An Exchange of Hostages

by Susan R. Matthews

  “You’ll have reviewed the assigned material, of course. Rhyti, anyone? Please, help yourselves.” The Tutor’s gesture indicated the serving-set on the Tutor’s squarish shining work-table, just between Andrej and Student Noycannir. She had declined to speak to him except to return his greeting. Andrej didn’t care whether she liked him or not; there were too many other things to think about. He’d never had much use for overly compulsive Students. Aggression could cover for lack of skill for a time, that was true. Sooner or later, though, competitiveness failed before superior ability.

  Andrej fixed himself a flask of rhyti in polite silence. Joslire had brought cavene for fast-meal this morning; Andrej didn’t like cavene, and had said so. He would have had some now, though, if the Tutor suggested it. In Andrej’s experience teachers expected everything they said to be taken as good advice or outright direction. But Noycannir just sat there — and did not move to take a flask for herself when Andrej nudged the serving-set closer to her elbow.

  “You will have noted that the Term is to comprise six Standard months of instruction, twenty-four weeks. Student Noycannir, you’ll not need to adjust your time-sense, since Chilleau Judiciary is of course on Standard time. Student Koscuisko, I expect you’re still on Standard time from Mayon, unless going back to Azanry reset you to home-chrono. How long were you home?”

  Azanry did not follow the Jurisdiction Standard, but he hadn’t been back there for long enough to have forgotten. “Two months, Tutor Chonis. Perhaps five weeks, by local reckoning.” Not long at all. There had been plenty of time to embrace his old servants, to tour his fields, to visit his land-pledges. Time enough to compromise the lady Marana and quarrel with his father. Not long enough to change his father’s mind or make him understand.

  “Well, you’ll have leave again soon enough, I’m sure. As I was saying, the Term is twenty-four weeks. Perhaps thirty, if the Administration identifies a weakness in some aspect of your professional development.”

  The Remedial Levels, that was what Chonis meant. An extra cushion of time to serve as catch-up for dull Students. But if the Student should fail to fulfill some element of the teaching paradigm even at the Remedial Levels, there would be nothing left to do but to recycle her to the next Term. And Noycannir would probably be recycled to the next Term because — having reviewed the lesson schedule — Andrej could not for the life of him imagine how a woman with no medical background could hope to master such a body of information in only thirty weeks. It looked challenging enough to him; and he had nearly eight years of intensive medical training to draw on.

  Perhaps he was reading more into the requirements than was really to be demanded of them.

  “You’ll have noted also that our time divides rather neatly into two halves: one for instruction, one for practical exercise. There is a good deal of material to cover. I cannot emphasize strongly enough the need for diligent study.”

  Andrej sipped his rhyti, feeling a little bored. Yes, there was a lot to get through, history, philosophy, formal structure, the legal issues, the Writ. The Levels. He wasn’t sure why Tutor Chonis felt good study habits needed emphasis, however. What else was there to do here but study? Well, study, exercise, and attend lecture and laboratory, of course.

  “Are there any questions?”

  None that had occurred to him, at least not yet. Andrej glanced over at his partner, Student Noycannir; she sat with her eyes fixed on the Tutor, not moving. So she didn’t have any questions, either. Or she simply wasn’t willing to raise any.

  “Your personal schedules have been carefully arranged to maximize your study time accordingly. Your assigned Security will continue to provide you with your meals in your quarters. Exercise periods are scheduled before mid-meal and before third-meal. Student Koscuisko, Curran will be your trainer. As you know, he’s Emandisan, and quite good. Student Noycannir, you’ll start out with Hanbor. He’ll adjust your training as required to ensure that you get the level of combat drill you’re accustomed to.”

  Interesting. The Tutor expected her to be able to fight hand-to-hand, and clearly well enough to warrant a more advanced teacher than the one provided him. She was in good physical condition, to look at her. It seemed a little unusual to Andrej for a Clerk of Court to have any background in combat drill, but what did he know?

