When Cortin woke, shortly before dawn, she was still awed by her new position. That sort of promotion and transfer simply weren't supposed to happen—but all the Kingdoms would have Sovereign's Inquisitors, according to Brad; soon she'd be one of a dozen, different only in that she worked directly for the High King. That made it a little less daunting—and they were supposed to leave for New Denver today. She got up, bathed, and dressed, unable to suppress a thrill when she fastened the Colonel's eagle and the Household badge to her tunic.
The flight started out as interesting, if uneventful. Cortin exchanged courtesies with the Royal couple, then joined her team, taking a window seat. It was her first flight—well, she thought, the first one she'd been awake for, anyway—and she wanted to see everything she could. She'd had a passing interest in archaeology once, so she was aware of pre-war population statistics, and knew the unnaturally straight lines of vegetation in the areas they flew over marked roads or buildings that no longer existed. For the first time, the two came together and became real for her. There had been so many of them! Dear God, it must have been unbearable, especially in the cities, crowded so closely together! But it was fascinating, seeing what they'd left … and they'd been thriving, not declining … She forced that thought aside, not for the first time. It was for Kings and Popes to concern themselves with the fact that humanity in the Systems was dying out, not for Enforcement officers.
As the plane droned westward, though, she discovered she couldn't dismiss it any longer. Whatever she'd experienced during her drugged recovery wouldn't let her. Like it or not, if she believed the vision or hallucination or whatever—and it didn't seem to be leaving her much choice in the matter—she'd been saddled with responsibility for reversing the decline.
It wasn't fair, she protested to herself. She was an Enforcement officer, not a secular or Church noble; she didn't have the kind of power or backing it would take to make the tremendous changes she'd been shown were necessary. Though, she admitted grudgingly, she'd also been promised help getting the power and people she'd need to do the job—and a Strike Team Leader/Inquisitor just promoted to High King's Inquisitor wasn't exactly powerless. Not popular, which she'd have to be to gain widespread support for the changes she'd be trying to make, but certainly not powerless.
Odeon's voice broke into her thoughts. "You look disturbed, Colonel. Is it anything we can help with?"
Cortin wanted to say no, but nodded instead. She couldn't accomplish either of her objectives alone, and who better for her closest helpers than the team she and Mike had hand-picked? "I'm afraid so. See if we can use the conference cabin, please, so I can brief all of you at once."
"Right away." Odeon stood, then hesitated. "What about Colonel Bradford and Major Illyanov?"
"Fine. And civilian input wouldn't hurt, either, so see if Their Highnesses would care to join us."
Even on an aircraft of the Royal Fleet, space was limited; the conference cabin was full when Cortin began the briefing. "Your Highnesses, gentles—thank you for coming. This is difficult for me to talk about, and it will be difficult for you to hear—but it not only has to be said, it has to be acted on."
She paused, scanning the group's faces. Yes, she had their full attention, though both Odeon and Chang looked apprehensive as well as attentive. That was all right; everyone here would feel the same before she got through. "While I was recovering from Lieutenant Chang's surgery, I had a series of what I can only call visions. You can decide the source for yourselves when you've heard what I have to say; my own opinion is that the medication I was under either allowed or forced me to put together a number of facts and arrive at some uncomfortable conclusions.
"Although we've eliminated war and most illness, leading in turn to the elimination of poverty in any sense the Terrans or prewars would understand, the human race faces two great—and immediate—threats. One is the terrorists, particularly the Brothers of Freedom and their chief Raidmaster, Lawrence Shannon. Eliminating them is a job we've all—except Your Highnesses, of course—sworn to do, and the Strike Force has personal reasons to do it thoroughly and quickly."
She took a deep breath. "As bad as that threat is, the other is both worse and harder to deal with. Everyone knows, although no one wants to talk or think about, the facts of human infertility and a declining population. The only thing that has been done about that, and it was against considerable opposition, was the granting of Enforcement's sexual dispensation. Although some families are blessed with numerous children, the average birthrate is less than two per family—and there are many people who choose not to have families at all. On the other hand—Major Illyanov, how many children have you fathered?"
The Dmitrian smiled. "Three by my wife, six more I am aware of by other women—the children live with us, their mothers nearby—and my mistress is currently with child."
"Seven children that wouldn't exist without the dispensation," Cortin said, "since Major Illyanov honors God in both word and deed. As does Bishop-Colonel Bradford. Colonel?"
"One by my wife, who's expecting our second," Bradford replied, frowning. "Three others I know about."
"Less prolific, but still well beyond replacement. No one else in this room has had any."
Princess Ursula echoed Bradford's frown. "Are you suggesting that we do away with families, or make all married women attempt to have children by Enforcement men?" she asked quietly.
