The captain shook his head slowly. "No, Koscuisko, this won't do at all. You can't exercise the Writ without completing your Tenth Level."
Andrej tried to argue that it was all right--he held the Writ, and he'd brought it here to the Scylla as ordered--but his mouth would not cooperate. He couldn't make a sound.
"No matter," the captain continued, still without letting Andrej get a clear look at his face. If Andrej could see the man's face he could get at the truth of the situation, but a shadow fell across it. "You can finish it here--that's what Secured Medical is for, after all. And you've brought your own prisoners. Which will you use?"
Andrej turned slowly. The dread dragged across his skin like ice, but he couldn't make himself move fast enough to get it over with, nor slow enough never to see what awaited him. Joslire and Robert stood in their Security positions at his back, wearing prisoners' smocks instead of green-trimmed uniforms. Still Andrej could not speak, and surely if he could not speak he could not Inquire.
The captain took no notice. "Just like taking for sacrifice one of the twin lambs, so as to leave no ewe bereft--you will have one left, after all, Koscuisko. Don't be greedy. Take the fair one for your exercise. As Dasidar, when he made sacrifice, selected the lamb with the snowy fleece, and left behind the lamb whose fleece was dun."
No, Andrej wanted to say, beginning to feel sick at the captain's suggestions, and at his own inevitable, greedy response to them. No, you blaspheme the song of the lambs. No, not Robert. No, not the Tenth Level, not command termination for an innocent bond-involuntary, just because he happened to be standing behind me.
No, he wanted to say, despite his burgeoning unholy lust, despite the part of himself that had longed to master the Tenth Level. No, I refuse.
Except that he had not refused. Here he was in the exercise theater, the gloves upon his hands slick with blood, the warm metallic smell of it mingling with the smell of his smoldering lefrol. The only sound he could hear was the rough cadence of Robert's breathing. Andrej knew that sound well, and his body responded to it as it had the first time. He could tell from Robert's breathing just how much pain Robert was in, and how long he had suffered for Andrej's pleasure. Days, by now, but Andrej could make it last days more if he was careful.
Robert lay at his feet, his body latticed beautifully with bleeding stripes, so that he looked as if he were wearing red-checked linen. Andrej had taken his boots off to keep from smudging the pattern, for he could not resist resting his foot on Robert's chest. One line passed under the arch of Andrej's foot, and his heel and toes found clean skin. The heat of Robert's skin--the way it twitched under his foot with endless shivers of pain and shock--was better than any finely felted slipper. A far rarer luxury.
Robert's hands moved, as though he would grasp the ankle above the foot that ground him down, but Andrej easily knocked those impertinent hands away, bleeding and broken. Andrej would have Robert's hands later, yes, but not on his foot, and not until he chose. There was so much more yet to come, to complete the Tenth Level. He had so much more to look forward to.
But Robert's eyes were open, and even with Andrej's foot threatening to stop his breath, he looked up at Andrej with no expression of pain, nor fear. Andrej wiggled his toes, pressing them into the raw, hot edge of a laceration, but the sound of Robert's breathing did not change, nor did Robert's steady gaze. Andrej had damaged Robert--had harmed him nearly to death--and Robert's body betrayed its hurt with every breath. But Robert himself hardly seemed to feel it. The pain was drowned out by the shining of Robert's eyes, because Robert trusted his officer.
Andrej had saved Robert from certain death before; Robert was waiting for him to do it again. This was the Tenth Level, however. Andrej would not save him. Andrej would drink of his pain, deeper and deeper. Sooner or later Robert would understand, and when he did his broken trust would hurt him more than his broken bones. That pain would be sweeter than any Andrej had yet tasted. All Andrej had to do to sup of it was to tell Robert that there would be no reprieve.
Andrej opened his mouth, but the killing words he meant to speak did not come to him. It was Robert's voice that issued from his mouth: the broken, wordless cries of pain that were Robert's by right. Andrej felt no pain at all--only Robert's pain, which was fiercest pleasure to him--and yet these whimpers fell from his lips. He was nearly sobbing outright. This evidently unnerved his Security, for one of them had moved so close to his back that Andrej could feel the man's presence, though the bond-involuntary did not dare to touch him.
"If the officer please--" said the unseen bond-involuntary, and Andrej turned at once--Joslire should not be--
Joslire's hands caught him before he could fall, and Andrej let his forehead rest against Joslire's shoulder for a moment while he regained proper consciousness and a measure of physical equilibrium. The noises had stopped, at least, but his own breathing sounded altogether too much like Robert's, rough and pained.
Robert. Oh, holy Mother, Robert--and Joslire standing witness.
Andrej raised a hand to clutch at the sleeve of Joslire's sleep-shirt. He could not bring himself to look around, though he could feel the linen against his legs and knew that he was not, at the very least, in an exercise theater, nor in Secured Medical. He was in bed. He had been dreaming, obviously.
"The officer will recall that we arrived at Scylla late in thirdshift," Joslire said quietly. "It was the officer's preference to take sleepshift before the officer met with the captain to present his Writ, or went to the Infirmary for orientation with his medical staff."
