The prisoner lay on his belly on the floor, moving one foot in little irregular spasms — as if there was some corner of Lussman’s mind that thought that he could get away, if he could only manage to move. As if he couldn’t stop himself from hoping that there was some place to which he would be permitted to escape. Andrej knelt at Lussman’s side, quite close, and let his knee rest casually against the swollen mess that yesterday’s trauma and today’s punishment had made of the young man’s shoulder. “You are to tell me why you chose the site — who helped you? Who was it that decided your target?”
Lussman was afraid, Andrej could hear it in his voice. “Excellency. Innocent. Of the crimes . . . accused . . . ” It was only reasonable to be afraid, but Andrej wasn’t going to put his weight against so obvious a target. Yet.
“You have already confessed to the crime, it is only a question of the details. What sense is there in further resistance?”
With a surprisingly determined effort Lussman moved, shifting away from Andrej where he knelt. Andrej knew how much it had to hurt Lussman to move; all in all, Lussman was clearly courageous, of strong will and determined temperament. It was really a shame that such a man should be sacrificed to the Judicial order; but — since so much was preordained — the least he could do was see that Lussman completed his confession before too much more blood was spilled. Or deeper blood was spilled, at any rate. Perhaps he would be offered a contract as bond-involuntary, a strong young man, physically fit, of such admirable strength of character. . .
“Not true. Innocent. Have not. Committed, any. Such crime . . . ”
Lussman’s voice dried up in his throat as Andrej leaned over him. Steadying himself with one hand pressed against Lussman’s back, now, Andrej reached across his body to take a jugular pulse, wondering where that thought had come from. The Bond was only offered to Accused prior to Intermediate Level Inquiry, and then only when Judicial staff had evaluated the candidate and found him suitable. If Lussman had been qualified for the Bond, he would have been offered one before now, and then been subjected to the implant of a governor whether he had agreed to it or not. Rab Lussman was not going to be offered any Bond.
“This has gone on quite long enough. Really, I am becoming bored.” Perhaps eight hours, perhaps longer, and he had confused his prisoner and tormented him, troubled him with half-true accusations and tortured him with a rope and a shockrod and a keen sense of where it hurt — and Lussman would not surrender. Oh, the appearance of a confession had been approximated, by trickery — the doubled question that could not be answered without incrimination. It was a dirty technique, and Andrej had never forgotten his fury at the confessor who had tried it on him. But it worked — or at least it worked here, where the prisoner could not storm out of the confessional in righteous outrage. Here, where Andrej would be encouraged by his Tutor in his duplicity instead of disciplined by his ecclesiastical superiors for trying to manipulate a Koscuisko prince so crudely — instead of in the more traditional, time-honored ways.
So the forms could be completed.
But Lussman had not given in.
His throat was scraped bloody from the pressure of the coarse rope, the trauma of yesterday’s beating renewed and doubled by the shockrod, his shoulder red and furious with the insult, and his face white and glistening with the sweat of his pain-but Lussman would not give in. And Andrej wanted his surrender, wanted it, quite apart from the forms and the requirements, quite apart from his respect for his prisoner’s courage and strength of will.
He was Koscuisko, and he would have dominion.
He set his knee firmly against Lussman’s injured shoulder and put his weight full on the crippled joint, leaning over to speak close to Lussman’s ear. “Aren’t you ready for a break, from this? — Because you shall have none, till you confess.” He said it half in charity, half with intent to deceive. “You’ve managed to defy me for quite some time, but there are limits to how much you can be expected to endure.” Which Lussman seemed both ready and willing to challenge, but that was beside the point. It was only a difference of degree, after all. “Be a little easier on yourself. Haven’t you suffered long enough? And for what? For whom?”
“Excellency . . . . Long enough?”
Lussman had begun to repeat what had been said to him in random fragments, without any indication that he understood what he was saying — as if he were drugged by shock, or by his pain. Lussman’s dazed repetition of disjointed phrases could be useful in constructing a “confession.” But this sounded like a real question, with real feeling behind it.