"Not at all, Your Highness," Cortin said. "A strong family structure is necessary to a healthy society, and no woman should be compelled to have children, by any man. I'm not advocating anything of the sort. What I am saying is that family structure has to change in response to changed conditions. Monogamy means that if either spouse is sterile, that couple will have no children—which is the case with almost half of our families. And that is as tragic for the individuals concerned as it is suicidal for the race." She paused. "Some infertile couples adopt, of course, and some seek Enforcement help, but neither is statistically significant. Fortunately, a few of those we've helped have been nobles otherwise unable to fulfill their duty to provide heirs."
Prince Edward winced, then nodded, looking grim. A trooper's partner naturally shared his dispensation for that act, and if a child came of it, the trooper was almost always named the baby's godfather—though the legal father was the husband. "A service the Kingdom cannot acknowledge," the Prince said, "but one it's nevertheless extremely grateful for. Unfortunately, it's one that has been of no benefit to Ursula and myself. If you have something that might work, we'll be glad to consider it."
"Polygamy," Cortin said promptly. "More than two spouses improve the odds dramatically. Four to eight per family, ideally half men and half women, would do wonders for the birthrate."
"Be better for the children, too," Bain put in. "Like my brother's family—when he was killed, they lost the only adult male, and were left with one adult to care for three young children, no steady role model for the boys. Jo—the Colonel's way, that'd be a whole lot less likely. One parent's death would still be tragic, of course, but it wouldn't cause complete disruption."
"Which," Cortin said, "—and I admit to considerable personal interest here—would mean Special Ops personnel could have families. That includes my team, though according to what I saw it doesn't include me."
It wouldn't, Odeon thought regretfully, at least not until the real Protector manifested. Her family, until then, had to be all the humans in the Systems; she couldn't be restricted to a few individuals. If he were permitted a family, though, Joanie'd be as much a part of it as he could manage—and he had a pretty good idea how.
The Royal couple whispered to each other for a few moments, then Prince Edward looked back at Cortin. "We agree, Excellency. Show us how it can be done legally and without sin, and Ursula and I will bring others into our family." He raised an eyebrow at them. "Although we have come to love each other, it's common knowledge that isn't necessary to a Royal marriage, the primary purpose of which is to beget heirs. If a polygamous marriage can permit us to fulfill that purpose it is—as you pointed out—our duty."
Cortin swallowed, uncomfortable. "I intended no offense, Your Highness."
"None taken, Your Excellency. Although it's not by intent, we have failed." He turned to Bradford. "How do you think Enforcement personnel and their families would react to the idea, Colonel?"
"Favorably," Bradford said. "Many of us already have such arrangements informally, as I'm sure Your Highness knows, and quite a few—myself included—would like to formalize them."
"And most of the nobility," the Prince said, "would be more intrigued than offended, if it could be shown not to be sinful. The Church would resist that, though, I'm afraid, and the landfolk would probably have strong objections."
"I know," Cortin admitted. "I don't have any choice but to try, though. I saw two possibilities in the vision, or whatever it was, and I've got to work for the second. In the first, humanity kept on the way it's going now, a slow decline with the terrorists getting stronger until they reach a critical number and Shayan takes them over openly, uses them to wipe out the rest of us in a final bloody massacre, then amuses himself by torturing them to death one by one—which he and his demons continue, of course, once they're in Sheol.
"The other wasn't quite as clear, maybe because there's more than one way for it to go—I can't be certain. In it, we recognize the Satyr Plague for what it is—"
"Shayan's attempt to corrupt us," Princess Ursula declared.
"With all respect, Your Highness," Cortin said firmly, "that's not possible. I can't deny that Shayan has tremendous power, but there's one power God has reserved to Himself, and that is the creation of life. The satyr virus isn't very high on the scale, I agree, but it is life, with no detectable connection to any other form in the Kingdoms. So the Satyr Plague is from God, and it must be His Will that we use it, within the limits of morality He's given us, to reverse the decline."
"The Satyr Plague used within the bounds of morality?" Princess Ursula sounded highly dubious.
"It can be done," Cortin said. "Troopers don't use their dispensation to spend all their time having sex, do they?"
"No," the Princess admitted, "not even all their spare time. But troopers are far better disciplined than the average civilian—give landfolk the freedom to indulge their drives the way troopers do, and I dread to think of the consequences."
"I think you're underestimating them, Your Highness," Cortin said, allowing herself a smile. "I was raised in a farming family, and I can assure you they're every bit as disciplined as troopers, although in a different way." She grimaced. "I'll take drill, and transfers, and orders, and getting shot at, any day, over milking and plowing and feeding and getting up before dawn every day! Even with the virus' help, farm life doesn't leave enough energy for overindulgence. I'm sure most would be happy to keep their sexual activity within the family."
"Happier than now, I'd bet," Bain said. "That way, they'd get the variety the virus makes you want, without having to go outside the family—which would be a major reduction in adultery all by itself."
"That sounds reasonable," the Princess said. "Your argument about the virus being a new life form is one I can't refute either, so go on. We recognize the Satyr Plague as God's gift; then what?"
