Chonis set the string back in braid. “Student Noycannir is calm and assured in manner.” The prisoner-surrogates had made their entrance, the exercise could begin. Noycannir was on the attack from the first, raising her voice, confronting her prisoner verbally and physically. “She displays no hesitation or uncertainty in enforcing the Protocols.”
Koscuisko simply sat where he was with his chin in one hand, his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair. Koscuisko liked to feel his way into things. From Curran’s reports, Koscuisko was still struggling with the idea that it was appropriate to hit his prisoners. “Student Koscuisko continues to display a conservative approach. Although he has fully supported the Protocols, he provides adequate intervals in which the prisoner may offer information or other responses.”
Whereas Noycannir was just a shade to the wrong side of the aggressive approach to Inquiry. Noycannir waded into her Levels like a Bladerau into a street fight, and her prisoners had to work at it to get a word in edgewise. “Student Noycannir is aggressive and confident. A point of discussion is to be made on the issue of timing. She will need to prepare herself to build more slack time into her interrogations.”
Not that that really mattered, either. After all, the First Secretary would expect her to get information. That would necessarily require her to stop knocking her prisoners around long enough to listen to what they had to say.
“Student Koscuisko continues to engage his prisoner on a personal level. There is a potential cause for Administrative concern . . . ” Chonis heard Curran stiffen slightly at the criticism. Students who could not learn to keep their psychic distance tended to get lost more often than other Inquisitors did. There was madness along that path, and not of a sort useful to the Fleet, either. Therefore to be discouraged.
“ . . . which will be addressed in the Advanced Levels if necessary. Student Noycannir maintains a commendable degree of personal separation from her subject.”
An excess of empathy would not be a problem with Noycannir. She took to the habit of depersonifying her prisoners quickly and well. Chonis approved of her detachment; it was a good deal easier to kick an inanimate object than a fellow being. Far better to think of them all as mere lumps of recalcitrant matter to be worked into conformity than to spend as much time getting into their heads as Koscuisko did. While it was true that Inquisitors like Koscuisko got much better information, more consistently, it was also true that less involved Inquisitors like Noycannir tended to last a good deal longer on Line.
Koscuisko had risen to his feet, standing in front of his prisoner with his arms folded across his chest. His body language was as clear a sign as any that he didn’t want to be here. But the stance was also one that presented no threat, putting the prisoner off his guard. Chonis was almost as startled as the prisoner was when Koscuisko hit him. And Chonis had seen him do it before. An ability to backhand a taller man across the face — and knock him down with the force of the blow, from that awkward angle — was no small thing; and Koscuisko made it all look quite natural.
“Student Koscuisko makes effective use of limited force. In this respect he is more apt than the average Student.” Praise should be read into Record when due, and might soothe Curran a little as well. Chonis took his audio out of the string, again, to talk to Hanbor about the same issue.
“She’s overdoing it again, isn’t she?”
On the exercise floor, in the exercise theater, whether training or Inquiring, Noycannir did not seem to possess much of a sense of proportion. He and Hanbor had talked about the problem more than once during their daily status meetings.
“The Student did not receive the Tutor’s prior comments on the issue as the Tutor would wish, with the Tutor’s permission.” Hanbor had his work cut out for him this Term: Noycannir was not responding well to shaping. Curran had the easier Student of the pair. “She did make a comment that may be pertinent, as the Tutor please. In reviewing the instructional paradigms, Student Noycannir called this troop’s attention to the fact that when she hit people they stayed hit.”
There was no hint of tension in Hanbor’s voice; he was a consummate professional, like Curran. And Hanbor wouldn’t bother to mention it if she did beat him, unless he felt it pertained to information that Tutor Chonis would find useful. On the other hand, if Hanbor hadn’t been superlatively qualified for Security work, he wouldn’t have been Bonded in the first place.
Safety for bond-involuntaries lay in exceeding the Bench requirements for professionalism. Tutor Chonis was just glad he had a good caliber of support staff to work with. Out on Line in the Lanes, only Ship’s Inquisitors were privileged to receive support from bond-involuntaries.