The medical staff, and the eight bond-involuntaries already assigned to Scylla. He must take their bonds tomorrow, and how could he protect a whole flock when he had not spoken up even to protect two?
But Andrej had spoken up. He had bought back Robert's life. He had accepted Joslire's Bond. His silence had been only the paralysis of sleep, and his abuse of Robert....
Andrej whispered against Joslire's shoulder, "Robert."
"Robert," Joslire repeated in a carrying tone, amplifying Andrej's whisper to an order whether he willed it or no--which saved him the trouble of deciding what he had wanted. "Attention to the officer."
Andrej raised his head at that, just the fraction necessary to see Robert enter his cabin. He had an entire cabin for sleeping here on the Scylla, no mere half-private closet. There was plenty of room for three men in the room, but when Robert came over to Andrej's bed, wearing his pristine sleep-shirt and not a bloodstained prisoner's smock, he knelt so closely beside Joslire that their shoulders touched.
"As His Excellency requires," Robert said, and his eyes did not carry that horribly, damningly trusting gaze. He looked only sleepy, tousle-haired and heavy-eyed, as if he had been wakened from a dream. It was the middle of sleepshift, and Andrej had woken both of his gentlemen for his nightmare.
Two of his ten gentlemen, tomorrow. But just for tonight, one last time, he had only to worry about these.
Andrej forced himself to let go of Joslire's sleeve, sitting up a little to reach for Robert. Joslire shifted to help Andrej sit, and Robert moved sideways on his knees, keeping his shoulder to Joslire's as smoothly as if this were a Security formation they'd practiced. Andrej kept leaning into Joslire's support as his hand closed on the nape of Robert's neck. It was better if Joslire kept hold of him, if he were going to dare to touch Robert with that dream still clinging to him.
"Robert," Andrej said, in a steady, waking voice that his mouth summoned up as unbidden as it had summoned those cries of pain. "Thou art--"
Sacred. But Andrej shut his teeth on the word. Never mind that it was blasphemous for an unfilial and unreconciled sinner such as Andrej to take anyone to himself as sacred. It was not true, and Andrej could not lie to Robert, with Joslire looking on.
Robert did not have to Andrej even the sanctity of the lamb to Dasidar. He was not the lamb of sacrifice, whose suffering and death belonged to the holy Mother; he was not even the ordinary lamb, slaughtered at summer with a quick, merciful stroke, for his skin to make slippers and his meat to be eaten. That was an honorable end for a lamb, but Andrej had already profaned Robert's body and Robert's suffering. Andrej could not swear that he would not profane them again.
And yet he must say something; Robert looked less sleepy every second, and gazed steadily at Andrej with plain curiosity. Andrej's dream had been true that far--Robert did not modestly avert his gaze. Joslire was still waiting, listening, patiently bearing an eighth of Andrej's weight.
"Good," Andrej finished, clumsily. "Thou art good and faithful, Robert."
"As it please the officer," Robert said. There was a faint but unmistakable edge of tolerant humor to his voice, or perhaps he was only swallowing a yawn. "It is to be hoped that the officer did not suffer to dream that his Security was otherwise."
Andrej closed his eyes and tightened his grip on Robert's nape, returning honesty for Robert's easy courage. "I did not. But I dreamt I punished you, all the same."
"Please say that the officer woke before this troop embarrassed himself, then," Robert said, his voice still untroubled. "Or did I ask his Excellency for another kiss?"
Andrej's eyes opened. Robert's governor really was almost intolerably out of tune, except that Andrej could tolerate any amount of familiarity from Robert in exchange for the knowledge that Robert had a scant eighth more freedom than other bond-involuntaries. Especially when that freedom let Robert rescue Andrej from himself.
"A kiss, yes," Andrej agreed. "To show it's all over."
Robert leaned toward Andrej obediently, tilting his head to offer his mouth. Andrej sat up far enough to rest his other hand on Joslire's shoulder and gave, or perhaps took, the offered kiss. Robert's mouth pressed firmly against his, as chaste as the first time but now properly conscious, returning Andrej's benediction as much as he accepted it.
"Go, then," Andrej said, when he leaned back against Joslire. "Back to bed, Robert, and do not intrude upon my dreams again."
"As the officer requires," Robert agreed cheerfully, pushing up to his feet and heading for the door. Still he hesitated at the threshold and looked back--not at Andrej, but at Joslire.
Andrej turned his head to actually look at Joslire for the first time, and found there all the shining trust that he had not seen in Robert's waking eyes. Joslire dropped his gaze an instant later, showing Andrej only a dark sweep of eyelashes over cheeks just the color of the dark-fleeced lamb.
"And you, Joslire," Andrej said, steadying himself with his free hand against the mattress as he ducked his head to give Joslire a kiss as well. Joslire shared his kiss as freely as Robert had, and lowered Andrej gently back to the bed afterward.
"Good and faithful," Andrej repeated before he released Joslire. "And now, go to sleep."
"According to His Excellency's good pleasure," Joslire murmured, and followed Robert from the room, turning out the light as he went. Andrej lay alone in the dark and tried to sleep, with such kisses lingering on his lips.
It was easier than he had expected.