"The first thing, as Your Highness has already agreed, is to get polygamy approved," Cortin said. "And, as His Highness has pointed out, convincing the Church to sanction it is going to be difficult. Assuming we can manage that, even on a small scale to demonstrate its effects on the birthrate, the next step is to eliminate the terrorists. I don't know for sure, but I think that's going to mean a showdown between me and Shannon—the real one—and that, gentles, terrifies me." She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly in an attempt to calm herself. "Assuming the new family structure and Shannon's defeat, what I saw was God's Kingdom, here in the Systems. That tells me the Final Coming must have taken place sometime between now and then, with the protection from sin Jeshua said the Protector would bring to those who sought it. I didn't see that part, though."
The Princess crossed herself. "The Spirit Who will come to correct and comfort," she said softly.
"'Who will come in a form none can predict,'" Bradford quoted, "'bringing God's Wrath to those who persist in sin, and His Eternal Joy to those who forswear it.' Are you claiming to be His Herald, Colonel Cortin?"
"I'm not claiming anything, My Lord Bishop. All I'm doing is telling you about some things I saw in what may have been nothing more than a drug-induced hallucination. But it's one convincing enough I have to believe and act on it, even though I'm certain it's going to kill me." She shrugged. "Not that I expected to live long when I went into Special Ops. All I can ask is to go out doing my best."
"That's all any of us can ask," Bradford agreed. He'd have to talk to Odeon about this soon, in private; the scar-faced man's expression, though he was trying to remain impassive, told the Bishop-Inquisitor he knew something he wasn't saying. "I wouldn't tell anyone else about this until we get some hard evidence one way or another, and I'd suggest the rest of you keep it within this group as well."
"As the Colonel commands," Illyanov said. "I, however, intend to act as if Colonel Cortin's vision was precisely that." He gave Cortin a deep, seated bow. "I am yours to command, Excellency."
"So's the team, of course," Odeon said.
"And I'm willing to give serious consideration to anything that will give us an Heir," the Prince said. "I'll speak to my father about this, and I'll expect you to keep us informed. For now, we should be getting ready for landing." He paused. "Before we return to the main cabin, though, Your Excellency, I have a favor to ask."
"If I can, Your Highness."
The Prince took four cartridges out of his pocket. "For us and my parents, then, if you would be so kind."
Cortin sighed, but only to herself. "Of course. I'll need holy water; is there any aboard?"
"At your service." The Prince handed her a small vial.
Cortin took it, blessed the cartridges, and returned them. "With my personal hope you're never in a position to need the special blessing," she added.
"Which would be a form of protection, wouldn't it?" The Prince smiled. "Thank you, Colonel."
Nobody had thought to brief them on the welcoming ceremonies at the airport, but Bradford had mentioned her team acting as bodyguards, so when it was their turn to leave the plane, Odeon took point and the other four formed a square around Cortin. That might or might not have been the right thing to do, but it was effective; as a member of the King's Household, she got some press attention—as the High King's Inquisitor, surrounded by Special Operations officers, that attention was both brief and extremely respectful.
Once they got through that, Cortin and her team boarded a passenger van with "Harmony Lodge" emblazoned on the side for the brief trip to their new home. The Lodge was more impressive than Cortin had expected, though she'd gathered from Bradford that it was adequate for a larger team than hers. It was close to the Palace Compound, not a kilometer from the Palace itself, but the way it had been landscaped, it could have been far from anything: thick hedges and a formal garden made it a private place. The building itself was huge, and looked more like a medieval castle than the simple, probably rustic building she'd expected from something called a lodge. She wondered with some amusement if it had a dungeon; that was, after all, the classical place for interrogations in a castle.
The van dropped them off at the main door, then headed toward the rear of the building. As they approached, the door swung open to reveal an elderly man in black-and-scarlet livery, who bowed to them. "Welcome home, Colonel—gentles. I am Michael Brady, Your Excellency's butler and head of Harmony Lodge's staff." He gestured them inside. "May I show you around, or would you prefer to rest until supper?"
"Thank you, Mr. Brady," Cortin said. "I'd like to see the place, especially my work areas. My men may make their own choices."
Odeon and Chang chose to join her, the others decided to rest. Brady called servants to show them to their rooms, then said, "Your Excellency has not had servants before?"
"No … it shows?"
"It does. Servants are addressed and referred to by first name, not by an honorific and last name."
Cortin didn't like that; if she used first names with a person, she expected to be referred to that way herself. Still, she didn't like to defy custom in public, and while the servants might work for her, they weren't part of her team. She inclined her head in agreement. "As you say, then, Matthew. My apologies if I offended."
"No offense, Excellency. You wished to see your work area first?"
"Please—and brief me on the rest of the place as we go, if you would."
