An Exchange of Hostages

by Susan R. Matthews

  Of course there were. They typically studied several days ahead, and the Tutor had put them on notice that if confession could not be obtained at the Fourth Level, they would be expected to move straight to the Fifth Level the following day. That was probably where Koscuisko was right now — unless he’d got confession at the Fourth Level, of course.

  “That wouldn’t be a problem, Hanbor, ordinarily. But you haven’t made an adequately clear distinction between these tapes. I went Fifth Level on that prisoner yesterday because of that. Tutor Chonis is going to be very angry with you.”

  The tapes were marked as clearly as ever, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she could claim to have been confused, could claim Hanbor was at fault for not making more of a point about it. It hadn’t been her mistake. It had been Hanbor’s fault. Nobody even had to believe it was true for her stratagem to work.

  “If we’re lucky, there will be no notice taken, Hanbor. Tutor Chonis may toggle the whole thing as my mistake. I’ll take the hit for you if I have to, man, but I hope you understand the position you’ve placed me in.”

  Quarters were under surveillance. Everybody knew that. Tutor Chonis knew she knew that. They all knew exactly what she was saying. “If it comes to an issue, I’ll be forced to discipline you. So let’s just both hope it doesn’t get that far, shall we? That’ll be all. Fast-meal, Hanbor.”

  Her claim that she had been misled by inadequately labeled instructional tapes was fabricated, but she could insist upon it no less firmly for that.

  So if they meant to speak to her about her mistake, she’d be forced to admit Hanbor had made an error; and once that happened, she’d be forced to discipline him — or else her claim would lose credibility. If Hanbor’s error had resulted in her making a mistake, naturally, Hanbor would have to be punished for it. So she’d punish him, if Tutor Chonis said two words to her about it, simply in order to validate her claim.

  “As the Student please,” Hanbor replied, his voice flat and neutral — if a little rusty and strained from disuse. Nodding, Mergau dismissed him to go for her fast-meal, wondering whether she should overlook the wilted condition of his uniform just because he had been up all night, or whether she should rather say a word or two to him about it.

  She was protected against Tutor Chonis now.

  The Administration had been put on notice that if they accused her of a violation of Protocols, she’d take the next possible opportunity to beat her slave bloody for the fault he had committed.

  This cheerful meditation whet her appetite.

  Whistling to herself, Mergau went into the washroom to put her hair in order, waiting for her breakfast.

  ###

  Andrej approached the exercise theater with a different species of dread than during previous trials, when he had doubted his ability to support the Levels and do his duty. Then he had suffered from the unnatural demands of the exercise, fearful that he would fail in the test. And now, today, this morning, he was free from the fear that he would fail the test, certain of his ability to carry the Levels forward.

  His certainty itself troubled him grievously.

  What if it happened again?

  What if he could not do the thing unless he surrendered to the pleasure that he dreaded, and gave himself over to the passion that had made it all so easy yesterday?

  They were allowed to use no drugs, in these exercises. The Administration wanted to be sure its graduates would be able to run a field-expedient Inquiry when required. No drugs; but fewer restrictions than at the Fourth Level were in force. He could break an arm or a leg, if he liked, perhaps knock out some teeth, do some real — if still restricted — damage.

  None of which was particularly helpful.

  His prisoner — Rab Lussman — knelt waiting on the floor, waiting for him. Lussman didn’t seem to be particularly alert, and he was favoring his swollen shoulder as best he could with his arms shackled behind his back; but that was no more than expected.

  Lussman’s presence did give Andrej rather less time than he might have wanted to think about how he was going to go about this.

  Lussman looked up at him as he came through the door, meeting his eyes briefly before he lowered his head out of evident weariness. Andrej wasn’t quite sure how to read the expression — there seemed to be an element of relief there somehow.