The officer received the eight new bonds one at a time in his office, while Joslire and Robert waited outside with the others. The officer had taken Robert's bond the same way he'd taken Joslire's, alone in his room back at Fleet Orientation Station Medical. Joslire could not help feeling a degree of pride in his--their--officer, who had clearly taken Joslire's preference in the matter to be best practice. The Bonds themselves appeared inclined to take it as a good sign. First Officer and the Chief Warrant Officer merely made tolerant faces at one another while waiting for the officer to finish and hand the bonds over to First Officer's keeping, and the bond-involuntaries over to the Chief.
When the last of the Scylla Bonds--Code Pyatte, his name was--came out of the office, the officer followed just to the doorway. He held all the bonds--all ten, having taken Joslire's and Robert's from around his neck and placed them with the others--in his left hand, but he hesitated before handing them over to First Officer.
"A moment, gentles," the officer said. The eight bond-involuntaries already assigned to Scylla were formed up in two ranks in the corridor, facing the officer. First Officer stood to one side, just out of arm's reach of the officer, and Chief stood behind all the Bonds. Joslire remained where he had been posted outside the door, across from Robert, with the officer framed between them. From here, Joslire could watch everyone except the officer, but he was long past feeling the need to keep his eyes on the officer.
From here, Joslire could offer glosses in finger-code on anything the officer should say. He didn't know if the Bonds had realized yet that the officer was speaking to them, and not over their heads to First Officer and Chief. Joslire knew the Bonds would be watching him.
"There is one thing I would like to make clear to each and all of you, before we to our respective duties go. Though these very important objects will be given to First Officer's custody, it is I who hold your bonds, gentlemen. You answer only to me, and it is my wish and my order that you shall fear only me. I have but rarely found it necessary to discipline one of my bond-involuntaries."
Never, Joslire signaled, with a full finger-joint of emphasis. Whole training term. Never touched me. He let the ambiguity stand, using the sign for touched. Never punished. Never made any other use of. None of it.
He saw the men in the front rank--Code, Erish Muat, Cel Tonivish, and Iyo Lorig--echoing his words back for the benefit of the men behind, who had a worse angle of view. But the officer was still speaking.
"Others may find it necessary more often; previously to my arrival it may have been necessary more often aboard this ship. But I have come now. I hold the Writ and your bonds, and I tell you that you shall be punished only at my decision, and only by my hands. If you are offered insult or abuse by any other, I require you to inform me speedily so that I may prevent it from happening again."
Focused on making the Scylla Bonds believe the officer's words, it took Joslire until just then to read the frozen postures of First Officer and Chief.
The officer hadn't spoken privately to either of them before now. The officer had been speaking to them over the heads of the bond-involuntaries, putting them on notice that he would not permit them to abuse the Bonds. And he'd done it in front of the Bonds, who were if anything even more frozen than First Officer and Chief, knowing full-well they were about to get strafed in the crossfire, no matter what the officer said about no one but him being allowed to punish them.
Yes Joslire signaled, with a thumbnail's worth of ruefulness, the closest he could come even in finger-code to acknowledging that the officer had been perhaps, a little, slightly, magnificently, unwise. Yes. He means it.
Robert hadn't realized there was a Jurisdiction Standard for sanitary facilities for the use of bond-involuntaries, but here it was. The wet-showers in the Security quarters were exactly identical to the ones at the training facility. He didn't doubt that if he spent more than an eighth washing the water would turn ice-cold on him. He was only a little uncertain of whether a dancing-master would appear at the door to hound him out from under the water at the same time.
Well. There were no dancing-masters on Scylla, so Robert supposed it would be Chief who appeared instead, and that was a different proposition. None of the dancing-masters had looked a bit like Chief Warrant Officer Caleigh Samons.
There was more than one way to use an eighth's allotment of hot water, in the meantime. Robert hadn't thought of this one in a long while, with fear of his ordeal, and then his injuries, and then more fear, and more ordeal, and more injuries....
He was thinking of it now, though. The part of him that didn't think at all was standing up to lead the charge, and that was all to the good--probably not wise to think too much about Chief at a moment like this. He didn't need to think, it had been such a long time. Just needed his right hand, and maybe a little soap to make it slippy.
There was a sound at the door, but the water was still hot and he hadn't had his eighth yet--it could hardly be a dancing-master, nor yet Chief. Robert looked over his shoulder and saw Cel, senior man on Security 5.3, staring at him.
Cel didn't say anything, and Robert didn't either, not even by finger-code--Robert's fingers being occupied anyway. Cel's were flat-neutral at his sides, but Cel's face wasn't neutral at all.
Cel looked worried. Cel was letting Robert see him looking worried, and Cel's bond was fourteen years old, which meant Cel was as good as lighting a signal-fire on the hilltop for Robert.
Robert dropped his hands to his sides. The water was still falling down hot on him, but it might as well have been ice, and Cel a dancing-master with cudgel in hand.
