"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Mike?"
Odeon tested the shackles that held him. Dave had padded them, but otherwise he could have been the Inquisitor's subject instead of his senior officer, spouse, and friend. "Of course not—got an alternative?"
Bain shook his head. "No, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. Okay, you're as ready as I can get you."
Odeon stiffened when he felt Shayan's mind-touch, but the promised pain didn't come immediately. *I had intended to show my lady the less pleasant aspects of my realm,* the Hell-King told him, *but she believes it to be an illusion. So I will show her this operation instead. She will also believe it to be an illusion—until you remove my compulsions. Then she will know the truth, that they could be neither imposed nor removed by a normal human agency. And beneath it she has considerable empathy. Enough to fit into the group you—and you, Priest-Lieutenant Bain—are part of.*
*Get on with it!* Odeon sent.
*Such impatience for torment! Would that I could promise you eons of it—but hours will have to suffice.* Both men were fully aware of Shayan's regret at that—and his anticipation. *Still, I can make it last that long, though it isn't truly necessary; the procedure need take no longer than seconds, and would be equally effective if you were unconscious. Either would rob it of what little pleasure I can extract from my lady's loss, however. So, priest—suffer my pleasure.* All true, Shayan thought, as far as the ability to remove compulsions was concerned—but Odeon's pain, including that of believing the anguish unnecessary, was essential to the tempering process. Seizing the other's mind, Shayan began his mental surgery.
Odeon screamed, convulsing. Bain shuddered as they continued, going on and on, pausing barely long enough for Odeon to inhale. The Inquisitor was sickly grateful to Shayan for recommending restraints; without them, Mike's struggles would be breaking bones. There was no skill involved here, no subtlety, no hope for the subject to end it by confessing when the pain became unendurable—which it did, as quickly as Shayan had promised. Though Bain was no longer sharing their mental contact, his Inquisitor's training let him know when Odeon reached his breaking point and was forced beyond it, to agony no drug could keep a man alive through, much less conscious.
But Odeon did remain conscious, with full awareness that it was Shayan's power keeping him that way—and the understanding, at last, that this was what Joanie and Sis had suffered from the Hell-King. Rape was rape, be it physical or mental—and horrible as the pain was, the worst part was the degrading violation.
Bain prayed. There was nothing else to do until, eventually, it ended. With a final convulsion like he was being shaken, Odeon went limp. Bain hurriedly freed him from the restraints and carried him into the bathroom. Mike'd need a hot soak to relax strained muscles, then days of recuperation—God, what would Joanie think when she saw him?
Cortin didn't sleep well. Her dreams were troubling, nightmares of Shayan tormenting her team in ways she couldn't stop, gloating over them, taunting her with her helplessness. And it didn't improve when she woke; the feeling of something wrong with her people wouldn't go away, even when she told herself it was nothing more than a bad dream.
After a quarter hour of being unable to get back to sleep, Cortin got up and put on a robe. Foolish as it was, it looked like the only way to settle her mind was to make sure everyone was all right.
It didn't worry her too much that Odeon wasn't in his room, though, when she checked there first; he was probably with Sis or Betty. But Sis was in with Tiny, Betty with Chuck, and Tony was sprawled out alone, with a contented expression on his face. It wasn't until she checked the common-room without finding either Mike or Dave that her worry got serious. Dave hadn't said anything about having a subject he needed to work on overnight, and Mike didn't have any plans she knew about. Their not being in their rooms or the common-room didn't prove anything, necessarily—but she couldn't help being concerned. She went back to her room for her dungeon keys and gunbelt, then went below ground.
Her worry got worse when she saw the "In Use" light at Bain's suite. She went into the observation room, which didn't help—padded shackles in the third-stage room?—but still nothing of the missing two.
She left the observation room and stood before the suite's main door for several seconds, debating with herself. If Dave was conducting an interrogation with Mike's help, she'd feel foolish intruding—but if one or both of them was hurt, she'd never forgive herself if she didn't. Deciding, she opened the door. "Mike? Dave?"
"Oh, God," a muffled voice said. More strongly, she heard, "In the bathroom, Joanie. Sis with you?"
"No." Cortin covered the distance to the bathroom in record time, appalled at what she saw when she opened the door. "What happened? Is he alive?"
"Yeah—but he needs help. Take a look."