  “Let’s get started, then. Andrej, you’ll remember the remark you made at dinner yesterday about the role of coercive force in the interrogation process in your father’s time?”

  Into the lecture, then. According to schedule they would take a week to discuss why it was reasonable to use torture as an instrument of Judicial order. They would explore the communication problem, and the unquestionable truth that the single most universal language under Jurisdiction was pain, even if its dialects — fear, hatred, and fury, terror and desperation — could not be reliably interpreted.

  “Yes, Tutor Chonis. I understand from the material that the Jurisdiction Bench did not shift responsibility for such functions until the tenure of First Judge Upan Istmol?”

  To a certain extent it was old material. After all, much of his early medical training had focused on reading pain and how to sort it from shame or embarrassment when the Jurisdiction Standard did not satisfy. A good general practitioner needed thorough grounding in that grammar, and he had been highly praised in his evaluations for the delicacy of his exploratory touch. Eight years from entry-level general-medical to advanced certifications in neurosurgery and psycho-pharmacology, and all of it just so that he could go to Fleet and implement the Protocols — it hardly seemed worth it.

  “Quite so, Student Koscuisko. You’ve started the assignment, I see. Istmol’s critical reading of the implementation of Fleet Procedure Five clearly demonstrates the reasoning behind the decision. Reasoning that is, of course, still current, as received.”

  Andrej concentrated on the Tutor’s words, doing his best not to think about why it was so important to rationalize the institutionalization of torture. Deterrent terror. Swift and strict punishment for crimes against the Judicial order. The shock value of a mutilated body on display at local Judicial centers. Living, breathing examples of what a person risked when they tried to challenge the rule of Law.

  It didn’t matter how he felt about it.

  He would keep up and do well; it was expected. It was required. For the rest — since there could hardly be any congenial drinking-places at a stand-alone Station founded on a barren piece of rock — he would simply have to find distraction where he could.

  ###

  Mergau Noycannir was prompt to class, and had been prompt each of the forty-eight Standard days that class had met since the Term had opened. Forty-eight days; six weeks, Standard. They were halfway through the initial orientation phase and still just speaking in generalities. What good could all of this background do anyone?

  Did they think that they were going to lecture her to death, and be rid of her that way?

  She heard the signal at the Tutor’s door. It would be Koscuisko, of course, since Chonis did not signal for admittance to his own office. She threw an idle taunt at him as the door opened, pretending to be providing reassurance.

  “Safe you are, Student Koscuisko, our Tutor is delayed.”

  Six weeks. She was bored, and getting anxious. Koscuisko was a safe target. He came into the room with too much energy, like a man who’d never been forced to watch his step, moderate his gestures, or govern his expression. People who were so egocentric, so self-defined, could only disgust her. Had he never learned to be afraid of somebody? Would he ever take any of this seriously? And yet she had to be wary of him, because he had the medical education that Fleet valued so highly.

  She did not.

  Secretary Verlaine had seen no reason to lose one of his best Clerks of Court to years of medical training when all he wanted was someone who had custody of a Writ to Inquire.

  “Thank you, Student Noycannir. I trust you had good practice.”

  Koscuisko answ
ered politely, clearly not noticing her reprimand. Koscuisko didn’t notice her at all, in some fundamental fashion. That was much worse than any criticism he could have turned on her; but it was not surprising.

  “Thank you, I have had good practice.” Of all those here, only Security gave her a measure of the respect that she had earned, that she deserved. It wasn’t hard to force them to respect her in combat drill. They were not permitted to rebuke her if she hurt them or failed to observe the rules of practice. And she could fight. “Your practice also?”

  Koscuisko, on the other hand, was still learning recruit-level hand-to-hand; she knew that from things Tutor Chonis said. She was better than he was in the arena. If she could have him to herself, no interference, one-on-one, she would not even ask for a weapon. She was confident that she could make him respect her then.