There had been an exercise the dancing-masters put them through, eight or more times in the year and a half of Robert's training. Probably that was Jurisdiction Standard, and Cel had had the same when he was trained, fourteen years past. One man, or one team, was given an order: do this, don't do that. Something trivial, something that fell within the allowable variation of personal behavior, and there wasn't much variation allowed for bond-involuntaries as it was. Do pause and bow your head over your food before you eat. Don't take any aftersweet with a cream topping. Do fold down the top half-inch of your boot sock where it's hidden by your trousers anyway. Don't speak in the showers.
They told one man, or four men, and then they waited to see how soon every other bond-involuntary got the message. Because a governor operated off of uncertainty, it only took an example. If a troop wasn't sure it was proper to eat without bowing his head first, he couldn't do it. Soon the whole mess hall was bowing heads before eating. Soon no one would touch an aftersweet with a cream topping, even if it meant there weren't enough to go around of the other sort.
Cel was giving him exactly the look that a man under orders would give one who didn't know, if he was trying very hard to clue a slow teammate in to the exercise. Telling outright was never allowed, of course.
But there weren't orders. The officer hadn't--the officer wouldn't--
Robert's thought stopped right there. There was no telling what the officer might do, actually, not when the officer had two pairs of hands, and two faces and two voices to go with them. It was only that if the officer did give orders like that, he'd have given them to Robert. At the least he'd give them to Joslire, who would have found a way to let Robert know.
Wouldn't he? There had been chances for Joslire to say, if the officer had forbidden this--or any other--kind of private recreation. Except Robert hadn't been thinking of it before now, so why should Joslire say anything? What if Joslire thought the officer had told him direct, and the officer thought Joslire would brief him? Logically it seemed unlikely--unlikely from the white-handed officer, and the officer had been white-handed since days and days before they came to Scylla. But Robert couldn't be sure, and if he wasn't sure, his governor would never let him.
Cel gave Robert a short nod and continued on into the showers. Robert turned his face to the wall and scrubbed fiercely at his skin. The water was still hot, and he shouldn't go wasting his eighth of hot water.
Joslire had to know, if anyone knew for certain. Robert managed to keep his wondering to himself for most of a shift before he had a moment alone with Joslire, while the officer was eating thirdmeal and they were headed to their own mess.
"Jos," Robert said, trying out the quickname he'd heard Lop Hanbor use a time or two. He'd been meaning to see if Joslire would let him use it.
Joslire shot him a slightly amused look, but said only, "Robert."
"Does the officer...."
Words failed Robert. He raised his hands enough to get Joslire's attention on them, and then asked in finger-code, exaggerating the question-marks so Joslire wouldn't mistake him. Are we allowed sex?
The only reason Robert knew the finger-code for sex--and about a dozen more specific finger-codes to negotiate details with--was that the dancing-masters had allowed it. But that didn't mean anything; they belonged to the officer now, and the officer could be worse than any eight--any sixteen or thirty-two--dancing-masters if he chose to be.
Joslire's gaze stayed down on Robert's hands for too long. Robert saw his face go totally expressionless, and then saw his jaw clench and his dark face fade a few unhealthy shades toward clay-colored.
Oh, hell. Joslire didn't know either, and now Robert had infected him with the uncertainty, the one person he'd been sure would be immune.
"Jos, Joslire, I'm sorry," Robert said aloud, helplessly.
Joslire shook his head and kept walking down the corridor toward the mess. When Robert dared to look down, Joslire's hand said forget it.
"Doctor Koscuisko," Captain Irshah Parmin said, his voice ominous under a thin veneer of pleasantry. Andrej had a strange moment of déjà vu--some dream he'd had?--but the captain continued without a pause, "you lasted less than three shifts on the Scylla before First Officer complained to me of you. Three shifts, and one was your sleepshift. I believe that is a record, even for Chief Medical."
Andrej winced, but bent his neck, and did not defend himself. He'd spent days on his way to the Scylla wondering how best to take the Provost Marshall's advice about speaking up for his bond-involuntaries to First Officer and Chief. He'd resolved to be diplomatic--Fleet Orientation Station Medical had taught him something about the necessity of being diplomatic in the matter of bond-involuntaries--but that morning, with their bonds actually in his hand, it had seemed imperative to speak immediately. First Officer and Chief had both seemed to take it in good grace at the time, but clearly Andrej had missed some cues.
The captain looked almost openly amused. "Not going to offer me an explanation, Doctor? I'd had report that you were more argumentative than that."
If he'd had report of Andrej being argumentative, he'd had report of exactly how Andrej's argument had ended. Andrej obediently offered explanation--because he remembered perfectly clearly how he'd been broken to obedience.
"My apologies, Captain. I wished to make myself understood to First Officer, Chief Samons, and the bond-involuntaries all. I was thinking of expediency more than precedence. I had no intention to make First Officer or Chief uncomfortable."
"Bond-involuntaries are Fleet resources, Koscuisko. You don't brief them, you brief the Chief Warrant Officer. Chief manages the resources. I know you had your two directly under your own supervision at Fleet Orientation, but here on the Line we have a chain of command in place, and we have it for a reason."
Andrej had bypassed it for a reason, but he did not think he would please the captain by mentioning that. Still, the captain seemed to be in a relatively expansive mood. Andrej hazarded a bit of the logic-chopping he had now and then attempted against Uncle Radu's priests.