“Makes sense,” Chonis nodded his thanks, and his agreement. “We’ll need to work on that, before we get much further. Thank you, Hanbor.”
Back into braid. Noycannir had knocked her prisoner-surrogate into a corner, and Security were taking their time dragging him back to the middle of the room — giving him a little space to catch his breath, and not being too obvious about it, either. Koscuisko’s Security had stood away from him, leaving Koscuisko alone in the middle of the theater with his prisoner. Koscuisko didn’t seem to need any help managing; he had a good hold on the prisoner’s arm, twisted up behind the man’s back. Chonis frowned, very slightly. It would be a shame if Koscuisko broke a bone at this point; he’d be forced to call the exercise for violation of the Protocols, and Koscuisko didn’t deserve that kind of embarrassment.
“Student Noycannir puts her issues forward well and strongly.” He had to be careful of what he said on Record. Anyone could review these tapes; anyone with the proper levels of clearance, of course. First Secretary Verlaine, as an example. “Student Koscuisko is relatively quick to gain the advantage but continues to display a certain degree of reluctance to press the advantage once gained.”
As now, for instance, when Koscuisko released the prisoner’s arm with a rough push that sent the prisoner staggering to his knees. He needn’t have worried about the arm, Chonis realized. Koscuisko’s fault lay in reluctance to use as much force as was necessary; Noycannir’s, in a consistent use of more force than was necessary.
“These issues will be discussed individually with the Students after completion of the exercise. Neither Student presents cause for any serious concern at this time.”
Well, not as far as the exercises went, at least.
And that was as far as Tutor Chonis was expected to go.
###
“ . . . very commendable progress.”
Tutor Chonis’s voice was fat and hateful in Mergau’s ears, self-satisfied and oily. She didn’t mind the powerful reverberation of authority that she could hear there. It was the hint of gloating that turned her stomach.
“There is always room for improvement, of course. As an example — very quickly — Student Koscuisko, you still don’t appear to be taking this quite seriously; Student Noycannir, you need to relax, the prisoner cannot strike back at you. These minor details aside, however, the Administrator is very pleased. And he’s empowered me to make a tangible gesture of that appreciation.”
It was a trick, she knew it, her belly was tense and cold with it. A trick like the last one had been, to push them out into unknown territory before they’d really had a chance to master the material. A cheap manipulative trick.
“There will therefore be an extra study-day in which to prepare for the beginning instruction for the Intermediate Levels. After your apt handling of the first three exercises, it is anticipated that you’ll not need extensive preparation . . . ”
Mergau glanced to her left across the table, surreptitiously. Koscuisko was frowning. So he was suspicious, too.
“ . . . therefore there’s no lesson plan for this extra day. Student Koscuisko, you might enjoy a tour of the Infirmary; Curran has been instructed to obtain a copy of the pharmaceutical library for your use.”
Koscuisko’s scowl deepened. For herself she knew better than to display s
uch a reaction in front of her betters — but Koscuisko didn’t seem to think he had any. “We didn’t do much with the Jurisdiction’s Controlled List on Mayon, Tutor Chonis. Few of the drugs have positive medical applications.”
The “pharmaceutical library” confused her, but “the Jurisdiction’s Controlled List” made all plain. Tutor Chonis was talking about the speak-sera, the enforcers, the pain-maintenance drugs. She couldn’t blame Koscuisko for disliking the idea. Where she’d come from, people feared the Controlled List even more than even the Ship’s Inquisitor.
“But your skill, dare I say flair, with psychoactive applications is well documented as your subspecialty, Andrej. Perhaps the Controlled List will be made richer by your investigations.”
Yes, it was gloating in Tutor Chonis’s voice. Very small and very subtle, but none of his mockery and taunts escaped her. Tutor Chonis was almost too pleased with the potential he felt he had identified to conceal his pleasure. Koscuisko glared down at his left hand, which he had closed into the fist he hadn’t dared clench upon the table. For no particular reason, Mergau found herself noticing that there was an odd crease in the skin at the base of his middle finger. “I will browse the library, Tutor, at your instruction. Permit me to observe that I would prefer not to add to a resource that has such potential for being misused, and which is of so little positive benefit to anybody.”
