
on round, but the impact was a little too close. Backwash sheared
off left lateral navs, they had to pulse in on inertial. Has his
Excellency seen —"
Wait,
that was a protocol glitch, when the Captain was present only Irshah
Parmin was 'his Excellency.' Calleigh bit her lip with frustrated
irritation: she was more tired than she'd thought, what had Koscuisko
pressed through to her just now? Neither the Captain nor Koscuisko
seemed to have noticed, though, so maybe they were tired too.TOP
"I
think so, Miss Samons, he was in here earlier on. We did primary
closure, but he's going to be on injured reserve for a while once
we get the follow-up completed. I can't tell you just now how bad
it is. Except I don't think it's terminal, there, can you flex your
knee?"
There
was a joke in this situation, her sitting here with her trouser-leg
slit up to never mind, Koscuisko with both strong small hands carefully
supporting her upper thigh. Like many of the men Calleigh had worked
with in her years in Security Koscuisko was attracted to her, and
had been since he'd come on board. Koscuisko had never made advances,
but she knew how to read his interest well enough from a lifetime
of dealing with the fact that she simply aroused an animal interest
in more than the average number of the opposite sex. So here she
was, with the business portion of her anatomy as good as exposed
and within easy reach, all but sitting in Koscuisko's lap; and her
officer was so completely focussed on the injury to her knee that
he was to all intents and purposes oblivious.
She
gave it a try. "Aa-ouch," she gasped, startled and amused as she
always was by how much relatively minor injuries could hurt. "Don't
want to. -All the rest of the Five-Point teams are back on station
hale and whole, sir. I've sent St. Clare to quarters for your orderly."
Because
they were all exhausted, and Koscuisko would hate not being able
to talk to them and assure himself of their health and well-being,
even though he knew that they would need to rest more than anything.
St. Clare would have no distracting news to share with him. So they
would both be able to just go to sleep. TOP
Frowning,
Koscuisko reached around to one side for a flexor-brace. "Which
reminds me. Captain. A Nurail sapper brought in as prisoner, sir.
Secured in quarantine, but what is to be done?"
"What
did I tell you?" Irshah Parmin demanded in response. "No sense of
proportion. By God, Andrej, the mettle of those Nurail, they were
clear to Forward Cannons before they were finally all stopped. And
they had to know what they were up against."
Death
in the attempt on Scylla's main battle guns, if they were
lucky. Capture to face the Question, if they were not lucky. From
the concentrated attention Koscuisko was focussing on the flexor-brace
as he wrapped it around her knee the latter alternative was very
much on Koscuisko's mind.
"Yes,
and this one seems to have been particularly difficult to convince
to fall down and lie quietly. It is a shame something did not fall
on his head and save us the trouble of locking him up in Quarantine.
Try your weight on that, Miss Samons."
Holding
her arm carefully, Koscuisko supported her weight as she eased herself
off the treatment table to her feet. The brace was a little less
rigid than she had expected; but it would hold. She tested the range
of motion in her leg with a cautious pressure of her foot, and Koscuisko
smiled at her, as if pleased with himself. Her officer of assignment
had a very beautiful smile, as far as that went. Small white even
teeth. A glint of the wolf to them.
"It
is just-loose-enough to keep your attention focussed where I want
it, Miss Samons, and none of your pushing the parameters about it
either. If I may see my gentlemen at exercise, in two-shifts' time?
And thank you. That you have brought them all back home as safe
as could be hoped for."
She
saluted carefully, mindful of the need to watch her balance.
"We're
stuck with him now," the Captain said, but he had already acknowledged
her salute and put her out of his mind. "And he may have information
we can use. Though what that might be I can't think, right now,
the siege is finished, the resistance is dispersed, the relocation
fleet will be here in three days to start to pick up what's left
over." TOP
A relocation
fleet from Chilleau Judiciary, true, waiting at a safe distance
for such time as Eild's defenses were destroyed at last and the
world no longer capable of resisting Bench pacification measures.
There were political issues involved with Chilleau Judiciary and
this last Nurail campaign, criticism between Judges on the Bench
over the Second Judge's handling of the problem; none of which was
any of her business, still less her concern.
She
could hear her berth calling to her, Calleigh, Calleigh.
And St. Clare would see the officer safe to bed. St. Clare was fond
of his officer of assignment, he took good care of Koscuisko. They
all took good care of Koscuisko. Koscuisko took unusually good care
of them, and most of them bond-involuntaries, and scarce accustomed
to being treated as people rather than particularly intelligent
deckwipes-
Calleigh,
Calleigh.
