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The
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No
question, it was so odd as to be unsettling, to be called for in
this way. Robert had never known his Excellency to call for one
of his Security to join him in Secured Medical when there was no
prisoner there.
Lek's
face displayed clear apprehension; but there was nothing to be done
about it except go. His Excellency was the officer. It was for them
to only do as they were told, and the fact that their Judicial masters
had not replaced his governor didn't really change anything about
that for Robert. He was a bond-involuntary, as was Lek. He had years
of conditioning behind him, whether or not there was a governor
implanted in his head poised to provide discipline for resistance
of conditioning.
Since
Lek had been sent to fetch him, it wasn't necessary to post to First
Officer's duty status with his whereabouts; as long as he was properly
accompanied he was allowed to go in and out of quarters, after all.
Still, it almost seemed to Robert that Lek glanced toward the talk-alert
on the wall as Robert rose in obedience to the summons, as though
Lek rather wished he was required to tell somebody.
Worried?
Or
was it just invention on his own part?
It
wore on a man to be free in his mind, and understand by the absence
of the governor how much of a slave he had become over the years.
TOP
If
Lek was worried there was little either of them could do about it.
Checking his uniform for the proper trim, only half-hesitating in
front of the mirror, Robert followed Lek out of quarters, to go
and see what the officer desired of him.
Secured
Medical.
A
fearful place.
The
door to the wait-room was closed, but not secured, and the wait-room
itself was empty inside. They had to wait for the outer door to
close before they could signal for admittance, but Lek had nothing
to say while they stood waiting. What good would it do to say anything?
Lek couldn't know what Robert himself knew. There was a reason that
Koscuisko might want him here in Secured Medical. But no one except
for his Excellency — and Chief Stildyne — could know what
that reason might be; unless . . .
The
inner door opened, but Koscuisko did not stand in the doorway waiting,
as he might when he was at work within and wished to conceal the
distressing sight of a wounded body from the eyes of his Security.
The officer sat in his chair in the middle of Secured Medical, leaning
well back with his legs stretched out at length in front of him
and one arm fallen limp to the outside of the chair's arm.
"Stand
on watch, Lek," his Excellency said. "Outside. Robert, come in,
and close the door. I want to talk to you."
There
was nothing to be read in Koscuisko's voice, except that he didn't
sound as though he had somehow become beguiled and bewildered by
some remembered prisoner's torment. The officer's voice was not
usually very opaque; it was almost always possible to guess at his
mind from the weight he put on one word or another. Not just now,
though.
He
wouldn't want to give Lek clues, Robert thought. TOP
The
idea should have made him tremble in fear for his life. But he'd
been expecting this; this, or something similar in one way or another.
The conviction that was growing in his heart seemed to bring no
emotion but relief.
Lek
bowed and stepped back through the open doorway, a look of curious
hunger on his face. Koscuisko had never shielded himself in front
of them, and Lek clearly knew that something was wrong.
Lek
would know equally as well that Koscuisko particularly meant him
to mind his own business and watch the door.
Robert
waited until he heard the door slide completely closed before crossing
the room to stand before his officer, and bow in turn.
"His
Excellency called for me, sir."
Koscuisko
would not look at him, staring past him at the wall beyond. There
was something in Koscuisko's hand, Koscuisko's right hand —
the hand that had been concealed from sight as long as Robert stood
at the door to the left of the room. Whatever it was, it was about
the size and shape of an index cube: something on Record.
"Indeed
I did, Robert." A quick glance up at Robert's face, now, and the
look in the officer's clear ice-gray eyes was torment. Pure and
simple. "Be so good as to have a look at this with me, it is of
young Hanner. It is not pleasant. But there is a problem." TOP
Well,
if Koscuisko wanted them to watch something together, he had to
get out of Koscuisko's line of sight. The Record displayed against
the wall, when it displayed. Robert shifted to his post without
comment, but Koscuisko would not let him step back half-a-pace once
Robert had moved to Koscuisko's left. The officer put out his hand
and held Robert on a line with where he sat, and Robert stilled
himself in obedience to Koscuisko's unstated wish.
