Prisoner of Conscience

by Susan R. Matthews

  And each Safe on a necklace of fine chain to hang around a man’s neck, and sit close to the governor, and transmit its carefully restricted signal to the governor to keep it lulled to sleep until such time as the governor could be surgically removed by someone with experience.

  “Thank you.” He still didn’t know what to call them. “It is a very great privilege. And orders?”

  He would have liked to do the surgery himself. But he wasn’t sure he trusted the level of the technical sophistication at the local hospital to support so delicate a thing. The dancing-master smiled; a very warm and confiding smile, really. Andrej had not cared for the dancing-masters from the moment he realized that they frightened his people. The goodwill in the dancing-master’s smile reconciled Andrej considerably.

  “To be read aloud, your Excellency, before, during, or after. At his Excellency’s discretion.”

  And it should be soon. At once. Immediately.

  “Miss Samons, if you would close the door.”

  He would speak to Code and 5.3; but this was first. Rising to his feet, Andrej gathered the Safes up into his hand and approached the senior man on 5.4. Toska was as white in the face as Andrej had ever seen in his own mirror, mornings that followed an excess of drink. He could have smiled. But this was solemn business: more so than anything in these peoples’ lives.

  “Attention to orders,” the senior dancing-master began. Andrej raised an eyebrow at Toska, who realized finally that he was to bow so that Andrej could slip the Safe over his head. “In the matter of the petition of Fleet Captain Irshah Parmin on behalf of Jurisdiction Fleet Ship Scylla. For meritorious service above and beyond the requirements of duty, Revocation of Bond is granted to the following Bench resources.”

  Toska, then Kaydence. The dancing-master read their names; they were different than the ones Andrej knew. Real names. Who had Joslire been?

  Toska Simmanye. Kaydence Varrish. Finally Erish Tallis. They were all on Safe; free men, and soon to be free forever, once the governor in their brains that enforced their Bonds was removed. Free: but still and stiffly at attention. Andrej stepped back to stand with the dancing-master, who was finishing his speech.

  “The before-named therefore to travel at Bench expense to the nearest Fleet rated facility for restoration of organic integrity.” Surgery, he meant. “Cadre officers Attis and Fisemost to accompany and arrange for adequate debriefing prior to return to civilian life. Accrued pay and benefits to be awarded in addition to Fleet meritorious service pension for life. By the Bench instruction, na Roqua den Tensa, First Judge, Fontailloe Judiciary, Presiding.”

  Free.

  Andrej stepped forward on impulse, not trusting himself to speak; and put his arms around Erish, who was nearest. Kissing him formally, with heartfelt emotion, first on one cheek and then on the other. Feeling his way, through the tears that blurred his vision, to the next man, to embrace him in like kind and be embraced. They were free. And to him it had been granted, through no merit of his own, to see at least these many of his gentlemen safe and away.

  But there was one missing.

  Andrej stared at the empty place for a long moment.

  Joslire was free, too; and had known the time and the place of his emancipation. And had rejoiced in it.

  “I must to the others go out and speak.” They all knew but Code; maybe Chief Samons was telling poor Code even now. “If you would stand by, gentles, it will be one moment.”

  Why should they?

  He wasn’t their officer any longer.

  There was no reason they should listen to him.

  But they would always have been his Security; and that reminded him, something of which he had only fantasized in years gone by. He could take care of them, as they had taken care of him.

  “I will for you provide letters of introduction, you shall go to the familial corporation if you like.” It could be that they would find themselves at loose ends, no matter how good the debriefing support to be provided. “That you are no longer bound to Fleet, I cannot but rejoice for you. And there is no claim I have to lay upon you for your service, but strong claim in your hands to make against my family, as it may please you.”

  He probably wasn’t making sense. And they probably wouldn’t get anywhere near anything that reminded them of him, not by choice, ever. Why should they? That they had shared an unequal partnership with him had been his privilege. But it had been their punishment. “For what has in the past been between us it is your right to claim honor and comfort, sustenance and maintenance and all due respect. For as long as you live, if you elect it.”