“Long enough to break for mid-meal, at the very earliest.” He had indulged himself to the fullest with the halter and the shockrod. He was going to have to graduate Lussman to some sharper torment if he was to keep the man’s attention focused where he wanted it. “I’ll have to send out for a box, I suppose. Perhaps Mister Sorlie Curran will be kind enough to go for me.”
The knot he’d set in the halter had pulled very tight over the past few hours. It took Andrej a moment to work it free. Lussman was too exhausted after half a day’s struggle against the rope to need too much managing, at least until Andrej decided what new treat he should go after. It was an interesting problem, given his options, his opportunities. Unless Lussman disappointed him by capitulating too soon, of course.
“Mid-meal, Halfway. Through the Fifth.” Lussman sounded relieved, even through his evident suffering. Grateful. What in the name of the Holy Mother’s mirror could he be talking about? “Safe, then. All right — ”
Not only that, but Sorlie Curran was interrupting, and if Andrej hadn’t known better he could have sworn that Sorlie Curran was anxious about something.
“His Excellency prefers for his mid-meal the bread and cheese, or perhaps the greens with protein?”
There were undercurrents here that Andrej did not understand.
Sorlie Curran had not only interrupted him but had interrupted the prisoner as well, and Sorlie Curran, as a professional Security troop, surely knew better than that.
And while Lussman clearly seemed to have something on his mind, it didn’t sound to Andrej as though it was about anything that they’d shared throughout the long morning. Sorlie Curran was anxious — not obviously so, but Andrej had a lifetime’s experience reading the voices and body language of Household servants in order to find out what was wrong when he had offended. Andrej realized immediately that Sorlie Curran was afraid that Lussman was going to say something — or that Andrej was going to pay attention to something that Lussman had already said.
“Perhaps not quite yet, Mister Sorlie Curran. Return to the other side of the room, if you please. Immediately.” He wanted to be alone with Lussman. What had the man said? Mid-meal. Halfway through the Fifth. Safe, then. All right. This was almost as intriguing as Lussman’s agony, and Andrej had fed long and drunk deep of Lussman’s agony throughout the morning, and was not so avid for it now that he could not be distracted by this new development. Easing Lussman onto his back, Andrej carried his nerveless arms with the hands swollen from their bonds carefully to the front of Lussman’s body. Granted that Lussman’s back was bruised and bloodied; a little additional distraction might not be unproductive, at this point.
“That’s right, Rab. It’s halfway through the Fifth Level. It’s all right now. You can tell me.” He could only guess at what was going on, but with any luck Lussman would oblige him —
“Excellency.” It was a sigh of relief, almost of gratitude. Gratitude, again. “Begs leave to confess. To you. I have committed. The crime.”
And suddenly Lussman was willing to confess, was eager to confess. “Of willful destruction. Of. Jurisdiction . . . ”
“Why now?” Andrej could make no sense of it. “What do you mean by telling me this now, when I’ve been asking you about it all day long?”
“Begs leave to confess,” Lussman groaned, and his agony was clear and genuine. “Halfway — for Megh. Halfway, halfway through . . . ”
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Understanding came to Andrej like a basin full of icy water in his face. Suddenly Andrej knew exactly what was going on; and the horror of it banished all the delight Lussman had provided him away, body and soul, and left him cold with certainty and outrage.
He knew what was tormenting Rab Lussman, or whatever the man’s name was.
He knew what was troubling Sorlie Curran.
He even realized why it had occurred to him that Lussman might be offered the Bond.
“Yes, halfway through.” He lied without remorse, without compunction. They had been lying to him all along. “You’re free to make confession now; it’s time. It cannot have been easy for you, Lussman. Do you remember what you are supposed to say to me?”
He meant to have verification before Tutor Chonis called the exercise. And Tutor Chonis would call the exercise the moment Tutor Chonis — watching, as Andrej knew he watched, from whatever review room or vantage area — realized what he was up to. Sorlie Curran’s attempted intervention had made that very clear. So he had, to act quickly.