"Of course," Brady said. "If you will follow me?" He led them through a doorway to the left of the broad, sweeping entrance stairs. "The entertainment areas and public offices are here, on the main floor; living quarters are on the upper floors—private bedrooms and baths, common eating and recreational facilities, including an excellent library; and the work area is below ground. Servants' quarters are in a building behind this one."
"Sounds nice," Cortin said appreciatively. "I do have an honest-to-God dungeon, then?"
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"I'm new to Royal circles, Matthew—is it usual for members of His Majesty's Household to have households of their own?"
"No, Excellency." Brady paused, looking uncomfortable. "With all due respect to the Inquisitor-Colonel, she is the only one whose position makes it desirable. The rest live in the Palace itself."
Cortin had gotten used to an Inquisitor's normal isolation, but she hadn't expected it to be this extreme. It was fine with her, though; she'd rather have her own place. "I gather I won't be expected to do much entertaining or go to many parties, then."
"No, Excellency, though you will of course receive all the usual invitations. The only functions you will actually be expected to appear at will be ones hosted by His Majesty, and you are free to miss those if you are in the midst of an interrogation. He has instructed me to inform you that your work is to take priority over anything else, and that you are to contact him personally at any time if you believe you have obtained valuable information."
"I'm not to report to him, then?" Cortin was both relieved and a little disappointed at that.
"Not immediately, Excellency; as I said, your work is to take priority, and there are four prisoners in the holding cells awaiting the attentions of the High King's Inquisitor."
Cortin smiled, changing her plans for the evening's entertainment. "In that case, I'll pass on the rest of the tour for now. Captain Odeon, would you do me a favor?"
Odeon nodded, grinning. "Call Major Illyanov and tell him no guests tonight, right?"
"Right, then join me downstairs." She thought for a moment, then asked Brady, "What shape are they in?"
"Untouched, to the best of my knowledge, Excellency."
Four, and none softened up. Cortin nodded to herself, pleased, then asked, "What's the setup like down there? Colonel Bradford said one state-of-the-art suite, other conventional ones."
"Yes, Excellency. There are five complete interrogation suites, though only Suite Alpha—yours, of course—has the highly sophisticated equipment."
"Thank you." Cortin turned to Chang. "Lieutenant, would you ask Lieutenant Bain to join me after supper?" When she agreed, Cortin turned back to Brady. "Let's go."
Someone with a sense of humor she appreciated had posted signs in the prisoners' passage showing the way to the dungeon, and one over its door quoting the ancient poet Dante: "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here." They stopped there, and Bradford gave her a set of keys. "My responsibilities end at this door, Your Excellency. Enforcement Service personnel from the Detention Center are responsible for caring for the prisoners and cleaning up after you; the first is done at midday, and they are on call for the other. Now that you have assumed your duties, no one else will enter except by your order or with your permission."
"What about record films of the interrogations?"
"That is handled by the Palace security monitors, Excellency."
"Fine. What about spare keys?"
"There is a set for the Enforcement personnel I mentioned."
"We'll need three more, then. One each for Captain Odeon and Lieutenant Bain, and one for anyone else in the team."
"I will see to it. By Your Excellency's leave?"
"Granted."
The keys were marked; Cortin had no trouble finding the one for the main entrance, or for the cellblock. She'd wait for Mike before taking any of them to the suite, but she could make a preliminary evaluation and pick her first subject.
The block held twenty cells, four of them, as Brady had said, flagged as having occupants. She didn't get beyond the second one, though. Its occupant startled her at first—she hadn't thought of him since leaving New Denver months ago—then she chuckled and turned on the cell's speaker. "Powell—I would've thought you, of all people, would've avoided Enforcement troopers."
Startled, the young man stared at the one-way glass in the door. "Uh … Captain Cortin?"
"Colonel, now—but it's me, yes. What're you doing in custody again, much less at Harmony Lodge?"
Powell managed a tentative smile. "Congratulations, Colonel." Then it faded, and his shoulders slumped. "You won't believe me—they didn't, at the Center, so they sent me here for the High King's Inquisitor." To Cortin's astonishment, she saw the beginnings of hope in his face, and his eyes brightened. "That's not— You're not—?"
"It is, and I am."
"Oh, thank God! They said the King's Inquisitor would have truthsense—please, let me talk to you!"
Cortin hesitated. He certainly sounded sincere enough, but he'd been conditioned once; possibly he had been re-conditioned, this time to kill whoever turned out to be King's Inquisitor. On the other hand, that Brother had said Shannon had put her off limits, and Powell had submitted to her will once; he'd do so again easily. So she was unlocking the cell door when Odeon arrived.
"Find a promising one?" he asked.
"I'd say so—one who wants to talk to me, at least." Cortin opened the cell's door, beckoned its occupant out. "You remember our young friend?"
"Of course! What's he doing here?"
"That's what he wants to talk about. Shall we go to my suite?"