Cortin did, and crossed herself. There were no apparent injuries, but Mike looked horrible—so pale the scar across his face looked bloody-fresh, his muscles spasming in tiny tremors. It was obvious he'd been severely tortured, though she couldn't imagine how, with no wounds. She still wanted to know what had happened, but that desire was nothing next to her need to remedy whatever had been done to her second-in-command and heir. "Go get Sis—she and Tiny are in his room. Have him bring down as many blankets as he can carry. Then call Ivan, he may have information I need."
"Right." Bain hurried out.
Praying as hard as she could, Cortin knelt beside the tub, touching Odeon's forehead. He wasn't chilled, so Dave was treating him for shock rather than cold. Wrists and ankles were bruised, consistent with the padded shackles—but it didn't make sense! Even if she ignored the impossibility of Dave interrogating one of the team, he wouldn't use padded shackles, and his subject would certainly have more serious injuries than simple bruises! Yet Mike had been terribly hurt, despite his lack of wounds, and Dave had been there—watching, if nothing else. What was going on?
At least Mike didn't seem to be in immediate danger, as far as she could tell. His pulse was weak but steady and his breathing was regular, not labored, though also not as strong as she'd like. The muscle tremors were slowing too, which was a good sign.
Moments later she heard the door open, and turned. "Sis? We're in here."
"Dave told me." Cortin moved aside, making way for the medic to kneel beside her patient. Chang opened her kit and began checking Odeon's condition. "What was done to him?"
"I don't know," Cortin said, controlling her frustration with an effort. "I can't even make a realistic guess—didn't Dave tell you anything?"
"He was too upset to tell me more than the basic information I required—that Mike had been hurt, but only minimally injured." Chang continued her examination for a few minutes, then stood. "He is exhausted, and there may be some muscular strain in addition to the bruises; otherwise, he is well. He requires only warmth, rest, and time for complete recovery."
"He'll get all he needs." Cortin turned to Pritchett, who'd come in while Chang was working. "You brought the blankets?"
"In the office."
"Good. Sis, how soon can we move him someplace more comfortable?"
"When he stops trembling—a few minutes, I should say."
"Will it be safe to take him upstairs, or should I have a bed brought down?"
"It will be safe." Chang smiled. "His hurts are not life-threatening, though he will be easily fatigued and probably uncomfortable for three or four days. Possibly longer, though I would be surprised if he is not fully recovered within a week."
They had Odeon upstairs and settled in his own bed by the time Illyanov arrived, and the entire Family—the rest awakened by the commotion—was gathered in the common-room. Bain had told them he'd really rather not have to go through the story more than once and Cortin had agreed—his distress was obvious—so it wasn't until she'd apologized for getting Illyanov up on what now looked like an unnecessary errand that Bain explained.
As Cortin listened, she got coldly angry. Shayan was Evil personified, true, but that gave him no right to torment one of the Protector's priests! Kill him, yes—they'd all die, and Service personnel didn't expect an easy death—but not subject him to agony for no reason except the sheer pleasure of it! She was the one who was supposed to face Shayan—and while the thought frightened her, she'd prefer it to having her people do so.
When Bain finished, she said as much. "Not that he had any choice under the circumstances, of course," she added. "But try not to get into similar circumstances, would you all?"
"We will try," Chang said. "However, we may have no more choice in the matter than Mike was given. And you should be in no hurry to face him."
"I didn't say I was in a hurry," Cortin said. "It might be a good idea to get it over with, though. I won't win, but I might weaken him enough the Protector will."
"You must not act prematurely," Illyanov cautioned, frowning. "You have not found all the Protector's staff yet, and there may be other things equally necessary to prepare His way."
"Not act prematurely!" Cortin snorted. "At this point, I don't really feel like I'm acting at all, much less prematurely!"
"If you consider leading an attempt to completely restructure society, extracting information vital to fighting terrorists, and preparing for the Final Coming, to be not acting, I will agree. Otherwise, I would suggest you remain cautious; direct action against Shayan, unless unavoidable, is the Protector's prerogative."
Cortin grimaced. Illyanov's quiet, level words stung; she knew she was doing useful work. It was just that it didn't feel like enough, and—especially after Mike's gratuitous torture—she wanted to take the sort of direct action Ivan said she shouldn't. It would be so satisfying to go into the Vatican during a major public event and challenge Lucius with his real identity, force him to take some sort of action that would prove it! He'd kill her, of course, but it'd be worth it to bring him into the open. "I'll behave, I promise—even though I'd rather not. Isn't there anything I can do for Mike?"