"If the bond-involuntaries are not men but Fleet resources, how can anyone lose face by being briefed in their presence?"
The captain gave him a quelling look which reminded him why he had never tried logic-chopping on Uncle Radu himself.
"Doctor. I do not enjoy adjudicating squabbles among my Ship's Primes. This was your first mistake, and seemingly a well-intentioned one, so I will only strongly recommend that you apologize--privately--to First Officer and Chief Samons. If I hear of you stepping out of the bounds of your authority again, we will be having a different conversation."
"Understood, sir," Andrej said, as meekly as he knew how. Robert's back was still bruised. For his sake, Andrej would have to try to remember. For the sakes of ten men, he would have to apologize very prettily, and soon.
And still, he thought, if First Officer or Chief touched any of them--he'd be right back here, because he wouldn't let it go.
The officer joined Joslire's Security team for laps on their second full day aboard Scylla, and Chief Samons mercilessly demanded that he keep up with them. "If you can't run as fast as your Security, Excellency, you'll just get them killed when they slow down for you."
Joslire gathered that the officer was not quite finished apologizing to Chief for the manner of his announcement of his policy on bond-involuntaries.
The officer had an astonishing level of endurance, Joslire knew; on a forced march he would likely outlast them all. And over a short sprint he could keep up with most hominids, including his Security. But that was the first lap or two, and after that he would inevitably flag. Joslire stayed beside him and a little behind--on his right, automatically, and the others very nearly kept formation too.
Erish, running just behind the officer and to his left, shot Joslire a slightly sour look. Erish was senior. Well, everyone was senior to Joslire, by Fleet seniority, no matter how old their bonds, but even by bonds Joslire was just five years old, senior only to Code, Specs, and Robert. Erish was senior man on Security 5.4, and should have had the place at the officer's right shoulder.
Changing places would be obvious, though, and they weren't supposed to be in formation in any case. Soon they'd be expected to outpace the officer, because he would lose speed in another half-lap; Joslire had trained with him enough to know, almost to the stride. Joslire considered dragging his own pace, to camouflage the officer's slowdown--but if the others didn't do the same, it would only single him out. Joslire didn't know yet what the others would do.
They were all still uneasy, unsure of the officer, of what his announcement meant, whether he was really any different than the long succession of Chief Medial Officers they'd served under. Joslire couldn't even begin to persuade them--especially not after the unanswerable question Robert had introduced yesterday. Joslire firmly believed that, if asked, the officer would give them permission to do as they liked alone and among themselves--he firmly believed it, but yet he did not dare ask, and his governor would know what to make of such ambiguity.
When he had made an offer to the officer the officer had rejected him, and Joslire had long since ceased to be grateful for that. Particularly since it meant that the only word of the officer's he could call to mind on the topic of sex was a very emphatic no.
All the same--the officer carried Joslire's knives, and had tasted Joslire's blood. Joslire would do anything for him no matter what the officer forbade him. Even if the officer forbade it accidentally.
Joslire would also willingly risk the Chief's wrath if he thought it would be any help to the officer. Joslire stretched his legs a little and drew even, daring a glance over at the officer--who gave him a determined, cheerful look and nodded him forward.
The officer didn't wish him to intervene. Very well.
Joslire stretched his legs and made for the front of the pack. He'd just have to defend the officer's methods of discipline to Chief another way: by being the fittest man on Security 5.4.
Robert and Specs Fiskka, next-most-junior man on Security 5.3, were assigned to sleep in the outer room of the officer's quarters that night, but before they'd even had a chance to help the officer out of his duty-uniform and into his sleep-shirt, things went sideways.
The officer took a thoughtful look at Robert and said, "A moment, please, Robert, if you would," as he gestured toward the inner room.
Robert didn't look at Specs's face, but he had his hand shaped to good luck. Robert couldn't quite bring himself to sign a reassurance back. The officer had sniffed out what he was thinking, same as ever, and now Robert was bound to ask whether he wanted to or not.
The officer coded the door shut behind them, turned to Robert, and reached out to put a hand on the back of his neck.
"Now, Robert, we are in privacy. Tell to me what you have been wanting to say."
Robert ducked his head, words failing him just as surely as they had when he tried to ask Joslire. Too bad the officer didn't know finger-code--except that was crazy, the whole point was that the officer didn't know finger-code. But the officer had told him to speak, and Robert knew better than to think he could get away without telling the officer what the officer wanted to know.
Robert shuddered, and the officer's grip turned gentler, but it didn't change things.
"Sir," Robert started. That was usually a safe place to begin. "This troop begs a clarification of the officer's orders, in the matter of private recreation for bond-involuntaries, is there a prohibition. Or limitation. Sir. On private activities, alone, or together, or--"
The officer's hand tightened hard on the nape of Robert's neck, and Robert shut his teeth together with a clack, stopping further words.
"No," the officer said, sounding horrified.
Robert winced, but the officer was short enough to step in closer and so look Robert in the eye, despite his bowed head. Robert couldn't help but see that the officer looked worried, not angry or disgusted. Robert felt himself begin to relax instantly, even before the officer spoke.