  Andrej stopped close to Lussman’s side and touched his hand to a whip-welt he’d left across the man’s face, testing. Wondering how he was to take command of the situation and not soil himself with the sinful sensations he had so enjoyed the last time. Considering how to approach his problem. The weal had purpled with bruising, the skin still red and angry where the lash had scraped up blood; tender, Andrej imagined. Lussman recoiled from him with a disgusted gesture, contempt and anger in his eyes; one of the Security cuffed Lussman across the back of the head with casual brutality, but Andrej wasn’t affronted by Lussman’s instinctive gesture. Only natural, Andrej supposed. He would very likely have done the same in Lussman’s place.

  “What are these things on his feet?” he asked Security, gesturing with his hand. Lussman was still half-dressed from yesterday, but he’d been shod when he’d come in here, and Andrej was beginning to have a thought. Maybe he could do it. Maybe it would not be so bad. At this point he was almost willing to give Rab Lussman pain, if only he could manage to avoid enjoying it.

  “Ah, Nurail leg-wraps, if the officer please. Native footgear.” Vely — Andrej thought that was his name — sounded a bit confused. It was an odd phrase to use, wasn’t it? Native footgear. As if the uniform were the norm, rather than the exception.

  “Have him out of them, if you please, gentlemen.”

  His table was here, but the complement of tools provided had increased. Andrej found what he wanted, trying not to listen. He could sense the first vague hints of an unnatural interest in the sounds the scuffling generated, stifled groans, grunts of pain. He did the best he could to concentrate on planning his procedure.

  When all was settled and quiet once more, he took the shockrod in his hand and turned back to confront his problem. Yesterday he had certainly exceeded the spirit of the Levels, if not its code. Today he wanted to get the exercise over and done with, but he did not want to violate the spirit of the Levels, he wanted to be fair — as far as possible, under the requirements of practice. He would see if he could make it work without a nasty trick played with Nurail physiology. He would use the shockrod. He was only required to do so much.

  “A rope, Mister Curran.” Which meant that he would need to restrain Lussman somehow, and he wanted to keep Security out of it if possible. Too many hands confused the issue and muddied the waters. Nor could he imagine that the Security would enjoy the requirement they were under to participate in these exercises, as a rule. “I want twelve eighths of rope, to bind him. And a pair of gloves.” Twelve eighths would be somewhat more than sufficient merely to bind a prisoner’s arms, and there were shackles, after all. But Sorlie Curran wouldn’t argue. And Andrej had something specific in mind for the rope. He meant to approach Lussman man-to-man and contest with him without the interference of Security. The least he owed the man after his savagery from yesterday was to engage him one-on-one in recognition of Lussman’s existence was a feeling creature like himself.

  Sorlie Curran was back within half a cup of rhyti’s time, with the rope and the gloves and a respectfully confused expression on his face. Andrej tried on the gloves; supple and well-fitting, they would do very nicely. “I’m impressed,” he told Sorlie Curran truthfully. He hadn’t counted on getting a good fit, not on such short notice. “I’ll take the rope now, if you please.”

  His idea hadn’t been to unshackle the prisoner. His idea was to loop the rope through the shackles and around Rab Lussman’s throat. It would have the effect of drawing his arms up behind his back at rather an awkward angle, and that would stress the vulnerable shoulder, but there was nothing to be done about that. Andrej needed to have a h
andle on the man.

  “Very well, stand away.”

  “Excellency, with respect . . . ” Vely was looking a little confused, a little worried. “This man, he’s a dangerous . . . ”

  Criminal. Andrej didn’t hear the last of Vely’s protest, because Lussman chose the moment to kick out at him from behind. One instant in which to successfully regain his footing, or lose his balance and fall to the floor. One instant between an unexpected thin-blade-thrust and a successful parry . . .

  One instant was time enough for Andrej Koscuisko. He levered himself against the rope in his hands, the rope that he had wound around Rab Lussman’s throat, and it was Lussman who lost his balance and went sprawling to the floor.

  Square onto the wrong shoulder.

  Lussman would learn.