Koscuisko would be damned before he had anything to do with the Controlled List, was what he meant. Noycannir shot a glance of shocked amusement at Tutor Chonis to make it clear that she disapproved of Koscuisko’s near-insolence and disrespect as much as Chonis himself surely did. Tutor Chonis’s face revealed no secrets, though.
“And, Student Noycannir . . . ”
She blinked at Tutor Chonis’s beard, demurely.
“The First Secretary has requested periodic reports from us to be forwarded every three Levels. You and I both understand how much he has invested in your training here.”
She knew how to behave in front of people who outranked her, even if Koscuisko did not. Koscuisko would learn. She’d love to have the opportunity to teach him. For now she would be content to benefit from the contrast between his attitude and hers.
“Am I to be present during review, Tutor Chonis, or shall I merely assist in preparing the report?”
Making her voice meek and submissive, Noycannir projected her understanding of her subordinate position, her earnest desire to please. It wasn’t easy to fawn and cringe before Tutor Chonis, though it had to be done. Tutor Chonis didn’t like her. His charge to Koscuisko had been double-edged, she realized — on the one hand giving her fellow Student his orders but, on the other hand, providing yet another reminder that she had no special medical education. She was ignorant of all but the practical basics of field medicine, and her fellow Student was a neurosurgeon qualified across eighteen of the thirty-seven hominid species and the obligatory exemplar from each of the non-hominid classes of intelligent species with a secondary qualification in the biochemical applications of psychopharmacology, which she wasn’t prepared to swear she could so much as spell correctly. She had no right to be here, as far as Tutor Chonis was concerned. No one would be there to intercede if she should fail, to stand between her and the humiliated wrath of her Patron.
Tutor Chonis’s little smile, half-hid beneath his neatly trimmed mustache, was as hateful to her as his tone of voice had been. “That’s up to you, Student Noycannir, of course.” Tutor Chonis would just as soon leave her out of it. That was the principal reason she would insist on participation, just to be sure that no negative comment went unchallenged. “Report tomorrow morning, and we’ll review your progress to date. All right?”
Fleet wanted her to fail because Fleet’s vested interest was in retaining sole control over the Writ. Fleet was waiting for her to fail. Fleet would be happy to throw her to one of her own fellow Students for the Tenth-Level Command Termination just to express its resentment of First Secretary Verlaine’s power play.
Half-sensing Koscuisko’s sympathetic gaze, she stood, determined to exit with what dignity she had. Koscuisko’s sympathy was intolerably patronizing. He disgusted her, him from his privileged background, money, rank, everything. She was ten times as good as Andrej Koscuisko, Bench medical certifications or no. She had worked for everything she had attained. Nobody had ever dropped an appointment in her lap.
“Very good, Tutor Chonis. Are we dismissed?”
The Tutor waved his hand, still smiling. Mergau bowed stiffly and left the room, struggling to contain the frustration, the fury, the fear that seethed within her.
She would be damned before she would give up her purpose.
Because she would unquestionably be damned if she should fail in it.
###
The serious concerns in life, Andrej felt, could best be pondered in one place and one place alone. One could think in one of the pathetically generic chapels that Jurisdiction Fleet provided for the spiritual welfare of its members under arms; but in chapel, one was expected to be silent, if not reverent, and Andrej had always done what he considered to be his very best thinking out loud.
Sitting on the slatted bench in the sauna that Joslire had located for him, Andrej took a deep breath of the hot, wet air and sighed with the satisfaction of it, coughing slightly as the thick heat caught in his throat. The heavy warmth was relaxing from the inside out. Just what the doctor ordered, he told himself dreamily. And I am the doctor, so I know.
Joslire had posted himself by the door, but whether it was to control access or simply to be closer to a patch of cooler air, Andrej couldn’t tell. The man’s posture was as correct as ever it was, regardless of the fact that he was half-naked; there was something a little unusual about Joslire’s state of undress, what was it?
