Free Hour of Judgement by Susan R. Matthews Page B

Excellency, I’ll go to communications right away.”
    Nodding, Danzilar put his hand out to Garol’s shoulder, walking with him toward the door and talking with evident intent to lighten the atmosphere somewhat. “Yes, thank you, Garol Aphon. Excuse me to my cousin that I do not greet him before you leave, beg for me his forgiveness. And remind him. There is to be a party. There will be dancing.”
    The more Garol thought about it the better he liked the idea of Captain Lowden forced to make good the senseless damage his First Lieutenant had done.

    ###

    Captain Lowden usually enjoyed disciplinary events on a number of levels, but today was different.
    Today his secret knowledge of the joke he planned to play on Koscuisko distracted him to such an extent that he almost wished Koscuisko would just get it over with, and Koscuisko wasn’t off his game, no, nor was the guilty technician unresponsive to the impact of Koscuisko’s whip. Koscuisko’s performance was, as always, a thing of abstract beauty; as great passion and great control were always beautiful, perfect in form and in execution.
    Discipline administered as adjudicated, Technician Hixson, if Lowden remembered correctly. Three-and-thirty. Hixson, bound by the wrists to the wall, two Security troops standing facing the room on either side at several pace’s remove so as to be out of danger of any stray blow.
    Ship’s Engineer, the aggrieved party, present as much to keep an eye on Koscuisko as to provide witness that the penalty had been administered and the grievance satisfied. Jennet ap Rhiannon, counting the strokes, because Lowden felt it was important to involve junior lieutenants in the full range of their duties as Command Branch officers.
    The room was crowded. All the better. Koscuisko would swallow down questions he might otherwise ask, to spare listening ears the unpleasantness; and that would help the joke forward.
    “Twenty-six, twenty-six, twenty-seven,” the Lieutenant counted, her voice flat and free from any inflection that might betray any emotion she felt. Did crèche-bred have emotions? Lowden wondered. Neither Fleet nor the Bench had much use for emotions, so why would crèche-bred have been issued any? Apart from the Standard, of course.
    Whether it was her dispassionate demeanor or something else that Lowden hadn’t noticed, Koscuisko apparently objected to the Lieutenant. Or to something she had done. “Twenty-eight, Lieutenant, the count is twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.”
    Yes, right, now that Lowden thought about it she’d counted twenty-six two times over, just now. Lowden had thought the stroke a hair on the light side himself, but there were good reasons not to challenge Koscuisko on it.
    For one thing Lowden was serenely convinced that Koscuisko wouldn’t dare actually muddle his count with his Captain in the room. It was the officer’s mess, not Secured Medical, so there were no record tapes to review to determine a true count. But Koscuisko was too well trained.
    “With respect, sir, the Standard calls for — ”
    The Standard called for blood to be let on every stroke or the stroke repeated. Koscuisko knew that. Koscuisko was the Judicial officer on board. It wasn’t very appropriate for the Lieutenant to challenge him on his count.
    “Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three,” Koscuisko called firmly, ignoring the Lieutenant. “Three-and-thirty. Gentlemen. Release the technician. Wheatfields, your man.”
    Ap Rhiannon stifled well; yes, Koscuisko had interrupted, but Koscuisko was the senior officer. Lowden rose from his observation post and stepped down from the Captain’s Bar to examine the evidence and decide the issue for himself.
    Koscuisko had handed the whip off to one of his Security already, and was drinking a flask of rhyti in his shirtsleeves. Discipline was warm work. Koscuisko always took his over-blouse off. It had only been three-and-thirty, though. Apart from his loosened collar and rolled-back