Koscuisko
keyed the rehearse.
The
Record came on line.
Skelern
Hanner, bound and bloodied, beaten, chained on his knees on the
floor.
The
officer in his under-blouse, crouching on his heels beside his prisoner,
reaching out his hands to Hanner's shoulder with an expression of
greed and keen hungry desire on his face.
Eight
years, and it never got easier to see —
No,
there was something in particular that the officer wanted him to
attend to. Koscuisko hadn't ever sat to rehearse the Record for
his pleasure; still less had he ever called his Security to watch.
There was some reason that Koscuisko was showing him this sequence.
Koscuisko
on Record worked with Hanner's shoulder, and Hanner screamed and
screamed and screamed, but it did him no good to scream — and
Hanner knew it, as far as Robert could tell. It was just that a
man could not help screaming. It hurt too much. Koscuisko had laid
hands on him in such a way, once, years ago, and Robert could still
remember —
Frowning,
the image of Koscuisko on Record sat back from digging his thumbs
into Hanner's shoulder. Thought, or seemed to think, for a moment.
Went for the boy's right shoulder, then, but not like before, and
wearing a frown that spoke of realization and increasing horror.
TOP
Robert
understood it, all too well.
Koscuisko
stopped the Record, but it was too late. There was no mistaking
Koscuisko's point; not for either of them. Robert closed his eyes
against the image and swallowed hard. He couldn't quite keep his
balance, with his eyes closed; and staggered where he stood.
Koscuisko's
hands caught him and kept him from falling, guiding him carefully
to his knees on the floor. Koscuisko was on his feet, then. Robert
could feel the warmth of Koscuisko's body close beside him, and
waited in hopeless humility for what would happen next.
"You
have seen the problem, then, Robert," Koscuisko murmured. Almost
as if he were talking to himself. The fist of Koscuisko's right
hand lay lightly on Robert's left shoulder, now, and Robert was
grateful for the touch. He couldn't look. He didn't want to look.
What was there to look at? And there was nothing to see anyway,
because there was water in his eyes now, hot and salt and stinging.
"Even
so, your Excellency." Robert's voice sounded surprisingly strong
and confident, to himself. Almost soothing, really. Almost as though
it was Koscuisko who was to be comforted, which was not really the
point of this. Not really. "The problem. As you say. Sir."
"For
days I have upon this problem meditated." Robert could hear the
grief in Koscuisko's voice, as clear as the heart-rending cadence
of the man abandoned in the weave that was called Bitterest of Fates.
It didn't make things very much easier either. "If there should
be a review. It is a question natural to arise. And if a man had
no warning. Else measures could safely be postponed."
Koscuisko
was a Judicial officer, as well as a Fleet officer. Koscuisko knew
as much as - or more than - anyone about how such things might come
about. Robert could find no argument with the officer's line of
reasoning. TOP
He
had nothing to say.
Therefore
he merely reached up to his shoulder to take Koscuisko's hand, and
kissed the knuckle of Koscuisko's thumb in reluctant — but
absolute — submission to Koscuisko's will.
He
was only a bond-involuntary.
But
it went much further than that.
Eight
years ago and more, now, when he had first met the officer, Koscuisko
had defended him before the Bench, and accepted responsibility.
"Oh,
Robert," Koscuisko said, and put his hand to Robert's eyes, thumb
and fingertips touching the closed lids. "Only I will not insult
you, by telling you how keen a sorrow it is to me that such a thing
should come between us."
In
eight years or more there had been no distance put between them,
not by the officer. Eight years. He had seen his sister. She would
be well, and the Danzilar prince was to be her patron, and preserve
her in dignity and honor until the Day. The hand that Koscuisko
held to Robert's eyes was delicately placed, he put so little pressure
to the lids of Robert's closed eyes that it was almost as much just
the warmth of proximity that kept Robert's eyes closed.
But
Robert knew what the gesture meant.
