Free Hour of Judgement by Susan R. Matthews Page A

Koscuisko had done to the people he had decided to consider responsible for the death of that bond-involuntary Emandisan of his at Port Rudistal.
    “No disrespect is intended, your Excellency. I’m simply not sure what you want me to do about it.”
    Danzilar glanced at the report slate in the watch-captain’s hands with what seemed to be a shudder of horror, or of barely suppressed disgust. “Four pieces of glass, it says, Garol Aphon. And the wounds as long as my hand is broad. There is no surgeon in Burkhayden to address such injuries effectively. My medical administrator says that we will not have a trauma surgeon on site before it cannot but be too late for this poor woman.”
    Garol started to shrug in involuntary perplexity; but smoothed his shrug out, thinking quickly. He was beginning to think that he knew what the Danzilar had in mind.
    “You want Fleet to send a trauma team to Burkhayden. Possibly when Jils and I leave.” They were scheduled to depart inside of ten eights, and a ship of the Ragnarok ’s size carried modular units for just such requirements — although they were usually used to bring newly repossessed or liberated facilities on line.
    If there was a hospital building still standing in Burkhayden the Ragnarok could furnish a surgery and a surgeon, up and running in — how long? Garol did some calculations, concentrating hard. The report was already ten eights old. They had a day and a half or more in transit time, ahead of them; maybe if they left a few hours early —
    “I want Fleet to send the best surgeon at its disposal here and now. The Chief Medical Officer’s personal involvement would send the strongest possible signal to my people in Burkhayden. That is what I wish you to have done.”
    “Koscuisko?”
    The name escaped Garol in an involuntary yelp of disbelief.
    Send Koscuisko to minister to a woman raped? Send the single most notorious pain-master in the entire inventory to tend to a woman brutalized by his own ship’s First Lieutenant?
    Koscuisko.
    It made a certain amount of sense, once he thought about it.
    “There are two things that the most uneducated of rabble knows about my cousin Drusha,” Danzilar replied, with utter seriousness. It took Garol a moment to make sense of the name: Drusha, from the intimate form of Andrej. “No, perhaps three things. First, there is of course the obvious. Second, that he is the Chief Medical Officer on board the Ragnarok . And finally, that there are none better at what he does, irrespective of the capacity in which one invokes his expertise. Is it not so?”
    Well, maybe not really. Once the first point had been raised and controverted the rest faded a bit in significance. Still, Koscuisko was recognized as a senior officer by token of the Inquisitorial function that he performed, if nothing else. Koscuisko’s symbolic subordination to a Service bond-involuntary was probably a pretty damn solid way for Danzilar to make his point, if that was what Danzilar was after.
    “I’ll send an emergency override, your Excellency.” It was within his authority to demand that Lowden comply with any measures he deemed necessary to complete the transfer of function. Garol decided that he might very well enjoy making a point of that. “The ship’s Chief Medical Officer to travel to Burkhayden with me, and to treat the traumatic injuries this woman has sustained to the maximum extent of his professional ability. Shall I report to his Excellency when the requirement has been communicated to Captain Lowden?”
    “Four pieces of glass, Garol Aphon.” Danzilar stared at the closed door, clearly distracted. “Please, yes, let me know. This must be addressed, and it cannot be done too soon, you understand.”
    Maybe there was some cultural peculiarity that made Wyrlann’s particular crime especially horrible to Danzilar.
    Or maybe Danzilar was simply a decent sort at heart, with decent instincts.
    “I understand. If you’ll excuse me, your