"There is no prohibition, or limitation--name of all saints, Robert, who has told you--no, no, I retract, do not answer. There is no prohibition. As much as it is in my power, I make you free of your bodies, all of you--only you must tell me if anyone pressures you for such things, because I will not stand for it. But, Robert, are any of my other gentlemen suffering doubt on this point?"
A little of the immediate, giddy relief faded out of Robert as he nodded. "Some, at least, sir. Old orders still in force, and the officer did not say particularly."
That sounded almost like a criticism of the officer, once Robert had said it, but the officer didn't seem to notice, and Robert's governor didn't seem to either.
The officer nodded firmly, as if Robert had told him something important, and then dropped his hand from the back of Robert's neck and opened the door again. Specs stood promptly to attention, and the officer crossed to him and placed his hand on Specs's shoulder--not the back of the neck, Robert noted. The officer touched him and Joslire that way, though only sometimes, and Joslire more often than Robert. Robert wasn't sure the officer had touched any of the others at all, before now.
"Good Specs," the officer said firmly. "Be at ease in your mind. Robert has committed no trespass nor suffered any reprimand. But he has brought an important matter to my attention, and I require to speak to all my gentlemen immediately, if you would be so kind as to summon Security 5.3 and 5.4. There is no need to ask for Chief Samons, I will brief her separately."
Robert didn't know Specs well enough yet to spot surprise, but he seemed to follow the officer's instruction to be at ease, anyway. He gave the officer a short bow as soon as the officer dropped his hand, and went to the talkalert to call the others. Robert posted himself by the door to the officer's sleeping quarters. The officer himself paced.
It was only four, maybe five sixty-fourths before the outer door opened and eight more men trooped in, Joslire halfway along the line. Joslire's gaze found Robert instantly. Robert was managing to keep a straight face, but he had both hands locked in the sign for good news!
Joslire's eyes widened a little at that, but he formed up with the others without signing anything in return. Specs took his place at the back, but when Robert made to move, the officer waved at him to keep still.
"Gentles," the officer said. "I propose a bargain. When next Scylla allows me leave at a port so equipped, you shall, all ten, accompany me to a service house. There I will give orders that you are to have whatever food, whatever drink, and whatever companionship you each desire. I hope that you will accept this as a small recompense for having to look after so hopelessly thickheaded an officer as Andrej Koscuisko, but in the meantime I can only beg your forbearance.
"Your comrade, Robert, has brought to my attention that there was at some time an order given which prohibited bond-involuntaries from private comforts, alone or among each other. That order is rescinded this moment. So long as all parties are agreeable, you are free to engage in any form of recreation you choose--am I sufficiently clear, or shall I in physiological terms explain?"
Joslire was very nearly actually smiling, and Robert saw the officer see it; he had only the back of the officer's head and his shoulders to reckon by, but Robert saw the relief go through his body. The rest of the troops were keeping still and saying nothing. Robert thought a few of them were properly gobsmacked, but they were good troops and kept straight faces.
"Very well, let us say this--be guided by Robert and by Joslire. They understand my mind in this. You cannot go wrong by doing as they do, gentlemen. And now you are to go to rest-shift, all of you, including Robert and Specs. Go back to quarters and make sure among yourselves that you all completely understand my orders in this matter. I do not want to see anyone back here for at least two or three eights, and if it be so long as the end of sleepshift still I will not hold it against anyone; I have been able to put on and take off my own sleep-shirt since I was four years old. Security, dismissed."
Things had been nothing short of frenzied, for a while there. Joslire sprawled on the floor, catching his breath and watching the ones whose stamina had not yet been exhausted. Code and Kaydence were in a corner of the room, so focused that there was no telling whether they realized they were putting on a show for the rest. And barely out of arm's reach, Hart and Toska and Erish were still moving, though lazily. Toska kept laughingly fielding suggestions from Iyo and Cel, who had somehow managed to cram onto a sleep-rack with Specs--who was possibly asleep, and certainly lying very quietly with his head pillowed on Cel's shoulder--sandwiched between them.
Joslire couldn't calculate exactly how long his fellow troops had been waiting for this chance, but it had been much too long. Joslire had not been so much novel, as the new man, as not what anyone had been longing for, all these long years. That was all right; Joslire didn't need it so badly. He'd offered a hand, here and there, to be friendly, and he couldn't complain of the treatment he'd had in return. He was still the new man, but he was a part of the team.
Well. He was one of the new men.
Robert had been here for the first little while--had been offered a few shows of gratitude, for his conspicuous role in gaining the officer's permission for this and all future recreation. Robert had accepted kisses, a few caresses, nothing more; he'd taken off just his duty-blouse and his boots. Robert had lingered to be certain that no one had any special desire of him, and then had slipped off alone and fully clothed--into the other squad room, maybe, where his own sleep-rack was. Joslire thought he'd heard the wet-shower running at some point, but he'd not been counting heads just then. It might have been Robert, but it equally might have been anybody other than Toska or Iyo. Joslire knew exactly where both of them had been at that moment.