  Koscuisko met her eyes and laughed, small and meekly. “Not up to your standards, Student Noycannir, I am quite sure. I find it much more complex a procedure than breaking brew-jugs over peoples’ heads.”

  He knew she was better, but he didn’t believe it. She could fantasize all she liked; it wasn’t the same. Nor could she afford even fantasies any longer — Tutor Chonis arrived, which meant that she had to make a good show of attention.

  The Tutor set his cubes down at his viewer and began to talk without looking at either of them. It was his way to try to catch them unawares. She had learned his habits, and she could best him at his own game. “Well, as I had been saying this morning. History, philosophy, a little — shall we say — political context.”

  The standard Judicial Structures chart was still on the projection viewer, displayed across the length and breadth of the wall behind the Tutor’s chair. Nine Judiciaries; nine Judges, with Fleet shown as subordinate to the Bench in the person of the First Judge Presiding at Toh Judiciary. There was Chilleau Judiciary, Second Judge Sem Porr Har Presiding, on a line with the other eight subordinate Benches; and even at such a global scale as the Judicial Structures chart, First Secretary Verlaine was called out by name, head of Administration.

  The Sixth Judge Sat at Sant-Dasidar Judiciary. Fourth or fifth on the list of circuit Courts reporting to the Sixth Judge, one could just make out the name of Koscuisko’s system of origin. Secretary Verlaine’s name was easy to read on the Judicial Structures chart; the Dolgorukij Combine was all but lost in the small script. It was too bad Student Koscuisko was so clearly incapable of taking an obvious lesson from that, Mergau mused.

  Tutor Chonis was still talking. “We’ve been through all that. The formal structure of the current organization, organizational philosophy, and so forth. I think we’ve worked that quite thoroughly, so unless you have any last questions? Student Koscuisko?”

  She didn’t have any questions, and she didn’t care about Fleet’s organizational structure, either. What difference did it make to her whether there were three pharmacists and a rated psycho-tech on staff rather than one psycho-pharmacist, two pharmacists, and an extra critical-care technician instead? Were the five extra staff in the complement at the Fleet Flag level ever going to matter to her? What difference did it make whether the interrogation area was within the surgical area or well removed from all other medical facilities?

  Koscuisko shook his head without a word, clearly understanding he wasn’t expected to raise any issues at this point. Koscuisko might well care about the pharmacists. Koscuisko might well understand what point there might be in spending two weeks and more on administrative issues like standard skill mixes on cruiser-killer-class warships. It might be important to him in the future. For Mergau herself it was a complete waste of time, which belonged to First Secretary Verlaine, and merited more respect than that accordingly.

  “Very well. You’re to feel free to raise any issues that come to mind at any point, of course. Later.” A formality on the Tutor’s part. Koscuisko gave every indication of having studied the structure carefully. More fool Koscuisko, because once he got to where he was going, none of that would matter in the slightest. Everybody knew what Ship’s Surgeons were really there for.

  “Let us proceed, then. You’ve been introduced to the philosophy behind the Levels of Inquiry, Confirmation, and Execution, which is to say the Bench endorsement of the principle of swift and certain punishment for crimes against the Judicial order. It’s time for us to begin to examine these Levels in greater detail, to prepare a foundation upon which to build when we reach the practical exercise phase of Term.”

  And not a moment too soon for her taste, either. This was what Mergau had come here for, after all; this was what her Patron meant for her to master. The Levels. The Levels, and the Writ itself, which they were not to consider as a separate lecture subject until nearly five more weeks had passed — just before the exercises were to start.

  That would not be boring, when they got to the exercises.

  “Levels One through Three, the Preliminary Levels, Inquiry. The Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Levels, the Intermediate Levels, Inquiry and Confirmation. Levels Seven, Eight, and Nine, the Advanced Levels — Inquiry, Confirmation, and Execution. The Tenth Level of Inquiry, Command Termination. Let us first consider the Judicial foundations implicit to the process of Inquiry. Student Noycannir, if you will assist us?”