“Yes, your Excellency.”
Clearly disoriented, Lussman obviously had no idea that he had revealed the secret.
“Tell to me your truth, then, what you are instructed to do. I want to hear it from you. The truth, Lussman.”
Lussman had closed his eyes tightly as if he wanted to shut out the unpleasant memory of the past few hours. Andrej couldn’t blame him for that. He knew exactly how unpleasant it had been for Lussman. “Halfway. Fifth Level. Not before. Class Two violation . . . ”
Andrej heard the subtle shift in the background noise from the ventilators, and knew that the Tutor’s intercommunication channel had finally been engaged. “Administrative orders!”
He’d heard it yesterday, he knew what it was. But they were too late. Had Noycannir found hers out, yesterday?
“All exercises to cease, repeat, all exercises to cease. Disengage at once.”
And here was Sorlie Curran now, again. “Respectfully request his Excellency stand up and move away from the prisoner.”
The prisoner. A bond-involuntary Security troop playing a role, forbidden to reveal the deception on pain of a Class Two violation — even at the Fifth Level of Inquiry. Even through the stern and savage punishment that “Lussman” had been suffering, forbidden to say the word that would make it stop.
Andrej rose to his feet, sickened, dazed. He had taught Chonis a lesson, then, hadn’t he? They had lied to him, and he had demonstrated the futility of trying to lie to him. He had desired mastery, and he had attained mastery, but it did not feel the way he had expected. How could they play such games with men in Joslire’s position — men without recourse — as pawns?
More Security were entering the theater now, and he had been expecting a medical team for the “prisoner” now that the farce was over. They were not Security that he had seen before, and he did not mind snarling at them when two of the four began to drag “Rab Lussman” off by the arms.
“You, what do you think you’re doing?” He heard the horror in his own voice and suppressed it sternly. So much depended upon the correct attitude. Security might obey an irritated officer. An overemotional Student could be safely ignored. “Set that man down at once. He requires medical attention, not additional injury.”
They did as they were told, right enough, even though they looked a little puzzled about why they were complying. They really didn’t have any choice, did they?
Had the Administration given “Rab Lussman” any choice?
“Excellency.” Sorlie Curran, once again, and it was unusual to hear the direct form of address from a bond-involuntary. Sorlie Curran sounded upset. “They are required to take him into custody. No medical intervention is permitted unless there is a life-threatening injury. By the Bench instruction.”
By the Bench instruction. He should have guessed. The logic of it all was blinding in its inhuman rigidity. He should have taken one of Joslire’s five-knives and slit the man’s belly open, forcing “medical intervention” — except that they would only have treated the knife wound, not the welts, not the weals, not the joint. They would not treat the pain.
“Very well.”
He should have hurt the man so much that they would have to treat the pain to save his life. And he had not. And therefore the man would suffer, locked up in a cell somewhere, and that was where his conservative approach to injuring his “prisoner” had got him.
“You may carry out your orders.”
He had forced the issue. He was responsible.
He needed to have a word with Tutor Chonis.
Chapter Six
The situation was about as bad as any Tutor Chonis had ever faced. Joslire Curran had been dispatched to bring Koscuisko to his office directly. He had an idea that Koscuisko would be coming whether bidden or not, and he had to maintain as much control of the situation as he could. If he could.
He stood up from his desk as Koscuisko entered, nodding to Curran to leave them alone and seal the entry, pulling one of the chairs at the conference table around for Koscuisko as he did so. It was no less important to maintain his momentum, his control, than if he was performing an Inquiry again, after all these years. It was more important. He guided Koscuisko to the seat by his elbow as the door sealed behind Curran’s back; seating himself beside Koscuisko — like a co-conspirator, two Students together — Tutor Chonis began to try to find out how far the damage went.
“Student Koscuisko, do you know what you have done?”