Calleigh
Samons.
Calleigh.
She
followed the siren song of her berth until she reached the sanctuary
of her quarters at last, and fell into the rumpled embrace of her
unmade bed without so much as pausing to pull her boots off.
TOP
Walls
and corridors sensibly in place once more, Infirmary was back to
normal in the aftermath of Scylla's participation in the
reduction of Eild. Andrej's Wards were filled to over-capacity,
true, but it was not unmanageable, and Fleet would have a hospital
unit on site soon enough.
Kamblynn's
wounds were healing very nicely and Kamblynn himself was in good
spirits, regaling the orderlies with his tale of how he fired the
intercept round that detonated the charges launched from the enemy
artillery platform well before it had reached its intended target-Scylla's
hull. It was a good story. It bore repeating. Andrej himself had
heard it through twice now; and Kamblynn could still make him shudder
in sympathetic horror when he got to the part where the forward
scans were sheared off by the backlash of the blast.
They
had sustained casualties, but fewer fatalities than Andrej considered
they had any right hoping for. All was well with the world on board
of Scylla once more, as far as he was concerned.
There
was only this one problem.TOP
Sitting
in the sidechair in secured quarantine with his feet up on the lip
of a storage-bin set into the wall-he'd been on his feet too long,
these past few days, it made his boots tight-Andrej reviewed his
ward reports and watched the patient's scans, thinking about his
problem. He was alone here in secured medical with the injured Nurail
sapper; there was no possible danger, because the Nurail was securely
strapped into his place, as thoroughly as his injuries would permit.
They
were severe injuries.
Unfortunately
they were not fatal ones.
There
was no question in Andrej's mind but that the Nurail would recover
in time; and what would happen to the wounded man then?
After
spending a few more moments absorbed in Pharmacy Stores the latest
audit Andrej decided it was time to discuss the matter with the
person it most concerned, and glanced up.
"I
can tell that you're awake." Awake and afraid; it was obvious enough
to anyone who knew the first thing about reading diagnostics. Fear
was the most reasonable response imaginable for a captive under
such circumstances as these; Andrej wondered whether anything he
could say would make any difference.TOP
He
would see what he could do, as much for the sake of his Captain's
honor as the prisoner's pain. "My name is Andrej Koscuisko, and
I am Ship's Surgeon here." His voice sounded curiously muted to
him in the small room, hushed against the background of white noise
from the monitors. "Everybody knows what Ship's Surgeons are. But
as long as we're wearing duty gray we're expected to confine ourselves
to strictly medical procedures."
When
he was sent out to Secured Medical duty black was the uniform of
the day. Duty black, at least partially because there was no obvious
way to tell the spilled blood of torture victims from simple sweat
on a black uniform.
"You're
prisoner on board of Scylla, Captain Irshah Parmin commanding.
Battle's over, and you've lost, brutal but true. I have a hard time
minding that. You were trying to kill us, after all."
Was
it his imagination, or did he detect the ghost of a smile on the
face of the Nurail prisoner? Hard to tell in the low light, with
the shadows falling across the patient's face. One of the rather
short run of Nurail, underfed but sinewy as stalloy, long black
curling hair matted close to the man's skull by sweat and the several
days that had gone by since he'd washed last, narrow eyes beneath
black eyebrows, some days' growth of mustache. TOP
If
the Nurail was smiling at all it was undoubtedly at the image of
Scylla destroyed in a successful attack. There was nothing
else to smile about in the situation before them. Andrej didn't
particularly appreciate the prisoner's pleasure in that thought
but found it hard to grudge it to the man regardless.
"You
notice you can't move. You're injured, and in restraints. Would
you like a drink of water?"
There
were some sounds, but not coherent ones; half-strangled grunts,
as of a man trying to force sound through a throat too dry to support
it. Their meaning was clear enough to Andrej. Rising to his feet,
stepping close beside the wounded man, Andrej toggled the bedsupports
to raise the Nurail to a modified upright position within the restrictions
imposed by the injuries he'd sustained. Tapping the siphon into
easy reach along the patient's cheek he cleared the line and set
the feed to supply on demand.
"There.
Drink as you like, it's only water. You have no reason to believe
me, I suppose, but consider that I have no particular reason to
lie to you, for reasons which are perhaps depressingly obvious to
both of us."
No
reason to try to trick the man into making the wrong move or revealing
information, because the time for tricks and information was past.