  And Joslire, Joslire was to be remembered in his turn . . .

  “You’re wrong, you know. Sir.” Toska was clearly struggling with something, swallowing hard on his emotion. “To say you have no claim. After these three years, sir. You can’t expect us to forget everything you’ve done for us. Just because we get — to go free.”

  Oh, he was going to miss them. But he’d know they were free: not under some other officer’s direction, to be subject to potential reprimand. “You are right, Toska, and I am a sinner.” Toska had taken better care of him than that. No governor under Jurisdiction could make a bond-involuntary extend his unspoken support by choice. “There is no use pretending that you have not been good to me over and above your Bond, all of this time. The bond that is between us cannot so easily be revoked, no matter the distance that should separate.”

  They would no longer be bond-involuntary troops, Security slaves. But they would always be bonded to him, and he to them.

  There was no loss in them going after all.

  ###

  Ailynn had seen the three reborn men on their way in the company of the dancing-masters. Code had introduced her to his fellows, the new team that had been sent to wait upon the officer, and gave her credence amongst them. Now it had been eight weeks since she had gone with Kaydence, who was no longer to be called Psimas, down the wall; and pleasant as her life had been, it could not last. She knew it.

  Eight weeks.

  First they had moved from the prison to a house in Port Rudistal, but the officer had not been satisfied with those lodgings; and had moved himself within days to a house he liked better. How he had come by it Ailynn didn’t know, nor did she ask — she knew her place.

  It was not so big a house, perhaps, but there was room enough for the officer and his Security and the house-staff besides. The officer had brought the cook from the penthouse at the prison to prepare their meals, but he would not have Pyana housekeepers, and had hired Nurail from the camps instead.

  Left her to manage them.

  Eight weeks, and she had ruled the officer’s household as the keeper of his keys, and stirred neither foot nor finger to her own work except to see that the toweling was warmed for his bath and to warm the bed beside him while he slept. He’d mostly only slept in bed, these eight weeks past; busy at the prison and in the camps with the taking in of evidence and dispositions with speak-sera, and no torture.

  It wore on him, regardless. He was deeper into drink than he had been before: and why should she take a second thought for it? Except that he had treated her decently.

  Still, something that Ailynn didn’t understand was happening.

  The officer had received his orders; he was called back to his ship-duty and due to leave Port Rudistal within three weeks. The business of the Domitt was not concluded: it was hardly well begun, but Fleet would have its Inquisitor back, a good indication that the officer was half-vindicated already. The Bench had sent audit teams, and the officer had given his evidence, his personal evidence, even as she had. Now the Bench audit teams would take the matter in hand.

  It was the Bench, and not Andrej Koscuisko, that would continue the work of excavating at the prison and the reclamation site for physical evidence. It was the Bench, and not the officer, that would sift through what records could be recovered and cross-reference them with those available at the relocation camp to try to qua
ntify for good and all how many had died, and how.

  The Bench, and not the officer, to pursue the horror of what had been the Domitt Prison, and how it had been allowed to come about, and what was to be done to ensure that it would not happen again. The officer would come back to Rudistal to execute what penalty the Bench adjudged against whichever parties were eventually found guilty of actual crimes: but had his duty to Fleet in the meantime, and could not be spared past three weeks the longer.

  So why was he furnishing this house?

  Why had he troubled to engage a gardener to tend the salad-plot, and had the compound wall repaired, the black slate roof inspected and re-proofed against the weather?

  There had been workmen in the house all week with furnishings the like of which Ailynn had never seen before. Room by room, removing what had been there, replacing it all with strange rich alien forms that fascinated Ailynn.

  It made her half-drunk just to look at such carpeting, as thick and wild and fanciful as its pattern was; drunker still to touch the roses that bloomed in well-oiled wood along the footboard of the small self-contained room that the moving crew had put into the officer’s bedroom.