“Joslire, will you come here for a moment, please?”
Joslire had folded his uniform for him and stowed his clothing carefully away before Joslire had even started to undress, and Andrej had been halfway into the sauna by that time. Obedient to his word, now, Joslire came to stand at attention on the wooden grating that covered the heated floor. Leather straps, that was what it was. Leather straps across Joslire’s narrow slanted shoulders, binding his forearms, tight across his barrel-ribbed torso — leather straps, to anchor the sheathing Joslire wore.
Understanding came with a shock of recognition. Andrej turned his head away, waving Joslire off. He was ashamed of himself for not having considered what he was requiring when he’d decided to have a sauna. Joslire was Emandisan, and wore five-knives. And Emandisan were reputedly so private about their five-knives that you had to be married to one to even know which one went where.
“Go and dress yourself, Joslire, you look cold.” He was the one who’d insisted Joslire strip to his towel; he was the one who’d assumed that Joslire would be uncomfortable in the unaccustomed heat if he tried to accompany Andrej into the sauna fully clothed. “Or will it be a violation, if I am alone for eight minutes?”
A violation. Joslire would not violate his discipline, and part of that clearly meant giving no hint as to his personal preferences one way or the other. As if personal preferences were a privilege of free men, and officers had to be discouraged from considering their bond-involuntaries’ comfort as if it mattered. His insistence that Joslire take off his clothing in order to bear the sauna’s heat more easily had probably generated twice as much discomfort between them as had he simply permitted Joslire to fall flat on his face of heat exhaustion in the lawful pursuit of his duty, and be done with it.
“The officer should not exercise himself.” That was a joke; he hadn’t voluntarily exercised anything except for his drinking arm since he’d got here. Participation in the combat drills that Joslire demonstrated for him so patiently twice a day was certainly not voluntary, or he would happily have done without. “There is no reason for the officer to be concerned on this troop’s behalf.”
It was disgusting. He was supposed to pay more
attention than that. He was accountable for what belonged to him. “I don’t believe you, Joslire. But I’ll take your word for it.” Because he was liable to create even more awkwardness if he didn’t. Andrej settled himself against the paneled wall of the sauna, and closed his eyes. “Tell me, if you can, then. To how many Students have you been assigned, prior to this particularly thickheaded one?”
He wasn’t aware of any prohibition against gossiping about former Students. If there was such a prohibition, Joslire would find some way to observe it without letting on, in which case Andrej would learn nothing, in which case he would know.
“There have been five, previous to the officer.” From the sound of Joslire’s voice he was back at his original post by the door. “The first of the Intermediate Levels has been a critical point for each one of them.”
He might as well have said “each one of you,” “all six of you.” “Am I really so obvious? You may neglect to answer that question, Joslire. I actively encourage you to neglect to answer that question.”
Three levels in the Preliminary set, suitable for persons accused or suspected in regards to whom there was not yet enough evidence to make an arrest. Almost they could be said to correspond to basic physical examination, and the taking of patient histories. The invasive techniques came next, here as they had at Mayon; but the focus was all wrong. Andrej could not shake a feeling of unreality, the stubborn suspicion that there had to be something that they weren’t telling him. He was certain of it. They could not — they could not — expect any thinking being to take such Levels seriously, and go forth to beat a shopkeeper on suspicion of having shortchanged a Jurisdiction clerk by an octe’s weight of sallets on a slow day five weeks gone.
That kind of a joke was not so bad, as long as it remained a joke. His thin-blade duels had all been jokes, in the end, a recreation comprised of the hazard of lethal force against the flimsiest pretexts imaginable. It was precisely that tension that had made it so exhilarating — not that their student duels had been lethal; no one had been seriously injured in a duel in all his years of schooling. But there was always the chance. It was for that reason that he treasured the thin white scar underneath his right eye and had steadfastly refused to have it smoothed away. He had earned it fairly in contest against his friend Sourit, who had suddenly decided in the midst of their fifth-year finals that a man who sweetened his cortac brandy could not be permitted to live.
An Exchange of Hostages Page 8