And
would not go back on the submission he had made, kissing Koscuisko's
hand; not even knowing as he did what Koscuisko had in mind when
Koscuisko put his hand up to cover someone's eyes.
What
could he say? TOP
There
was a sound, there, subtle and innocuous, except that Robert knew
what it was and what it meant. It was the catch on the sheathe of
the knife that Koscuisko wore on his forearm, up his sleeve. Releasing,
so that the knife would slide into its master's hand, to be there
ready for Koscuisko's use.
Koscuisko
raised his hand to the back of Robert's neck, and Robert felt the
pinprick, the point of the knife. The officer had always dealt honestly
with him: dealt honestly with him now. They both knew that he was
going to die. As much as Robert wanted to live — and he didn't
want to die — he could not find it in him to reproach the officer,
or fault Koscuisko's reasoning.
"Could
I ask, sir." Nothing was more certain in his mind than that Koscuisko
wanted desperately for it to be different, and had not been able
to find a way to make it so. Koscuisko was much more intelligent
than he was, Robert had always believed that to be so. If the officer
could not find a way there was quite possibly no way to be found
— and still it was his life. "That you would use the one that
liberated Joslire."
Keyed
up and determined as Koscuisko was he staggered in turn, hearing
the words, and caught at Robert to steady himself. "As you best
like, Robert," Koscuisko said, in a voice that was almost just a
sob. "Oh, but I have loved, and will miss thee —"
The
door between rooms began to slide open, and Koscuisko turned, holding
desperately to Robert where he knelt. Chief Stildyne's voice, and
it sounded as though it was coming from a very great distance away,
to Robert.
"I
don't like it, Lek. It's uncharacteristic. Over-ruled. Your protest
is noted, thanks. Now get out of my way." TOP
"Oh,
not so soon as this, no, surely not," Koscuisko whispered, as if
to himself, in a voice heavy with dread. "It cannot be that I have
failed you, Robert, no, I will not fail you, I must not -"
The
officer had never failed him. The officer could not. But there was
no way in which to tell the officer so, or if there was Robert had
yet to puzzle it out. It was too late. He was to die. Koscuisko
was not willing to put him at risk of suffering the penalty for
his crime, and just as well, for what would become of him else when
he was placed once again under governor?
"Your
Excellency." Stildyne was inside the room, now, and approaching,
from the sound of his voice. "Stand away from St. Clare, sir, let's
talk about this."
Koscuisko
would not stand away. Koscuisko slid his hand away from Robert's
eyes to the side of Robert's face, and held Robert's head to him
in a desperate embrace. "You have no right, and no idea. Go away.
Leave me alone, it is bad enough already."
Though
Robert could open his eyes he had trouble getting them to focus.
He could hear as well as ever, though. Stildyne was not backing
down; and Robert wished him fervently into Hell for his interference.
This
was nothing to do with Chief Stildyne.
Resent
it though Stildyne did there were intimacies Koscuisko adamantly
reserved for his bond-involuntaries assigned and no one else; and
this was one of them, the pricking of the knife against the back
of his neck to take his life, as Koscuisko had taken Joslire's life.
According to his Excellency's good pleasure.
"Sir,
I don't know what's on your mind, but I have a right to be consulted.
I'm responsible to First Officer for your people. I'm responsible
to you. Talk to me, Andrej." TOP
So
near as to touch, now, but not presuming so far as to touch. Koscuisko
straightened up a bit. But he still kept his hand against the back
of Robert's neck, and the blade of the knife still lay against the
palm of Koscuisko's hand, between them.
"It
is between me and him," Koscuisko insisted, stubbornly. "Nor do
I intend to be put aside from what must be done. You are insubordinate,
Mister Stildyne. I tell you again to go away."
Oh,
it was an unfair thing to say to Stildyne. Robert knew the injustice
of it even as Stildyne replied, accepting the rebuke, not protesting,
but not going away either.
"If
it must not in fact be done. Sir. You're making a mistake. I didn't
put him through that to have him killed. You're over-reacting. Stand
away."