So perhaps Robert was one of those who'd rather his own hand than another man, when it wasn't a matter of desperation or another's need for comfort. Joslire had known others whose tastes were inflexible that way. He wouldn't hold it against Robert. He hadn't left any of his fellow Bonds wanting. Still, it meant Robert was alone right now, and surely that was unfair, when Robert had, after all, been the only one who could ask the officer for permission. If not for Robert they'd all be alone right now.
Joslire got to his feet and, after a moment's thought and a bit of searching, found his own hipwrap. He didn't put it on until he was exactly between rooms--not signaling to the others that they should resume their own clothing, but all the same not approaching Robert naked, when Robert had kept himself so carefully covered.
Robert was lying on his own bunk, face down with his head pillowed on his arms. He did look as if he'd had a shower; his hair was curling damply at the back of his neck. He had his hipwrap on, but hadn't covered himself otherwise. The lights in this room were at half, but Joslire could still pick out the shadowy bruises on Robert's back.
Joslire swung out on a long arc around Robert's sleep-rack, stepping heavily enough that Robert would hear him even barefoot, and sure enough Robert lifted his head. He didn't say anything, and his face was half in shadow, but there was enough light to see the hand in front of his face. Joslire stopped a full stride away and signed distinctly. Wanna talk?
Robert smiled a little and shook his head, then nodded toward the door and signed, Miss me?
Well, something like that. Joslire spotted him the question mark, and guessed from the nod that he meant to ask whether the others had remarked his absence.
Smiling with plenty of teeth, Joslire signed back, with all my heart.
Robert laughed a little--silently--and rolled onto his side to face Joslire. He patted the empty space on the sleep-rack, grinning, and gave up on finger-code to lay a hand over his heart.
Joslire didn't betray his surprise--he wouldn't have thought Robert would offer such closeness, even in jest. But Robert was a bond-involuntary like any other, and Joslire had come looking for him. Robert wouldn't turn him away uncomforted. Still, Joslire moved slowly and smoothly as he sat down, giving Robert the chance to pull away as Joslire set his hand over Robert's.
Joslire did feel Robert tense, but by then it only meant that Robert was letting him feel it.
Robert tilted his head back, licked his lips, and said, "Seems a shame I've kissed the officer more than I have you, Jos."
It was a shame; Joslire still couldn't think of the first time the officer had kissed Robert without feeling half-sick with horror--and yet that four-and-forty was the least of what the officer had done to Robert. Perhaps the horror was only from thinking that that four-and-forty was the last time Joslire had seen anyone touch Robert's bare skin.
Joslire shifted his hand slowly and steadily from Robert's hand to Robert's arm to Robert's bare back. Robert shivered a little but rested his head on the pillow and let his own hand fall flat to the mattress--saying nothing--as Joslire's hand moved over his skin. Joslire didn't try to massage, to find or avoid the bruises. He only tried to touch Robert, from the edge of his hipwrap to his shoulder, as thoroughly as he could.
Long after Joslire's palm had warmed with friction, and long before he would have stopped, Robert raised his hand to Joslire's other wrist and tugged gently. Joslire glanced up at his face, and Robert signed come here with his free hand.
Joslire lay down facing Robert, his hand still on Robert's back, his head sharing Robert's pillow.
"Give us a kiss or two, Joslire," Robert coaxed, smiling a little. "Just to make the tally."
"Just for that," Joslire agreed. Just kisses, just between them. Just because of the officer. Joslire closed his eyes as he pressed his lips to Robert's, warm and soft and simple. Once. Twice. Three times, for luck, or against future need.
They both lay still after, breathing each other's breath, the whole length of their bodies so close that Joslire could feel the warmth from Robert's skin. There was just enough noise from the other room to let him know all was well, and here, in the half-dark, there was Robert.
Robert's breath was easing into a slow, natural rhythm, and Joslire murmured reflexively, "Don't fall asleep."
"Oh," Robert said, and Joslire opened his eyes as Robert tensed under his hand. "You're right, it's been at least two eights, I should--"
"The officer will be asleep," Joslire pointed out. "And so is Specs, I think. I'll come with you. We have orders to do as we like, and we can fall asleep there and still be ready for firstshift."
Robert kissed him again, quick and smiling, and threw his arm around Joslire, pressing close just for an instant.
Backward Nurail, Joslire thought, tightening his own grip on Robert. Hugs after kisses--next they'd be awkwardly touching hands.
Still, Joslire didn't let go.
"You've brought your own prisoners. Which will you use?"
Andrej turned slowly. The dread dragged across his skin like ice, but he couldn't make himself move fast enough to get it over with, nor slow enough never to see what awaited him. Joslire and Robert stood in their Security positions at his back, wearing prisoners' smocks instead of green-trimmed uniforms.
Andrej stared, frozen, knowing that in another second the captain would choose for him, would choose Robert, would send him into the exercise theater to perform the Tenth Level.
The impossible happened. Robert threw back his head and laughed.
Andrej thought I'm dreaming and looked at Joslire, who was grinning widely, and then opened his eyes. He stared around his cabin for a moment, but there was nothing to see and only the light of the perpetually neglected icon of St. Andrej of Filial Piety to see it by.