Koscuisko had been still during Chonis’s arranging; and it was a dangerous stillness, a waiting stillness. It was not good. Koscuisko should be too angry to think twice, not cold enough to watch and wait and see what was going to happen.
“I await your instruction, Tutor Chonis. Tell me what it is, exactly, that I have done.”
For the first time in his long career Tutor Chonis wondered what his tutelage had wrought, what manner of Inquisitor he had created. How had Koscuisko caught on? He had been watching every move; Noycannir had not yet been matched with a replacement, so there’d been nothing to distract him. St. Clare’s lapse should have meant nothing to one not already in the know. How could Koscuisko be so calm now, in the face of this disgraceful secret?
“Only carefully selected Security are trusted with this portion of your training. And they volunteer for it on Safe, with a Class Two violation as the price for any failure. Do you recall what a Class Two violation means, for a bond-involuntary like St. Clare?”
Shock value. He had to shake Koscuisko’s arctic calm. He had seemed emotional enough when the Security had come to take St. Clare away; he should not have been able to freeze his feelings over, not so quickly, not so well. It was unnatural.
“And that is why you were so disappointed with Student Noycannir’s, ah, study partner, I imagine. After all, the Tutor had to call that exercise at the Fourth Level.”
Chonis stared, genuinely confused for a moment. “What are you talking about? She lost her head, we lost the man. Our selection techniques for prisoner-surrogates have a failure rate of less than three in two eighties, Koscuisko. This isn’t supposed to happen.”
Wrong choice, wrong approach. Koscuisko smiled, and Chonis found that he did not like the color that Koscuisko’s eyes seemed to have turned; they were too cold by half. “Then either he — St. Clare? — is very stupid, or I am very good. Is that what I am meant to conclude, from this dishonorable charade? But I don’t think St. Clare is stupid at all. I’ve been rather admiring his backbone. I should therefore conclude that I am better at this filthy business than one hundred and fifty-seven out of every hundred-and-sixty of your other Students. Did I get that right, Tutor Chonis?”
Koscuisko should not be taking that tone of voice with him. And it was up to him to convince Koscuisko to mind his manners.
“That is one conclusion to be drawn.” Not that he would suggest that Koscuisko should be ashamed of a success of this nature; Koscuisko’s ow
n reluctance to be here in the first place would take care of that for him. “The other conclusion may be as important, in the long run. You said that you ‘rather admired’ St. Clare, I believe?”
“Indeed. Knowing what I know now, my respect for him only increases. I could never have managed so fine an effort. I am certain of it.”
“Then I should like you to consider what you have done to him by expanding the scope of your Inquiry.”
Koscuisko frowned. “My brief called for his confession, I obtained two, he answered as he was bidden. What is the problem?”
Finally, a line, a handle, a weapon with which to regain control of this too-successful Student. “Your brief called for a confession to willful destruction of Jurisdiction property. Had you been content with the confession you obtained — ”
“With the Tutor’s permission, no confession was obtained; the appearance of a confession merely.”
Good, he had found a way in. “If, as I was saying, you had been content as you should have been with the confession that you had been directed to obtain, Robert St. Clare would not be condemned to the equivalent of three days of Inquiry at the Seventh Level. He would have earned the remission of four years off his Bond, and the Fleet would have rejoiced in the service of a strong and dedicated Security troop. As it is . . . ”
At least he had Koscuisko’s attention, and there was visible emotion on Koscuisko’s face. That it was fury and hatred was beside the point. Where there was passion there was weakness. Koscuisko could not be allowed to escape Tutor Chonis’s strict control; and Tutor Chonis could not obtain control without some weakness on Koscuisko’s part — that much seemed suddenly all too clear.
“There will be execution of discipline for a Class Two violation, and then we’ll have to decide whether St. Clare can return to service at all. There is rather a high failure rate after a Class Two violation has been adjudged, not surprisingly. We will probably have to terminate.”
An Exchange of Hostages Page 15