"Just a second, please?" The young man was looking at her with adoration so open it was almost embarrassing, and Cortin wondered where that had come from. "I haven't seen Captain Odeon in ages …"
"I don't mind if he doesn't." Cortin watched them embrace, one hand close to her pistol, but it seemed that all Powell wanted was a kiss. At least that much of his conditioning held, she thought. When they broke, she repeated, "Shall we go to my suite?"
This time they made it. Suite Alpha's office was simple, but comfortably appointed, designed to give the subject a feeling of relaxation and trust. Cortin took her place in a grouping of furniture intended to help the subject feel more at ease that the normal desk-centered version of first stage, and gestured the other two to adjoining seats. "Now, Charles, what is it you don't think I'll believe?"
"That—" The young man gulped, tried again. "That I … had to come back. The Brothers … some of the older ones had me, the ways Captain Odeon and the others helped me find out I liked, but it … with them, it wasn't right, and I finally figured out that was because Captain Odeon and the others also helped me realize the Brotherhood itself was wrong. Especially to hate you, when you're the one who let them help me." He gestured, helplessly. "So I had to go back to the Center, and find you, and … offer to help you any way I could, in return for the help you gave me."
Her truthsense told her he was being absolutely honest. "Did you tell the Brothers how you felt?"
"No, ma'am—that didn't seem like a very good idea. I let troopers see me, but they didn't do anything—maybe because you'd had me released. Anyway, I didn't manage to get arrested until I hit one of them—and then no one'd believe I'd done it to get arrested! And that's how I ended up here."
So Mike and the Inquisitors had modified the conditioning she'd set up, had they? Powell was supposed to be terrified of her, if not of them—justifiably so, she admitted to herself—but he was grateful instead, enough so that he'd risked his life to get back. He could easily have been shot for attacking a trooper, not simply gotten arrested. As it turned out, their modification should prove more useful than her simple revenge, so she couldn't get too upset with them—but she would definitely have to find out how it had been done! "That's good, then. What help do you think you can give me?"
"To start with, I overheard them planning a raid. I don't think it's the big one—nobody down at my level is supposed know anything about that, except that it's going to happen—but maybe it'll help? Even though I didn't hear much?"
Cortin leaned forward, not trying to hide her interest. "It will, Charles. Tell me about it."
Powell frowned. "It's supposed to be on the main convent of the Blue Sisters—you know the one, just south of Carthage Mountain?"
"I don't, but I can find someone who does. Go on."
"It's supposed to be on their main feast day—that'd be the Annunciation, the 25th. But they're afraid the Service'll find out somehow, so if you post troops—even watchers—they won't show."
Cortin scowled. The Blue Sisters—formally, the Order of Succor of the Compassionate Mother, Piety's order—were dedicated to caring for the seriously ill or wounded, especially Service troopers. So perhaps they were a natural target—and they definitely needed protection. "The most important part is keeping the Sisters and their patients safe, even if it means the Brothers escaping. I personally hope that can be done without alerting them, but—" she shrugged, "once I pass the information along, I'm out of it unless they pick up some prisoners. Do you know if one of the Shannons will be involved?"
"I'm afraid not—that I don't know, I mean. But I'd think one would; it's the kind the Raidmaster would want to lead, either in person or by proxy."
"Good enough; I'll report it as a possible, then." She smiled at the young man. "I'm afraid I'm not as good at this type of questioning as I should be, Charles; I'd like to call in a friend for it. Will you talk to him as well as you have been to me?"
"Of course, if that's what you want."
"Good." Cortin went to her desk and picked up the black phone, asked Brady to come escort a guest, then turned her attention back to Powell. "You've been a lot of help already, Charles, and I'm sure you'll be a lot more—but have you given any thought to what you'll do when you've given us all the information you have?"
The young man shrugged. "A little, but it depended on someone believing me. Like I said, I'd like to go to work for you, if I could."
Cortin nodded; she'd definitely be questioning Mike next! "Think about it some more, talk to my men—then if you're sure that's really what you want, I'll see what I can do. For now, go with Matthew; he should be at the main door shortly."
When Powell left, Cortin turned to Odeon. "All right, Mike, give! Last time I saw him, I revolted and terrified him—now he's like a puppy eager for my approval, and I swear he has a crush on you. Why and how?"
To her astonishment, Odeon looked abashed. "Uh … Ivan had an experimental drug he wanted to try, just to see how thorough a conditioning was possible and how much trouble it'd be. Well, you'd already set up a program for our young friend, so Ivan figured he might as well work on him. He outranks us—outranked you, then—so we went along."
Cortin nodded; they'd had no choice, and Ivan had been polite enough not to tell her he'd modified her intentions. "It looks like the conditioning was complete, all right—but how permanent?"
"Till he dies, Ivan says, or till he's put through the same type of conditioning again, which Ivan doesn't think is possible anywhere outside a Detention Center. So if you take him on, it'll be for good."