And everybody knew about the Controlled List. There was no need
for any Ship's Inquisitor to exercise himself in persuasion or trickery
when the Controlled List was replete with drugs to do the job for
him.TOP
"Let's
talk. You're prisoner here, we took you wounded. Captain doesn't
care for the idea of torturing the wounded, nor do I."
The
Nurail wasn't giving him any feedback, lying quietly with his eyes
closed now, taking short sips of water from the siphon straw. Pacing
himself, Andrej noted. Careful not to overburden his stomach all
at once with an excess of fluid. Intelligent: or educated, or perhaps
both, perhaps this sapper was an intelligent man who had also been
hurt badly enough before to have learned how best to manage his
recovery processes. That only made the prospect of putting him to
the Question even more distasteful than it had before, somehow.
"But
he won't let personal feelings stand in the way of troops' lives.
I take it your preference would be to die of wounds rather than
torture, given the fact that you are going to die."
A quick
glance from the patient; yes, Andrej decided. The Nurail already
knew that. And had been struggling with the knowledge that he faced
the unforgiving Protocols as a prisoner taken in direct attempts
to undermine the Judicial order.
"Is
there a way around the shame of torturing your enemy, when he is
wounded?" Andrej asked the ceiling, reaching into the chestplaquet
of his overblouse to pluck out the osmo he had doseloaded there.
Distracted by his internal conflict over the situation the two of
them were in together, he almost missed the signs in the Nurail's
face that told him what the Nurail meant to do —
"No."
Andrej
dropped the osmo on the sidetable hastily, taking the Nurail's head
between his two hands, putting as much pressure as he could muster
against the hinge of the Nurail's jaw to stop the man from clamping
his teeth shut.TOP
"No,
you can't get away with that, it's only temporary. And I'm trying
to find a way out of this for both of us. I don't even care if you
believe me, I'm not about to let you."
Bite
his tongue through.
Name
of the Mother.
"Why
chose to live to suffer torture when you could die here of wounds
received? Give me two eighths. It's a truth-teller, not a speakserum.
I have only one question. Please."
The
long moment dragged as the Nurail glared at him, implacable hatred
keen in his sharp eyes.
Then
slowly he relaxed his jaw.
It
could be a trick, of course, but the diagnostics were settling;
Andrej felt confident in interpreting what he saw. The Nurail was
afraid of torture, afraid of pain that would lead him to compromise
his fellows-so much was only reasonable and sensible. Intelligent.
What the Nurail was not afraid of was the truth: so he was convinced
that no information he possessed could be used to harm innocent
souls or people he loved, as long as only the truth was to be required
of him.
That
made him brave, but regrettably naïve. Any information could
be made to compromise innocent souls, any information at all. Who
better to know the truth of that than Andrej Koscuisko?
Up
to him to see things didn't get that far.TOP
Andrej
put the dose through at the Nurail sapper's shoulder, the muscle
rock-hard with tension. There should not be so much tension. It
was quite probably painful. He adjusted the rate of delivery for
the muscle relaxants in the linelink feed at the Nurail's chest,
and waited.
"This
is a drug specific to the informal questioning of persons of interest,
persons not yet Accused. And as such all it should be able to do
is guarantee to me that what you say is true. It's your choice.
But I hope you'll decide to answer me."
He
didn't like using any Controlled List drug in Infirmary; it was
a species of violation of the separation of medicine from Inquiry.
During the dark hours that passed in the aftermath of an interrogation
Andrej clung to the separation of healing from harm with ferocious
desperation to save him from the agony in his own soul; only the
desperation of this circumstance-a wounded enemy, threatened with
torture-made it possible for him to transgress to this strictly
limited extent.
"That
depends," the Nurail said. His voice seemed impossibly deep to Andrej,
resonant and even melodious. "What you're going to ask."
It
did depend; it was the Nurail's choice not to answer if he didn't
care to speak the truth. "I do not need to ask if your intent was
to destroy the ship or simply the main battle guns. The Bench will
assume as much from your presence on board of Scylla, and
the circumstances surrounding your capture."TOP
"Where
are the others?"
Having
found his voice the prisoner seemed perfectly willing to use it,
taking advantage of the situation while he could. The others . .
.
"No
others were taken alive in the attack on Scylla. They are
all dead. My Captain will wish to know: have you any knowledge that
he needs to protect the lives of crew on board this ship?"
Because
if the Nurail did there would be no help for it, and Andrej did
not have the right to set his own horror of abusing a wounded man
above the lives of the people for whom the Captain was responsible.