  She didn’t mind the sly trick in Tutor Chonis’s method. She was ready for him. She was almost always ready for him; not only ready but more than willing to play the Tutor’s manipulative game.

  “The Preliminary Levels, Tutor Chonis. The first level at which it is permissible to invoke the use of force. Security may take measures appropriate to the Preliminary Levels, but only at risk of discipline unless the Security is under the direct guidance of a fully rated Inquisitor with custody of an active Writ.”

  This was the beginning of the single most dangerous challenge she had ever undertaken, and she could not bear to stop and think of how complete her ruin would be should she fail to prevail in her Patron’s name.

  She let the joy of battle comfort her, instead, and concentrated on the fact that she was nearer day by day to victory.

  ###

  “And with this discussion of the Writ we conclude our examination of the history, the philosophy, the formal structure, the Levels, and the Judicial mandate of an Inquisitor with a Writ to Inquire.”

  Tutor Chonis addressed himself to the summary title still displayed on the wall-screen viewer behind his desk. He knew that his Students were tense. The closer they got to the crucial break between pure lecture and the first practical exercise, the tenser they became, too. “Let’s just review the block of instruction.” Who should he call on first? He’d catch them both, of course, and off their guard if he could manage it. Much more than mere replay-knowledge was to be tested at Fleet Orientation Station Medical — and as often as could be maneuvered without becoming crushingly obvious.

  He heard a shifting sound from the table behind his back. Student Koscuisko. Sliding his seat away from the study-table, probably. They’d had twelve weeks together in indoctrination and review; Chonis felt confident in predicting that young Koscuisko would be scowling, his wide, high forehead scored with irritation, his mouth pursed sourly.

  Koscuisko was too easy.

  So he would call out Noycannir to be first.

  “Student Noycannir, will you detail the Privilege of the Writ for us, please.”

  He could not hear a reaction, not even with the augmented hearing in his right ear — where he had all but lost the natural faculty years ago in an explosion. He knew what that no-sound looked like, well enough. She’d be stiff as stalloy in her seat, and glaring — an equal mix of aggression and insecurity.

  “The Privilege of the Writ. Established by Judicial order 177-39-15228. The First Judge Caris Raber, Presiding.” Well? her sullen, stony eyes always seemed to ask. Is that good enough for you? I’ll bet you thought I couldn’t get it right. Well, it’s high time you learned better. She never seemed to be secure, even when she clearly knew the material very
well.

  “The Writ is granted by Judicial order, and cannot be voided except by Judicial order or expiration of contract of service. It is a failure to support the Judicial order to reject a grant of Writ prior to the expiration of Fleet contract.”

  She could be subtle, too, and politic; she rehearsed the abstract blandly, without the slightest hint that she even cared about that irony visible on her narrow, sharp cunning face. Once the Writ was granted, it was treason to attempt to lay it down before your eight years of service had been completed. Which reminded him . . .

  “Thank you, Student Noycannir, it’s quite a lot for one person to try to get through alone. Perhaps Student Koscuisko would explain the unique legal position granted by the Privilege of the Writ?”

  He knew Koscuisko didn’t like this part. As if Koscuisko could be said to care for any of it.

  “Of the Judicial offenses punishable under Law, only one can override the Privilege of the Writ. That offense is challenging the Judicial order by act of treason, mutiny, or insurrectionary intent.”

  As represented, for instance, by failure to obey lawful and received instruction from one’s superior commanding officer. Or in terms of Koscuisko’s birth-culture — one’s oldest brother, one’s father, or the oldest brother of one’s father, if there was one. In other words, precisely what Koscuisko had been trying so strenuously to accomplish before he had finally submitted to the overwhelming weight of Aznir tradition and reported to Fleet Orientation Station Medical as his father directed.