"There is a possibility," Illyanov said thoughtfully. "According to some of our writings, the Herald may be granted the use of some of the Protector's powers—your truthsense may be one. Another should be healing—though as Michael's problem is not life-threatening, that might not come into play."
"It might, though, since it's due to Shayan's direct action." Cortin stood. "I've got to give it a try—if it works, I'll be back with him."
For Shayan's reaction:20a. Decision
Cortin prayed harder than she could remember ever having done before, resting her hands on Odeon's forehead and chest, trying to give him her own strength in case the Protector didn't see fit to intervene. Mike had been hurt doing the Protector's work; if there was any justice at all, He should at least give Mike back the strength he'd spent on His behalf!
Apparently He agreed, Cortin thought as she felt her hands grow warm. It was a peculiar sensation, as if she were absorbing energy through every pore of her body, channeling it, and pushing it into Odeon. His color improved and he grew visibly stronger, until he seemed to be in a natural sleep rather than a coma. At that point the power-flow stopped; as she removed her hands, he opened his eyes.
When he did, his expression frightened her almost as much as his weakness had. Granted that no one could face Shayan and come out of it unchanged, Odeon looked … haunted. "Dave told us about it," she said softly. "So you don't need to talk about it unless you want to."
Odeon sat up, putting his arms around his knees, looking away from her. "I don't want to—but you deserve to know that I may not be much good to you any more. I … I don't think I could go through that again—I don't see how you and Sis can even consider facing him."
Cortin sat beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder. She'd suffered the most physical damage, but it was obvious from Sis' and Mike's reactions that she'd been spared Shannon/Shayan's worst torment: he'd kept out of her mind! There was therapy, good therapy, for physical rape; she didn't know of any at all for mental rape. They'd do what they could for him, that went without saying, but she could only hope that'd be enough. "We'll help you, Mike, all of us. And the Protector loaned me some of His power to bring you out of the shock he sent you into. Just remember what you told me: God will test us to our utmost limits, but not beyond them. I know words aren't a lot of help right now, but maybe the Family will be—if you feel up to it, we're gathered in the common-room. Ivan's here too; I thought he might have some ideas how to help you, and he's the one who suggested I might be able to borrow some of the Protector's power."
Odeon didn't really feel like seeing anyone, or even moving—what he did want was to crawl in a hole, pull it shut, and forget what had been done to him. But he couldn't betray Joanie that way, or the rest of the team and Family; reluctantly, he straightened and got out of bed. "Okay … I'll be out as soon as I get dressed."
"I'll stay; you're in no condition to be left alone." Cortin grimaced. "I remember how it was when I woke up a couple of times on the flight to New Denver. The medics did their best, but I'd have given anything for a familiar, friendly face. At that point I couldn't have handled anything else, and I don't suppose you can, either—but at least you've got the faces."
"Yeah." Odeon went into the bathroom, took some refuge in the routine of getting ready for a new day. Joanie was right about one thing, at least; he didn't feel able to handle much of anything, especially intimacy of any sort. He wasn't at all sure he could manage to get through his responsibilities as Team-Second and heir to High Teton, though he'd have to try. He couldn't simply shrug off his duties just because he felt like he'd been torn into contaminated shreds, however much he might prefer to. Joanie'd put him back together, at least enough to go through the motions, and he could trust God to keep providing the support he needed to carry out his priestly functions. As Shayan had said, the priest's character—or, in his case, feelings of contamination—had no effect on the validity of the Sacraments.
When he and Cortin got to the common-room, it took an effort to let himself be embraced and kissed; it was impossible to return either more than perfunctorily, and he couldn't bring himself to touch Illyanov's offered hand. Their understanding and sympathy helped, but he felt distanced, remote—as if Shayan had stolen something in the process of breaking him. He looked around at them, shook his head. "Sorry, people. God willing, I'll get over this soon—but right now the only thing that seems to have any meaning at all is that I … don't feel like I'm worthy of you. Nothing else matters."
"Which is foolishness," Chang said. "Natural, after what you have been through, but foolishness nonetheless. You will indeed get over it, as Joan and I have. Soon, as you say, if the Protector sees fit to aid you further—which would not surprise me, since He chose you as one of His first two priests."