  They were all Dolgorukij, the work-crew, the furnishings from the officer’s home-world, and they treated her with a deference that Ailynn couldn’t quite understand.

  In the evening after the officer had washed and had his evening meal — a cold buffet, since Cook was struggling with an arcane toy in the kitchen, an intricate piece of machinery for the preparation and serving of rhyti — he drew her off with him to the side sitting-room, where an immense divan had been carefully placed to afford the best view of the garden. Or of the draperies, which were closed.

  “Ailynn, please. A conversation. Something which I should have mentioned weeks ago, I do not know quite how to approach this.”

  He was wondering about her tip, perhaps. Such things were usually figured on the number of nights a patron had hired her; but he had merely slept in the same bed for three times as many nights as he had exercised himself with her for pleasure. Extra spending money was always nice, and she was allowed to keep her tips for her own use; but it didn’t matter so much.

  She’d had months now of liberty with him. Months of sleeping with only one man — how was she to go back to servicing multiple patrons, and every night?

  “One hears stories about the things that go on in a service house. It may be indelicate to ask, but I am curious. If pressed hard to it I might even admit to having played some fantasy story or another in a service house, for amusement’s sake.”

  Leaning well back into the cushions of the divan. Staring at the drapes. She had always thought his rest-dress made him look much younger than he did in duty uniform. “It’s actually something to look forward to, most of the time. Breaks the monotony.” He didn’t care to be called “sir,” and she couldn’t quite bring herself to say “Andrej.” She compromised by not calling him anything. “And usually light duty, if you follow. I don’t mind it, dressing up.”

  He knew exactly what she was talking about. And grinned. She relaxed a bit into the cushions herself: They were very tempting. “The standard range of taboo violations, I would guess, Ailynn. Gender identification. Prohibited degrees of relationship. Unusual accommodations. Religion.”

  And more, yes. “Yes, but what religion? That can make all the difference. You can’t begin to imagine. With respect.” Why, when she thought of some of the scenes that she had helped to stage —

  “Very true.” The lights were not very bright in the sitting room. Frowning, the officer fumbled at the base of the nearest table-lamp for a moment; it grew brighter, and he relaxed once more, his hands deep in his pockets now and his feet stretched stiffly out in front of him. “I suppose that if one’s patron wished one to merely pray it need not be too strenuous.”

  “Pray how, to whom, how long, and in what manner?” she argued, half-serious. She enjoyed the conversations that she had with him, infrequent though they were. If it hadn’t been that he was just a patron, she just a Service bond-involuntary, she would have had to seriously contemplate missing him, when he was gone. Rather than simply missing the privileged life that she had led with him.

  “Oh. Let us say, on one’s knees four days in a week, and with full prostrations on fifth-days. For example. To someone’s Mother who is probably not listening, but never mind.” Head leaned back against the edge of the divan, now, staring at the ceiling. She could interpret neither his expression nor his voice. He sounded as though he was just thinking out loud; and yet she somehow felt he had rehearsed this. “In two periods of prayer, morning and evening, and in a foreign language. For an hour each time. Sometimes two hours at a stretch. Every day.”

  It certainly sounded commonplace enough to Ailynn. “A foreign language? And what if one couldn’t speak such a tongue? What sort of patron do we deal with, here, who takes gratification in such things?”

  Turning his head to look at her now; she still couldn’t decide about his face. “This would be much easier if you came to sit in my lap, here, Ailynn. It would be very good of you indeed to do so.”

  It would be only what she was paid to do. But never mind that. She was almost happy to oblige him for his own sake. It was comfortable, settling into his arms; she knew his warmth and his smell and the scent of the soap he used. He had taught her body to trust itself into his hands. Ailynn put her forehead to his cheek and pressed the issue.

  “Now tell me why a man would spend good money just to have somebody pray twice a day. Even with prostrations, and a foreign tongue.”

  It was very nice to sit in the officer’s lap. The strength of his arms was a comfort, when she knew it was just to hold her. “Well. We will say, let’s suppose. First. That a man is too vain to wish to realize that he is to be compared with others, when he’s gone. And to be found wanting.”