  Andrej crouched down slowly, reluctant to look at Lussman’s face. Lussman had set his teeth against the pain, his breath coming in muted sobs of agony. Andrej spoke to Security to separate himself, to shield himself from the keen temptation he felt to admire Lussman’s distress. “Thank you, Mister Vely.” It was wonderful, how much of an impression a little sprain could make. “A man must be involved in his work, don’t you think? Else it is just an empty exercise. Instead of a contest. Now, Rab, what had we agreed on, yesterday?” He hardly dared to look at Lussman. He wouldn’t look at Lussman. “Your identification?”

  Twisting the rope up snugly in his fist Andrej rotated his wrist, putting an additional half-twist in the taut loop around Lussman’s throat and pulling in the direction he meant Lussman to go. Half-strangled, choking on the noose, Lussman struggled to his knees painfully. Andrej knelt in turn across Lussman’s lower legs to hold the man in place. He could do what he would be required to do behind Lussman’s back, and be safe from himself. He could maintain control with one hand on the rope at Lussman’s throat. He didn’t have to look at him. He gave the rope a quick, sharp quarter turn to assure himself of Lussman’s full attention.

  “Well?”

  “Rab Lussman. ‘Your Excellency.’” The sneer was predictable, even through the man’s pain. Andrej had begun to develop a great deal of respect for Rab Lussman; he was obviously no coward. On the other hand, he clearly could not be permitted to be so contemptuous in his phrasing, even out of respect for his discomfort. Andrej laid the shockrod across the naked sole of Lussman’s foot, riding his prisoner’s convulsion of agony as if it had been a bit of turbulence encountered while ski-kiting.

  When Lussman found his voice, it bore clear witness to the strain, but was stubborn and determined all the same.

  “ . . . Arrested on a charge of willful destruction of Jurisdiction property. Of which I am innocent. Your Excellency.”

  Andrej tried the shockrod against Lussman’s heel, considering. Lussman snorted like a riding-ram through stubbornly clenched teeth, his back and shoulders arching involuntarily in response to the pain. “Did I ask you, Lussman?”

  “No. Your Excellency.”

  Yesterday Lussman had his shoulder put out of joint and forced back into place without revealing more than the most innocuous information. Non-actionable information; because unless he had been condemned in absentia, there was no law against being Rab Lussman, and there was no law against being arrested by accident, either. Nor had being flogged with his weight on his injured shoulder made enough of an impression on Lussman to matter.

  It was only a problem if he sought mastery. He didn’t need to win. He only heeded to get through. This approach might be boring and predictable, but it had to be safer than what had betrayed him to himself yesterday, and there was no objecting to the strategy for that. Shockrods were fairly common instruments of oppression; Lussman had quite probably experienced their effects prior to this. It could not be said that the punishment was unimaginable, or even out of the ordinary. And still it was an approved and effective tool.

  “Listen, I will tell to you my thought.” He almost thought he could hear sharp hunger in his voice, and swallowed hard before he dared continue. “We are going to be done with this, I am very bored. I am going to ask you some very simple questions, easily understood, even for a Nurail.”

  He let the shockrod trail across Lussman’s instep, tightening his grip on the rope at Lussman’s throat as the body jerked in uncoordinated protest. He sensed the danger that lay in wait for him, but he could not decline to put the exercise forward simply because he was afraid of what might happen to him. Nor could it be said that he feared failure; when he was apprehensive of success instead — or of the thing that had helped him to succeed in their last meeting. “You are going to answer my questions. And if your answer is not satisfactory I am going to strike it from the Judicial record . . . ”

  Full contact, prolonged for perhaps so long as an eighth, mercilessly. Doing all he could to close his ears to the seductive music of Lussman’s reluctant cries. “ . . . in this manner. Well? Is that clear?”

  Oh, Holy Mother.

  It was going to happen to him again.

  He couldn’t even see the Nurail’s face, and still he noted all the signs of pain with something too clearly different from compassion to be taken for reluctance to inflict the pain he had it in his power to promise Lussman.