"In the meantime," Illyanov said, "I am intrigued by this ability Shayan has given you to dissolve his compulsions. Does it apply only to those he imposed on Miss Blackfeather, I wonder, or can you dissolve any of them?"
The change of subject was a relief for Odeon. "I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "Either way makes sense. He wouldn't want me dissolving any except hers, but he probably only used one technique for all of them, since he didn't know—then—that he'd be giving anyone the ability to eliminate his tampering. We'll have to find out, when we have someone else who's been conditioned."
"And I'm intrigued by what he called mental speech," Bain said. "His touch wasn't exactly what I'd expected—more awesome than repulsive, until he started working on Mike. And can you imagine how much more convenient it'd be if we could communicate that way? Especially in action?"
"He said if I survived, that would be just the first taste of mental speech," Odeon said. "I don't know if he meant just me, or the Family, or the Protector's Sealed—I wonder. Dave, do you think his using it with the two of us could've sensitized us enough we could use it without him?"
*I don't know,* Bain replied silently, *but it's worth trying. Can you hear me?*
"No need to shout," Odeon said. "I heard you fine." He looked around at the rest. "Anybody else pick it up?"
Cortin shook her head. "Not me."
"I heard nothing either," Illyanov said. "That is unfortunate; it could have been useful."
Cortin frowned. "It sure would. Sounds like it's something he does to you by touching your mind, maybe sort of a side effect. What he did to me was purely physical, but—Sis, he mind-touched you; did you hear Dave?"
Chang nodded. "Quite clearly."
"I think I'm jealous—for the first time, I wish he'd mind-touched me."
"Never wish for that," Odeon said grimly. "It's a horrible sensation, though the mind-speech itself isn't bad."
"The mind-speech is called telepathy," Illyanov said. "It is part of what is called Talent, and some rare humans have enough to be trained in its reliable use."
Cortin stared at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about—how do you know that?"
Illyanov smiled. "Since our discussion something over a week ago, I have spent my free time studying the Terran Empire. That particular fact came to light approximately three years ago, when the first non-human Ranger found Talent in one of her human colleagues."
"The Empire!" Cortin exclaimed. "Why in God's name would you study them?"
"Because I had a dream that night. It may have been no more than a normal dream, triggered by that discussion—but dreams, in this group, have of late been highly significant. Treating this one as such can do no harm, and may be of benefit, so I have been doing so."
That was an even better change of subject, and Odeon seized on it. "What was the dream about?"
"The arrival of two Imperial ships, a small one followed by a large. As I say, the dream may have been nothing more than a reaction to Joan's and my discussion, but my personal feeling is that we should be preparing for contact—perhaps soon."
Odeon frowned. "Before the Final Coming? Or are you saying they're part of the Final Coming? I don't think I like that idea—it makes me uncomfortable."
"I do not like it either, and it may not be the case. Some of the more ambiguous prophecies of that time, however, can be interpreted in the light of such contact without distortion. What, for instance, if the Great King references were to the Emperor rather than the High King? And what if the Protector's form, which 'none can predict', is not human, or at least not fully so?"
Odeon winced. "Ouch, Ivan! That's even worse."
"I am not sure I find it so," Illyanov said thoughtfully. "As I told Joan, I believe contact will be to our ultimate benefit, though it may be difficult at first."
"Even if one of them turns out to be the Protector?"
"Perhaps especially then."
"Do you think Shayan would permit contact if that were the case?" Chang asked.
Illyanov chuckled. "I doubt he will have any choice in the matter. The Protector will manifest, that promise is definite; the questions are only when, and in what form."
"Yeah." Odeon shook his head, rubbing the scar across his mouth, and stood. "I'm sorry, Joanie, folks—I need to be alone for a bit."
"Go ahead, then." Cortin watched him leave, frowning. "Sis—is that a good idea?"
"I believe so, for him. I would be happier if I could be sure he would be doing something other than brooding over his mishandling—but I think it likely he will be; Ivan's speculation could well be providing him that distraction."
"I can distract him further," Illyanov said with a smile. "I received word late yesterday that my resignation has been accepted; with Your Grace's permission, I will ask Michael's help in setting up the High Teton Enforcement Service. Although I do not as yet belong to it, since it has not been officially established."