  Whatever that meant. He wasn’t serious, she was sure. Ailynn rested herself in silence, content to listen while the officer mused aloud.

  “Next it would have to be that a man had been killed, and deserved prayers. Hypothetically this would be Joslire, whom you have not met.”

  Not met, but had come to know by the echo of his absence. Even now Code suffered. It was getting better: but why did Koscuisko use the present tense?

  “After that it would have to be a man with businesspeople to negotiate, and make a contract. But then here is a problem. We would have to suppose that such a man is also boneheaded enough to have simply decided, and made arrangements, without even once asking the lady. Because he was distracted, and could not decide how the issue to raise. It would seem that he had no respect for her, to arrange things behind her back in that manner.”

  The hesitation and regret in the officer’s voice were too genuine. Ailynn sat up, to look him in the eye.

  “What. Are you saying. Exactly. If you please. Sir.”

  “Angry with me,” Koscuisko murmured as if to himself, raising his left hand to stroke her cheek gently with his fingertips. “And has a right to be. I will come out with it, all at once.”

  It took him a moment to collect his thoughts regardless. Then when he spoke, it was dead serious.

  “Ailynn, I have seen the four of my gentlemen free, and three of them living. I cannot buy your Bond from the Bench, you know that.” Only a member of her own family could redeem her. And her family were all dead: not as if they could have found the price of her Bond in any case.

  “And Joslire’s memory is to be served in a dedicated establishment, by the prayers of a nun. A religious professional. A woman who has been procured for that purpose. You need not go back to the service house, Ailynn, but if you do not you must say the prayers. Twice a day. Every day. For the next twenty-six years.”

  She couldn’t believe him.

  The words were so strange they seemed hardly in Standard.

  Twenty-six years?

  The term of her Bond ran for twenty-six more years.

  Koscu
isko knew that.

  Had he done this for her?

  “Oh, it must have cost you — no, too much money.” She was horrified at the magnitude of it. “Do you mean it? I don’t have to go back?”

  Maybe he had done it; but not for her, for his man Joslire. It didn’t matter. If she didn’t have to go back to that place, she would learn whatever it was that they wanted, she’d learn how to pray, and she’d do it wholeheartedly, in thanks for deliverance.

  “No one can make you.” Cupping her face in the palm of his hand, now. “I have seen the contract, it says that I hire you for all day, every day, until the Day dawns for you. If you consent you will be Joslire’s nun. This house will be for you, and people to run it; you will be mistress here. It need not be too hard for you, Ailynn, I promise. The life of a nun in the church of my blood is not at base difficult.”

  It didn’t sound hard. It could be hard; she didn’t care. He was willing to hire her out of the service house, and whatever it was to be a nun — or whatever else — to be clear of the service house was more than she’d dreamt of.

  “You. Cannot know. You cannot imagine.” Or maybe he could. Maybe that was why. “I would do anything. Learn Dolgorukij.”

  “Are not angry?” He was kissing her, now, kissing the tears from her cheeks one by one, supping her salt tears with tender care. “Very highhanded, and to have bought you. When you cannot be bought. Even though the Bench sold you.”

  It was too much.

  She had to shut him up.

  There was a way she had learned how to do it.

  She had to be sure that he stayed shut up: so she did it again, and more thoroughly this time.

  After a while it was quieter, between them, and the officer held her, stroking her hair. “There will be a tutor for you.” As if he was thinking out loud, almost. Or as if he had kept the details to himself for so long that he needed to get them all out at once, since he’d finally told. “A Reconciler, of St. Andrej Malcontent I think. Uncle Radu would insist on a Filial Piety, but Joslire wasn’t Dolgorukij, so I can get away with it. He will explain what it is all about, to be Joslire’s nun. The word does not satisfy in the Standard phrase, does it not imply that one is celibate? Dolgorukij nuns are not celibate unless they like to be. I have told Kaydence. You will slap me, now, and I will deserve it.”