An Exchange of Hostages Read Online Free PDF Page A

tender from wearing new footgear. He washed his hands and combed his hair — for all the world as if he were a schoolboy on his way to sit among his elders. As if he was preparing for a formal occasion. As if he felt the Bond and what it stood for was something worthy of his respect.
    Then Koscuisko was ready.
    “I will receive your Bond now, Joslire Curran.”
    Joslire opened his blouse, pulling at the fine chain around his neck to find its metal pendant. Koscuisko confused him; he was taking as many pains as it would have cost to do this tomorrow.
    “This tape is the record of my trial.” Not precisely true, perhaps; it had not been Joslire Curran’s trial. But it was close enough. And the formula had been established by the Bench, and could not be materially amended. Requiring that he use personal language — “my trial,” “I” — was all part of the ritual, personalizing his enslavement. “Here the officer will find details of the offense for which I have been justly condemned, by the solemn adjudication of the Jurisdiction’s Bench.”
    All of this time, and he still could hardly say “justly.” He had been betrayed to Jurisdiction, condemned to this shame by the cunning and hatred of an ancestral enemy. He would survive to revenge himself. If he failed to revenge himself he would be dishonored in fact, as well as in the eyes of the Bench. He would not fail.
    “According to the provisions of Fleet Penal Consideration number eighty-three, sub-heading twenty, article nine, my life belongs to the Jurisdiction’s Bench, which has deeded it to the Fleet for thirty years.”
    Betrayed by an enemy. Bonded by the Bench, because he’d satisfied all the requirements they had for bond-involuntaries: youth, fitness, intelligence, psychological resilience . . . lucky him. He got to carry a governor for thirty years, and in return the Bench waived all charges. If he lived out his Term, they granted full retirement along with the pay that would have accrued had he been a free man; as if that could make up for it.
    “The officer is respectfully requested to accept the custody of my Bond.”
    In two hands he offered it, the prescribed gesture of submission.
    With two hands outstretched, the officer received it. With real respect, as if understanding that it was Joslire’s life — and not some piece of jewelry, some dull trinket — that he was to hold for the Bench in the Fleet’s name.
    Koscuisko had a solemn face, a grave expression even at rest — as far as Joslire had seen of him thus far. Joslire told himself it was just weariness that made Koscuisko look so
    serious now. Otherwise it was too tempting to believe that Koscuisko understood; too tempting to imagine that the Bench formality could actually become the contract-of-honor that it mocked just this one time.
    “I will accept your Bond, Joslire Curran. And hold it for the Day your Term is past.”
    It was just ritual, Joslire told himself. The words were only words, the same as those spoken by his other officers before Student Koscuisko; the same words that would be spoken by the next Student once Koscuisko was graduated and gone.
    Except the promise was real this time; the hope for that distant Day was sharp and poignant, because something in Koscuisko’s tone of voice utterly convinced Joslire that Koscuisko meant it.
    On board a cruiser-killer, the Ship’s First — the Security Officer — would husband all the Bonds for safekeeping. Here at Fleet Orientation Station Medical, the Students were required to carry the Bonds on their own person, to increase their sense of ownership and authority. Koscuisko put the chain over his neck, slipping the flat gray record-tape into his tunic.
    It was over, for yet another Term.
    “And now, not that it follows, Joslire, I’m tired. I should like to go to bed.”
    And yet he felt less enslaved — and more personally sworn — than ever he had since the terrible day that the Bench had first condemned him to