Startled, Cortin looked at him more closely. He was in uniform, but now she saw he wasn't wearing any rank or territory insigne. "That can be remedied easily enough. As of right now, there is a High Teton Enforcement Service, commanded by Colonel Ivan Petrovich Illyanov. You're out of uniform, Colonel—would somebody please get him an eagle from my room?"
A grinning Powell left on that errand while Illyanov stared at her. "I had not expected to be put in charge, Joan. To the best of my knowledge, no Enforcement Service has ever been headed by an Inquisitor, due to the public opinion of our profession."
"You're the only qualified candidate," Cortin said, grinning. "High Teton's not going to be a normal fief, Ivan; all of the top people are going to be Sealed. And I think the public perception of a Sealed Inquisitor is going to be different from that of a non-Sealed one. So you're it."
"Yes, Your Grace." Illyanov managed a seated bow. "I will, of course, do my best."
"Prince Edward's going to administer it for the present; get in touch with him for what you need. And coordinate with Brad and his Strike Force people." Cortin grinned again. "I don't think you'll have much trouble finding recruits, in spite of the climate. Just make sure you find a good-sized house for your Family, and let me know when the wedding's to be."
"Of course. If you are free at the time, I would be honored to have you perform the ceremony."
"I'll make a point of it," Cortin assured him. "Oh, thanks, Chuck." She took the silver eagle from her aide and pinned it on Illyanov's collar. "There, that's better. Not quite complete yet, but that'll have to wait till you can have territorial insigne made. Go to it, Colonel."
"As Your Grace commands." Illyanov rose, smiling. "If I may be excused, I shall find Michael and discuss the details with him."
Odeon had gone to his room, made himself a cup of herb tea, and settled into his seldom-used armchair to do some thinking. First Shayan's torture, now Ivan studying the Empire and speculating that the Protector might be one of them—maybe not even human!
He stared at the circled-triangle marks on the backs of his hands, deeply disturbed. Maybe he shouldn't be—the idea of the Protector coming from the Empire didn't seem to bother anyone else, though Joanie seemed troubled by the prospect of contact itself. He couldn't pinpoint why it bothered him, since the Protector was by definition divine rather than human, loaning Joanie some of His or Her powers; why should he be disturbed if the physical body was non-human as well?
After several minutes' thought, he still couldn't come up with a reason; all he knew was that he didn't like it. He finished his tea and was going over to the prie-dieu when there was a knock on his door.
He swore briefly under his breath—the last thing he wanted right now was a visitor!—but went to answer it, grinning despite himself when he saw Ivan's new collar insignia. "Come in, Colonel sir. Congratulations."
Illyanov bowed, smiling. "Thank you, Michael. May I ask your professional assistance?"
"Of course. What can I do for you?"
"Assist me in setting up the Enforcement Service Her Grace has just established, with me as its head."
"Gladly. Want some tea?" Odeon put his problems out of his mind, more than ready to exchange them for some practical work.
Cortin lay awake, seriously worried about Odeon. Physically there was no longer anything wrong with him, but his emotional state was frightening. He'd withdrawn further into himself over the past three days, despite Ivan's efforts to draw him out, not speaking except when it was necessary to carry out his duties, not smiling at all even during the Protector's services—though he still seemed to take some pleasure in those—and not touching anyone when it could possibly be avoided.
There had to be something she and the rest could do to help, she kept telling herself, but nothing they'd tried so far had had any effect. She, Sis, and Betty had all tried to get him to make love, but he'd rejected all of them with what seemed like near-panic, and she and Sis were agreed on the reason: he was convinced Shayan had somehow contaminated him, and was terrified of passing that contamination on to them. That, as Sis had told him, was foolishness—but they couldn't convince Mike.
Maybe that would change when Blackfeather arrived and he broke the compulsions Shayan had put her under. If she was really suitable for the Protector's staff, uncontaminated despite being the Hell-King's mistress, then Mike surely couldn't keep believing a single contact had fouled him too badly to touch.
On the other hand, Cortin admitted to herself, that sort of belief didn't have to have logic behind it, and she wasn't the one who'd felt Shayan's mind invading hers. How would she have felt if she'd had to accept the invasion the way Mike had, without resistance, to save someone else? She and Sis had been able to fight, at least, except for Sis' compelled welcoming of Shayan's last embrace—and yes, that had been the worst of the nun's memories, even knowing the welcome had been compelled. So had Mike's, in a way … but his had been self-compelled, by the knowledge that if he didn't allow the invasion, he'd be condemning Blackfeather to Hell.