Stildyne
understood. Why should that surprise him? Robert wondered. Hadn't
Stildyne put him to keep watch over his Megh?
And
still the officer had intended and determined upon it, and was not
to be turned from his purpose easily. Robert knelt quietly where
he was, as certain as he'd ever been of anything that Andrej Koscuisko
wished him only well and would take care of him as best Koscuisko
saw fit.
"What
do you mean to say, Mister Stildyne?"
"Sir,
Robert's governor." Now at last it seemed that Stildyne dared to
reach out for the officer's knife-hand, and move it away. "He probably
doesn't even remember. Traumatic amnesia, temporal proximity. All
of those things." TOP
Something
was happening. Koscuisko's center of gravity seemed to shift, somehow,
and though he still held to Robert with his free hand there was
no sense of holding him away from interference on Stildyne's part.
Koscuisko was holding him because they were each balanced against
each other, and if Koscuisko moved they were both going to fall
over. "This you had not told me," Koscuisko said, and it was an
accusation - one that seemed to strike Chief Stildyne to the heart.
"It
was the only thing I could think of to keep him quiet." But Stildyne
had made up his mind to confess himself, apparently. Since there
was to be no help for it. "You think I meant to mention it to either
of you? Ever? But there it is. It's my fault the governor went critical.
Me that pushed him over. I didn't like what he was trying to say
to me. And I wasn't about to let him say anything at all, where
somebody might hear him."
"Let
me see if I understand you." The officer's voice had gone flat neutral:
which could be a bad sign. For somebody. "You mean to invoke —
what means of assurance, against what we all fear?"
"Vogel's
confessed." It came out petition, rather than the statement that
it would otherwise have been. "And. Governor gone critical, just
a few hours after the incident. Unrecoverable evidence, sir, and
no reason for anyone to ever come looking for it."
"And
on such grounds as these - you wish to risk - "
It
came to Robert, now, finally, that he was not going to die today,
at least not at Koscuisko's hand. There had been no words to that
effect: not yet. And still the idea came to him quite suddenly.
The emotional impact of the relief was more unnerving than his earlier
apprehension of near death had been.
"I
respectfully request permission," Stildyne replied, with grim petition.
"To be responsible. And do what is required. Only when it is clearly
required, sir, it's early yet, we could get clear of this, and you
can't want him dead. I won't believe it." TOP
What
had he told himself, Robert thought, the first he could remember
after the operation, in the fresh and keen dread he had of being
alive with such a thing held over his officer and him alike?
Stildyne
would kill Robert himself, before Stildyne permitted grief to touch
the life of Andrej Koscuisko.
It
had given comfort to him then.
It
made sense even now.
"To
suggest such a thing, Chief, it would have repercussions, and they
would be more severe for you than for me," Koscuisko reminded Stildyne.
But Koscuisko was half-convinced. Robert could hear it in his voice.
"It's
Robert subject to severe sanctions." Well, about time someone remembered
him, Robert decided. His knees were beginning to hurt. His heart
already ached: for the distress his maister had been in, to force
him to so extreme a course of action; for Stildyne, helpless against
Koscuisko's displeasure as he had probably never been helpless in
his life, without ways or means to shield himself from the calamity
that was Andrej Koscuisko; for himself. Because he'd almost died,
almost been killed. And death was terminal. He could take his death
from Koscuisko's hand and thank his maister for it, Robert knew
that. And yet — not to have to die -
Stildyne
was still talking. "But only if something goes wrong. You don't
need to do this yet. Wait a while. I wouldn't steer you wrong on
this one, Andrej, you can believe me or not, I can't make you."
So
Stildyne didn't believe he'd be found out. TOP
And
was willing to pledge to Andrej Koscuisko to take the Law into his
own hands, if Robert was found out, and murder him before it came
to the Tenth Level. It would mean the same for Stildyne, more or
less, but Robert knew something about Stildyne that he didn't think
Koscuisko understood. Stildyne was serious. Nothing like Andrej
Koscuisko had happened to Stildyne in his life, till now. Operating
outside everything he understood, everything he'd learned, everything
he thought he knew, Stildyne was as naked in front of the officer
as any fool passionate with love and helpless to communicate it.