"I don't see that you left me any choice," Cortin said with resigned amusement. "Kicking him out with conditioning like that would be like … kicking a puppy, I suppose. Though I have no idea what I'll be able to do with him!" She paused, frowning. Joining the Brotherhood of Freedom, or any other terrorist group, meant automatic excommunication, and she didn't care to make her people associate with an excommunicate. "I don't suppose you also saw to his spiritual welfare, by any chance?"
"Of course we did, and not by chance," Odeon said. "Better than that, though we blocked the memory in case you turned him down. Uh—"
"Don't tell me," Cortin said, half-grinning. "You enlisted him and put him on the team."
"Close," Odeon said. "Commissioned him, since you wanted all officers. He doesn't meet the normal Strike Force criteria, but Colonel Bradford waivered them in his case. He's a good rider and a damn good marksman, but otherwise his main qualification is absolute dedication to his Team-Leader. I wouldn't call him a puppy, young as he is; I'd call him a guard dog. The cue to make him 'remember' he's been an agent of yours is you welcoming him to Team Azrael."
"I'll do that next time I see him." Cortin sighed. "Pritchett saying last night that he's in love with me, Powell conditioned into devotion—what next? No, don't answer that; I don't think I want to know." She paused, then changed the subject. "So Ivan's experiment was successful—but how useful will it be?"
"Practically, very little or none. It worked, yes, but the drug's expensive and scarce, and the procedures take too many people too long, to be worth using in normal circumstances. It may be done again, but it'll have to be a pretty special case."
"Too bad; I can see where it could've been useful." Cortin dismissed the subject with that, hesitated, then picked up the red phone that almost had to link her interrogation suite directly with the Palace. According to Brady, His Majesty wanted any significant results she got, as soon as she got them. The phone rang once, then a half-familiar voice said, "Yes, Colonel?"
It was a direct link, then. "His Majesty wanted immediate reports," Cortin said. "Are you authorized to take them?"
"Anyone who answers this phone is so authorized, Colonel. Go ahead; your report is being recorded."
"Good." Cortin gave a concise but complete report of what she'd gotten from Powell, pleased at the quick response. Too bad not everything in the Kingdom went this smoothly!
"Excellent," the voice said when she was done. "I had, of course, hoped for quick and substantial results from you, but this exceeds my expectations. Good work, Colonel."
Cortin swallowed hard, finally placing the half-familiar voice. Of course he was authorized to answer his own phone! "Th … thank you, Your Majesty. This was an easy one."
"Easy or not, it was effective. Keep up the good work, Colonel; we have to crush these terrorists, especially the Brothers of Freedom."
"Of course, Your Majesty—I'll do my best."
"I would expect no less, Colonel." The line went dead.
Cortin stared at the handpiece for several seconds before replacing it carefully in the cradle. It was hard to believe she'd just spoken to High King Mark—but she knew his voice, she had to believe. "I'll get you more, Sire," she said unneccessarily, then she stood. "Okay, Mike—I suppose we ought to get supper, then I'm going to start another subject." She grinned. "I really shouldn't say this, but even though he gave me some good information, Charles wasn't much fun, and I promised myself some entertainment tonight. If you and one of the others will help me set the next one up, I'll play with him awhile, then if he's being stubborn, we'll get serious in the morning."
Cortin climbed the stairs to the second floor, Bain following her, satisfied with the results of her evening's work. Her fear that Sis' work would leave her vulnerable to sexual stimulus from anyone, including a Brother of Freedom, had proven unfounded; even when she'd used eroticine to force an erection on the prisoner she'd chosen for her evening's work, her only response had been anticipation of a challenge, no arousal at all. She could relax, then, concentrate on doing her new job to the best of her ability. And she'd found Dave next door; when he'd settled his prisoner for the night, she'd been eager to share her discovery with him.
When she entered the common-room, she had to hold back a gasp of astonishment. She'd expected a certain amount of showiness on the public floor, and it was in the Kingdoms' interest to have the interrogation areas as well-equipped as possible—but she hadn't expected to find much more than average living conditions, comfortable and with the promised privacy. This was luxury, the kind she hadn't believed real even in stories about royalty. Carpets so thick she seemed to be wading in them, rather than walking on them—it felt almost criminal wearing boots on them—paintings even she could see must be worth at least a small fortune, couches and chairs she wasn't sure she'd dare to sit in, some covered in fur … Then her admiration was interrupted; Illyanov embraced her, kissing her thoroughly.
"I know you sent a message about no visitors," he murmured, "but after last night, I thought you might wish the opportunity. If not, there is no harm done."
"True, and you're right," Cortin replied with equal quietness. "The prisoner didn't affect me, but Dave sure did." She raised her voice to a normal level. "Want to introduce the colleagues I haven't met yet?"
"My pleasure, Excellency." As he was doing so, Illyanov saw Odeon gesturing him to where her team had gathered. When he joined them, Odeon said, "You've been in on this as much as any of us, Ivan; Dave's got some information that may put a different light on Joanie's sexuality. Go ahead, Dave."