  “You are to answer me politely, Rab.” His own voice sounded rough and harsh, but Andrej knew what passion roughened it, and lifted his face to the cold white ceiling in despair. Keep talking, he told himself. Maybe if he could only just keep talking, he could put the appetite away. If he could not curb it or control it, perhaps he could pretend that he ignored it, and get through this after all. “You are to answer me ‘yes, your Excellency’ and ‘no, your Excellency.’ Lack of good manners offends me, Lussman. Do you understand?”

  Lussman didn’t answer. You have undone yourself, Andrej, he thought. Since you have asked, you must enforce an answer. And when you force his answer, you are going to enjoy it. You are lost. And since you have defied your father, you cannot so much as hope that your Holy Mother will raise Her divine hand to succor you. He set the shockrod to the bottom of Lussman’s foot once more, seeking the nerve that would respond best to the noxious stimulus almost despite himself. Touching the naked soles of Lussman’s feet, first one, then the other, rolling the impulse end of the torture tool against the small bones, hesitatingly at first, then with increasing assurance and deliberation. The sound of Lussman’s pain was more than he could find it in himself to resist. It was lovely. It was sweet. He wanted more.

  “Yes. Your Excellency.”

  “Your name is?”

  “Rab Lussman. Your Excellency.”

  Andrej felt his face warm with a flush of gratification, his pleasure redoubled because he took it against Lussman’s will. “And you are accused of willful destruction of Jurisdiction property, yes? Have you committed this crime?”

  This was the second day of Lussman’s interrogation. Cumulative pain and stress should have begun to seriously cloud Lussman’s judgment. Andrej could almost sense Lussman’s confusion of mind as he struggled with the deliberately incriminating phrasing of Andrej’s demand.

  “Yes, your Excellency. No — ”

  He couldn’t let Lussman finish, not if his plan was to work. He set the shockrod against his prisoner’s foot and smiled as he heard Lussman’s cry of agony.

  “Very good. You have confessed to having committed the crime for which you have been arrested.” Not really, no. But the Writ did not require that he play fair, as long as he got something out of it that could be considered close to a confession. Shifting his weight and rising, Andrej gave the rope a savage jerk, and Lussman struggled to his feet with his breath rattling painfully in his throat. “There remain only the details to be determined. How many of your family were involved, then? All?”

  He shouldn’t be asking Lussman questions like that. He wanted Lussman to submit to him, to answer his questions and make his confession. He wasn’t going to get very far with the line he was taking. Wasn’t such an accusation all but guarante
ed to evoke the utmost resistance from his client?

  He had to be clear in his own mind or he would surely only confuse the issue in the mind of the prisoner. It was reasonable to expect Lussman to become increasingly anxious to understand what Andrej wanted, increasingly eager to supply whatever was required. Lussman wasn’t going to be able to do that unless Andrej gave him a clearer idea of what the requirement actually was. Andrej knew what the requirement was. He required Lussman’s pain, and then Lussman’s submission. But he wanted Lussman’s pain more than Lussman’s answers. “Talk to me, Rab. Tell me about your crime.”

  “Excellency, I am not guilty of . . . the crime . . . ” Andrej twisted the rope savagely yet again, and Lussman’s protest rattled into strangled incoherence.

  It wasn’t fair to Lussman to approach him in this manner; he wasn’t being candid. Why should he hurry Lussman to confessing when all that meant was that punishment would follow? Because since punishment was to follow, it could not be decent, fair, nor just to seek ways in which he could prolong the punishment that Lussman was to have before confession. One way or the other, Lussman had little chance of understanding what he was expected to confess as long as Andrej continued to communicate such mixed and contradictory signals to the man.

  “No, I won’t have it,” he warned, and let some slack out at Lussman’s throat. “You are accused of willful destruction of Jurisdiction property, and I mean to have details, I tell you.”

  He would be master here, whether it meant he soil himself or not.

  He had no choice.

  ###

  “I don’t believe I find that answer acceptable, Lussman.” The shockrod had gotten dirty during the past hours, and there was blood on his uniform where he’d brushed it against his trouser leg in passing. “Let’s try it again. I’m getting tired of your childish stubbornness.”