Robert
was convinced.
He
didn't have to die. Not yet. Not today.
Could
the officer be convinced, though?
Koscuisko
knelt down suddenly to crouch on his heels and look up into Robert's
face. There was a faint and hopeful light in Koscuisko's eyes that
Robert almost dreaded to see; because he knew he would say anything
to set that hope free in his maister's heart. And it was a risk.
"What
is your thought, Robert? Do we trust in our good Chief to protect
us?"
He
could hardly speak. And could only guess how the intimacy of Koscuisko's
phrase, "our good Chief," would burn in Stildyne's mind. "It is
his job, your Excellency." Stildyne was a Chief Warrant Officer.
It was his job. He was responsible to First Officer for the lives
of his troops assigned, bond-involuntary and not bounded. "His Excellency
has frequently held forth at length on the sensibleness of letting
a man do his job without interference."
It
was only the first thing that Stildyne had loved about Koscuisko,
Koscuisko gave honor and respect to Stildyne as well as bond-involuntaries,
and Stildyne had too often shared the subordinate's experience of
being spoken to as though he did not know his own job. It was a
trick Koscuisko had learned from his childhood, Robert thought;
one that had served Koscuisko well in Fleet. TOP
Koscuisko
dropped his gaze for a moment's consideration, but when he met Robert's
eyes once more his fear was naked on his face. "The risk," Koscuisko
said. "Robert. Dare we."
All
right. He would say it. Since he had been asked. Because his obligation
to Koscuisko was deep and wide and strong in its current, but it
was his life, even if the officer had purchased it from the Bench
with four-and-fourty all those years ago.
"It's
the only life I've got, sir." An obvious point; but Koscuisko was
clearly too much distressed in mind for subtle concepts. "I'd just
as soon hang on to it. With permission. There will be time enough
to decide what to do when the issue is raised."
If
it ever was.
It
took time to process evidence and condemn a man to the extreme penalty.
Fleet would want to autopsy, to see what had gone wrong with his
governor. Maybe they wouldn't invoke the Tenth Level against a bond-involuntary
at all. An embarrassment, surely, they'd have to acknowledge that
the governor had failed; it would be easier for Fleet to remind
him that he had transgressed, and then let the new governor that
they would impose on him do its work.
Stildyne
bent down, reaching for Koscuisko's elbow to help him to his feet.
"Where there's life there's wiggle room," Stildyne said. "I won't
let you down, your Excellency, either of you. I promise. I'll swear,
if I need to."
And
in that moment of time as Koscuisko rose Koscuisko made up his mind.
"Your promise is enough, Chief. I accept. Take Robert away, he has
had a terrible shock, I have abused his trust." TOP
Stildyne
reached for Robert himself, now, and Robert didn't mind bracing
himself against Stildyne as he struggled awkwardly to his feet.
He was shaky. He had been so close. He couldn't think about it.
"Sorry,
sir, we're all going together. Lek will help Robert. Leaving this
place now, sir."
No,
Stildyne could not let Koscuisko be alone in Secured Medical. Koscuisko
had been ready to murder Robert, because he had convinced himself
that he had no alternative. Koscuisko would be in sad shape too,
and Koscuisko had less shape to sadden than Robert did in the first
place.
"Holy
Mother, Stildyne, am I never to be obeyed by my own people —"
But
Koscuisko's voice was too clearly almost at its breaking point.
"We
can sit outside for as long as you like," Stildyne assured Koscuisko,
with grim implacable resolve. "But not in here. Robert, if you would
go let Lek know we're leaving."
Robert
staggered for the door, and out of the room.
He
was not dead.
Koscuisko
had not had to execute him.
Whatever
came of Koscuisko's fears Stildyne would manage the problem, surely.
Stildyne managed Koscuisko himself well enough when he had to.
The
combination of emotions was too much for Robert. He fell into Lek's
arms, and wept. TOP
—
End —
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