Robert really was laughing; Andrej could hear him. The sound came in hiccuping bursts, and Andrej was out of bed and walking to the door before he thought about what he was doing. He stood a moment listening from behind the door, and heard words in Robert's laughter.
"No--Jos, no--stop--stop it--" but Robert kept laughing, and Andrej, expert in pain and fear and all shades of duress, could hear none in Robert's voice.
All the same, Andrej opened the door and peered out into the room beyond from the threshold.
Robert and Joslire were on the floor, nearly naked, Joslire on top. Andrej felt himself blush and shifted his weight backward, and then he realized that Robert was slapping feebly at Joslire's hands. Joslire was kneeling astride Robert and tickling him, and Robert was laughing too hard to really fight back.
Andrej had never been a party to such fights as a child; from birth he had been the inheriting prince, and his dignity had been respected accordingly. But he had watched Iosev and Lo and Meka tickle and wrestle and torment each other. Half of those fights had been in deadly earnest, as Andrej recalled, or as much in deadly earnest as boys of four and five and six could be. Half had been like this; if they had been mashound puppies their tails would have been wagging eighty to eight. Robert was giggling, and Joslire was grinning, and Andrej's dignity was more terrible than it had ever been; he stood silently apart and watched.
On the other hand, there was no venerable old servant in the nursery to break up the fight before someone bumped his head and began to cry. There was only Andrej.
Padding silently in bare feet across the floor-matting, Andrej was very nearly close enough to be kicked by Robert's flailing legs before Robert saw him. Robert let out an urgent, strangled, "Jos!" and Joslire froze at once.
Andrej smiled a little, abruptly reassured that it really was all in fun--because when it ceased to be fun, both of them had desisted instantly. And still there was a hectic, happy flush on Robert's cheeks, and even Joslire's dark color seemed heightened as he twisted to look over his shoulder at Andrej. If a man could be at attention while straddling his fellow Security troop, both of them dressed only in hipwraps, Joslire was.
"Gentlemen," Andrej said, and remembered to forestall any sense of anxiety with a smile, "I credit myself with your happiness and so grow rich, which is never to be despised. And yet this contest unequal seems."
"He says only Nurail are ticklish, if it please the officer," Robert reported indignantly. The spell had broken when Andrej spoke, and both of his gentlemen scrambled up to their feet facing him.
"Mr. St. Clare misspoke, the officer should be aware," Joslire said in a more measured tone, though with a laugh lurking underneath. "This troop said that the condition resulted from too-close marriages of cousins. It would not be only the Nurail, in all of Jurisdiction."
"Well," Andrej said, wondering if his decent sleepshirt had become the nanny's apron--holy Mother forgive his presumption--while he slept. "Certainly it is not only the Nurail. For instance, I have occasion had to study the nerve-map of the Emandisan--"
Joslire froze, allowing Andrej to dart in and run a tickling touch up the back of his left arm. Sure enough, Joslire's whole body arched away from the touch--
He really must consider tickling--
No. Andrej silenced the thought absolutely.
Joslire threw his head back and laughed helplessly, not even trying to defend himself. He never would, against Andrej. But when Robert's hand joined Andrej's, Joslire flung himself behind Andrej and dropped to clutch Andrej's knees.
"This troop begs sanctuary! With the officer's very great indulgence--please--" Joslire was laughing helplessly, and while Andrej stood still--it was dangerous to try to move with a man as strong as Joslire clutching one's knees--Robert simply leaned around him in search of his prey. Joslire's grip tightened convulsively when Robert--casually leaning against Andrej to reach--made contact.
"Please," Joslire gasped, his face pressed to Andrej's thigh with only the hem of Andrej's sleep-shirt between them, "Please--master--"
"Enough," Andrej said at once, for even in play he could not deny such a request, in such terms.
Robert, with his shoulder against Andrej's chest, froze. Andrej twisted slightly to set a hand on each of their heads, one silky, one rough. "Peace, gentlemen. I should have remembered that whatever may come of escalating a conflict, it is never the path to a quieter sleepshift."
Though Andrej did not, just now, particularly desire a quiet sleepshift.
Joslire's grip on his knees loosened, and Robert looked up at Andrej from under his hand, showing not the least intention of moving.
"Question for the officer," Robert said, in a diffident voice Andrej already recognized as teasing. He smiled, and Robert, emboldened, smiled back. "Point of medical curiosity. Are all hominids ticklish, sir? Dolgorukij, for instance? If the officer please?"
Andrej looked down at Robert, looking up, and at Joslire, who still kept his face averted. He said, with the utmost gravity, "That is sensitive information, Mr. St. Clare."
He waited a few long, silent seconds--well, it wasn't much of a joke, and perhaps none at all, in Standard, and the only thing worse than an unfunny joke was trying to explain why it was funny in one's own tongue--and then Joslire began silently to laugh. Andrej could feel the shaking against the back of his legs. An instant later Andrej realized that he was staring Robert down, and a second after that Robert cracked, hiding his face and giggling again. His weight pressed against Andrej's chest, and Joslire's grip on his knees tightened perilously. Andrej began to laugh himself, and held on to his gentlemen for balance.