Bain did so, telling them about Cortin's lack of reaction to her prisoner. "It seems odd," he finished, "that she wouldn't react, especially with him dripping on eroticine, if it's as involuntary as she—and we—thought."
"That agrees with what happened this morning," Illyanov said. "We slept linked last night, and were still so when I woke." He smiled. "You are all aware of her new ability to intensify climax?" When they nodded, also smiling, he went on. "That ability can also be most stimulating if you happen to be within her and relaxed. My point, however, is that she did not let it continue; she removed herself before either of us became too aroused. I agree with David: she has some control, though it may not always be conscious control."
Odeon traded glances with Chang. That sounded as reasonable as the truth about Cortin, and considerably more believable; they'd go along. "Then maybe it wasn't a fluke, or fear, when she came down after the first time," he said. "What about it, Sis?"
"Unconscious control?" Chang said thoughtfully. "I should like to believe so, and from what you all say, it does sound reasonable. As a hypothesis, then: she indulges herself based on—if you will excuse the term—available, acceptable resources and time. I should like more evidence to either confirm or refute that, however; I have obviously been wrong on that subject before."
Odeon grinned at her. That was a more reasonable hypothesis for the others—and for Joanie herself, until it was time for her to go public—than he could've come up with. "We'll get it for you, though I don't know if we'll be able to tonight." He waved at the group around Cortin; they had her almost undressed, with her full cooperation, and were getting out of their own uniforms as all of them moved toward her bedroom. "But if one of us can arrange to be her last for the night, he can do what Ivan did last night. If he's the only one with her, and doesn't let her move away, the results should be conclusive."
"A good indication, at least," Chang agreed. "And I will put a sedative doser in the bedside table in the event the conclusion is not what we currently believe."
Cortin didn't have time to wonder why none of her team were in the group surrounding her; Illyanov's embrace and kiss had been quite enough to start the ache in her belly, and the Inquisitors' caresses had turned it into a burning need—one they seemed to sense and perhaps share, because almost as soon as they got her to the huge bed, one of them was sliding into her, his urgent thrustings sending her into a spiral of sheer pleasure.
When she fell asleep, it was with Pritchett holding her, relaxed inside her, murmuring that Ivan had said she liked sleeping that way. And he was still there when she woke, a comfortable strong presence in spite of the fact, since the two of them were alone, that she must have overslept. He was smiling at her, and when she started to pull herself reluctantly away, he held her gently but firmly where she was. She started to object—her body was already reacting to him—but he silenced her with a kiss. "It's okay, little fox," he said affectionately. "Just relax, trust me. You'll be fine."
"But—"
"Just relax, I said." Pritchett kissed her again, rolling so she was beneath him as she preferred. "Sis says your drive may very well be self-regulating, and I'm the lucky one who gets to find out with you. If not, she left a sedative." He paused, smiling. "It is something you—and we—need to know." He began moving gently.
He was right, Cortin thought. They should all know her reactions—and he felt far too good, growing and stiffening inside her, for her to want him to leave. "Mmm," she agreed, yielding. Last night had been a feast, she'd loved it and intended to repeat it whenever she had the time and interested partners—but it would be nice if she could snack, too, not have to gorge all the time.
"That's my little fox," Pritchett said indulgently. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." He was at his full size now, solid and delightful, his gentle movements arousing her more slowly than she'd have believed possible after her recent experiences. "And you feel so good …"
"Slow and easy this time, hmm? I think so, too." Pritchett smiled, kissing her, caressing her breasts. His little fox—their Joanie—was something special, all right. Even if other women had shared her new endowments, he didn't know of any who'd have been either willing or able to delight a group of men the way she had two nights running. It was too bad she didn't love her Enforcement partners the way they did her—she must think they came to her only for the sex, which was laughable. That you could get anywhere, with the right money. But she was still willing—hell, eager!—to have them.
Their lovemaking was unhurried and thorough, different from any she'd had since her surgery, but Cortin enjoyed it just as much. When they were done, they bathed and dressed—to Cortin's amusement, Pritchett had a complete set of clothing in her room; she'd have to make sure the rest did, too—then they went to the common-room with Pritchett happily carrying the still-full sedative injector.
The only one there was Powell, who smiled when he saw the injector. "It went all right, then—great! The rest of us have all been to Mass and had breakfast, and they're getting settled in. What do you want me to do?"
Cortin didn't know enough about his conditioning to give a good answer, so she said, "You tell me. You need debriefed by an expert, of course, but since you joined us have you had any gear issued, or been paid, or taken care of personal matters?" She saw a puzzled expression, remembered, and added, "Oh, by the way—welcome to Team Azrael."
He looked dazed for a moment, then his expression cleared. "I was working for you the whole time, then—thank you! About the other, though—no, none of it."
"Um." She thought for a moment, then went to a phone and dialed Bradford's number.
"Colonel Bradford's office, Corporal Callahan speaking, sir."