He would have to tell the Captain. He would have to send this injured
prisoner to Secured Medical once he was healed enough to stand up
under the Intermediate Levels; which would probably kill him, but
all too slowly.
There
was a long moment of considering. Had he found the right phrase?
Had he asked what he needed to know in a way that a Nurail prisoner
could see his way clear to answering, and not dishonor himself?
Then
the Nurail sighed so deeply that it came out half a sob, choked
back bitterly with a spasm of pain. "There's nothing left, torturer.
All we could do we've done. Oh, God forgive me, that I lived to
know it."
Well,
hypothetically that could be interpreted as indicating that an ambush
or delayed attack of some sort had already been set up, and not
yet sprung.
But
Andrej didn't think so.TOP
And
he was willing to take responsibility for it if he had made a mistake.
He had been Ship's Inquisitor for three years on board of Scylla,
and while Captain Irshah Parmin did what he could to minimize the
requirements for his torturer's skills Andrej considered that he
had come to learn the sound of hopelessness in the voice of a prisoner.
"But
since you've asked. If you kept your mouth shut and looked stupid
you could pass for bastard Nurail yourself, torturer." The prisoner's
voice was serene and almost cheerful, now, as though relief-a question
he could answer without shame-made him a little giddy. "And that
I'll tell you free and fairly, gift-like. That could save your live
someday, I suppose. But I hope not."
"You
are very generous. My mother will thank all Saints for your charity."
No, he was being a little giddy himself, and they still had serious
business to address. "Are you in pain? There is additional relief
available, you are set up to self-medicate."
Now
the Nurail was confused, and frowned. "A little. Nothing to what
you've planned for me, I'm sure."
"Have
we any hope of useful information from you whatever?"
"Useful
to accuse honest Nurail of crimes the Bench will invent against
them? Could be. Useful to save your people from peril? None."TOP
There
was nothing more to say or hear. Only one final choice remained
to be made; whether the Nurail would find his own way out-or whether
it would be for Andrej to murder him, here, in secured quarantine,
and commit a crime to prevent a blacker crime from happening.
Tucking
the pulsebulb into the Nurail's half-closed left hand Andrej tagged
the retards on the medlines. "Give it a squeeze, doesn't need to
be too hard. You'll get a dose of sergui, drug of choice for pain
management in class four hominids like Nurail. Try it."
There
was no reason why the man should trust him, but it was true that
the Nurail was in pain. He closed his fist on the pulsebulb, then
relaxed. Nodding approvingly, Andrej watched the diagnostics report
the release of the narcotic dose; followed fairly rapidly by the
desired effect on the patient's level of distress.
"There
is a problem with this machine, though," Andrej added carefully.
It was a risk. But the prisoner was intelligent. With luck the Captain
would decline to investigate . . . "The calibration's gone off.
We wouldn't be using it ordinarily, it's just because we have so
many patients on Wards. Hit the bulb too many times in succession
and we'll never have a chance to test your truth in Secured Medical,
it'll be 'died of wounds received' instead. Or else I am to have
an 'accidental overdose' reprimand in my performance assessments."
TOP
And
if the Nurail didn't take him up on that promise there would be
nothing left to do but to do it himself, and poison the man with
the narcotic. It was inconsistent of him to be unhappy about that,
Andrej knew. Why should the prospect of one murder trouble him,
when he had committed so many other murders before this? Why should
he be reluctant to face killing a man so benignly as by drugging
him to death, who had killed others by atrocious torture?
"Why-"
The
Nurail started to ask the obvious question. Andrej could only guess
that the answer was as obvious, because the Nurail didn't bother
to complete the question, squeezing steadily on the pulsebulb.
There,
that would do it.
Five
times the normal dose flooded the line into the Nurail's body.
His
hand fell limp.
He
blinked twice, as if in astonishment.
He
closed his eyes.TOP
It
would be an eight or more before the Nurail actually died, the action
of the drug being what it was. If he left now it would be clear
that the prisoner had obtained an accidental overdose while alone
in the room; the alarms had not gone off because the flow restrict
registered no anomaly.
Andrej
set the pulsebulb to rights against the patient's motionless hand,
to make clear how the accident had happened. "Wish me luck explaining
this to Captain," he said aloud to the as-good-as-empty room, grateful
beyond his expectation to the anonymous Nurail for making the best
choice.
If
anybody asked awkward questions he would just claim to have been
over-tired, and to have forgotten to set a counter to restrict the
flow of the medication.
But
somehow he did not expect that anyone would really care to probe
too deeply into the event.
—
End —
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