"This is Colonel Cortin. I'd like to speak with Colonel Bradford, please, if he's available."
"Yes, ma'am—one moment, please."
Seconds later, Bradford was on the line. "What can I do for you, Colonel?"
"I'm not sure. Does being the High King's Inquisitor let me borrow you to debrief someone?"
"It lets you borrow anyone you need to do your job. Who do you need debriefed, and how soon?"
"My new team member, Lieutenant Powell. As soon as you can, please."
"Half an hour soon enough?"
"That'd be fine, thanks. I've already gotten some useful information from him, but I'm not good enough at the memory-enhancing techniques to do a really thorough job."
"He's the one who told you about the raid on the Blue Sisters' convent?"
"Yes."
"I'll be over as soon as I can. I'm in charge of the task force protecting them; I'll need all the good information I can get."
"I'll probably be saying Mass when you get here, then. You can talk to him in our quarters if you want, or you're welcome to use my public office on the main floor. Any idea how long it'll take?"
"That's hard to say exactly, but two hours is about average. And since you haven't said Mass yet, I'd appreciate it if you wait till I get there; I like to attend all my priests' services at least once."
"Of course." She couldn't refuse her Bishop, and since no one had commented on her bearing during Mass, her absorption was either normal or not noticeable, so it shouldn't be a problem. "Then this afternoon I can have someone help Powell get the Service formalities straightened out—payroll, uniforms, ID, all that sort of thing." She shook her head, even though he couldn't see the gesture. "Things are going too fast and working out too well, Brad. I'm living in luxury, doing valuable work I enjoy, having an incredible sex life—I ought to be overjoyed, but I'm not. It scares me."
Looked at from her point of view, Bradford could understand that. But since he'd helped with much of the maneuvering that had gotten her into the first two situations—that the third had worked out so well had been by God's mercy, not human skill—he didn't share her apprehension. But he also couldn't reveal any more of that maneuvering than she already knew about, so he tried to reassure her instead. "I don't see anything to worry about, Joan. Think back—everything that's happened to you since the attack has been perfectly reasonable, given your talent as an Inquisitor and Their Majesties' determination to put down the terrorists. If you weren't High King's Inquisitor, someone else would be—someone less talented. As for the speed, well," he let his smile show in his voice, "from what I hear, you were the one in a hurry to qualify as an Inquisitor and get to work—and I know you didn't waste any time getting your team together."
"I can't argue that," Cortin said. She had pushed hard to learn, and learned faster than she'd expected even with that amount of work. "Motivation does work wonders—but it still bothers me."
"We'll talk about it more this afternoon, then, if you're not at a point in an interrogation where you can't take a break for an hour or so."
"I should be able to manage; the one I'm working on seemed to be coming along nicely when I left him last night, and I doubt it'll take me more than a couple of hours to finish him."
Bradford was both astonished and pleased. Except for Powell, he'd chosen these subjects himself, as being particularly resistant. Either he'd been wrong about one, or she had an even more accurate sense for individual weaknesses than he'd realized. "I'd have expected at least two days of concentrated effort for any one of them—what did you do?"
"Thought aloud for his benefit, then left him alone under a twelve-hour dose of eroticine. Not very original, but effective."
"That's what counts." Bradford shook his head, glad she couldn't see the chagrin on his face. "Sometimes simple methods are the most effective." And the hardest to spot special vulnerability to, he reminded himself. "I'll be at the chapel in about fifteen minutes—talk to you more this afternoon."
"Right." Cortin hung up, turned to the two waiting. "He mentioned a chapel—where is it?"
"On the main floor," Pritchett told her. "Dedicated to St. Eleanor, of course."
The patron saint of Enforcement, yes, since there were no Inquisitor saints. "Good—I'd hoped for a chapel, but I hadn't really expected one."
"I'll show you where it is." Pritchett grinned. "I go to Mass every day, when I can—glad I didn't miss it today."
"Can I go too?" Powell asked hesitantly. "I've been once, so I can't take Communion, but …"
"Certainly!" Cortin exclaimed. "Whenever you want, as long as it doesn't interfere with your duties. Shall we go, gentlemen?"
Not at all to her surprise, after seeing other parts of the Lodge, Cortin found the chapel to be exquisitely—and expensively!—equipped and decorated. She went into the vestry for some private meditation, then put on her stole and went out to say Mass.
Bradford was struck by the change in her when she went to the altar and began the preliminary prayers. She was still attractive, rather than beautiful, but there was an aura about her now that made her seem as beautiful as the ceremony itself. She was completely wrapped up in it, obviously unaware of those in the chapel with her except for the little time it took her to administer Communion. He couldn't be sure if she even needed her Missal, or if her references to it were simply as part of the ceremony; somehow, he believed it was the latter. He'd only seen this sort of absorption twice before, he thought in awe. He'd have to report it to his superior—and he'd definitely have to talk to her later. After talking to Odeon!