Cortin scowled at that. She'd changed her opinion of Hell, recently. A place of eternal torment no longer seemed to square at all with the idea of a just and merciful God. Purgatory still didn't bother her; of course you'd have to pay for your sins before being admitted to Heaven, but even the longest and most painful stay there would end in triumph. Hell didn't end, and if what Mike was suffering was a fair sample, its torments went beyond any punishment a human could justly deserve. Even, she thought, the ones she'd sent there believing they did deserve it. If she had it to do over again, she would, of course; the sentences she'd carried out were legally mandated, and she'd carried them out, as required, when she'd satisfied herself she'd gotten all a subject's useful information. Terrorists were a cancer on society and had to be eliminated for its health—but maybe she could use her skill to persuade them to repent. She could manage a mortal approximation of Hell, and that, even if it meant some extra time under her hands, was surely better than an eternity of the real thing! She couldn't do away with Hell, but she could certainly see that Shayan got as few of her subjects as possible!
That, however, didn't solve the problem of how to help Mike. The best possibility, she was convinced, was the emotional unity sex now included, but his fear of touching made that possibility a remote one. Still, if she—or Sis, or Betty—could become one with him, show him that he wasn't fouled … but the only way she could think of to accomplish that was feeding him eroticine, which he wouldn't take voluntarily, and it wouldn't be right to trick him even to help him, would it?
Finally deciding that she wasn't going to be able to solve the problem by herself, she got out of bed and dressed. She'd accepted an invitation to say morning Mass at the Cathedral—probably extended out of curiosity about her stigmata, she thought, but still a chance to talk about the Protector's coming and offer the Communion of Promise to civilians. Lucius/Shayan hadn't forbidden it yet, to her considerable surprise; if he didn't after today's, she'd have to do some serious wondering why.
She'd decided to make it a Mass for Travelers, with Edward and Ursula, Bradford and Illyanov starting for High Teton's capital, Archangel, at noon, and she was pleased to see all of them at the Cathedral when she and her team arrived. There was no time to talk; traffic had been heavier than expected, and they were running late, so she and her concelebrants, Odeon and Bain, had to go straight to the sacristy to get ready.
Bradford had agreed with her about ruining a uniform or set of vestments every time she said Mass, and since the purpose of her stigmata was to show Jeshua's approval of her, she couldn't wear bandages, so he'd given her permission to wear just the alb, cincture, stole, and sandals. It looked odd to someone used to seeing mostly a chasuble, but no odder than her fellow priests in uniform and armed; it was being weaponless that bothered her most, though she didn't want to ruin a perfectly good gunbelt and holster, either.
The Cathedral was packed, highly unusual for a weekday and flattering, though it also made her nervous—until she got to the altar and began the ceremony. As always, she lost herself in it, unaware of her surroundings except while she was giving Communion. It was then she realized there were far more troopers here than their percentage of the population would have suggested, which pleased her.
It pleased her even more after Mass, when she explained the Protector's impending arrival and offered the Communion of Promise, that practically all of them came forward to accept it. Some civilians did so as well, though most held back, their expressions either uncertain or disapproving.
When that was over too and she'd gotten dressed, ready to leave, she discovered that the troopers had other plans. Their spokesman, Captain Watkins—she remembered him, the first person she'd administered Confession to—invited her and her team to a breakfast banquet at the Royal Hotel. She accepted gladly; much as she enjoyed being at Harmony Lodge, the idea of going out for breakfast was appealing. It wouldn't do Mike any harm, either, and she liked the idea of having Chuck seen as one of her team by people who might otherwise have trouble believing it.
And Chuck did seem to enjoy being at the head table. "Having fun?" she asked with a smile.
Powell returned the smile. "Sure am! Last time I saw some of these, I was a prisoner remanded to the High King's Inquisitor, thinking sure I'd be dead in a day or so—now I'm your private secretary, Sealed to the Protector, and happy as a puppy with a new kid. What more could anyone ask?"
"Put that way, nothing," Cortin replied, amused. "You also look better in uniform than you did in civvies, if that matters."
"I think so, too." Powell hesitated, then glanced briefly at Odeon and mouthed, "What about Mike?"
Cortin shrugged, wishing again that she and the rest of the team shared the telepathy Shayan had given Sis, Dave, and Mike. Even limited to themselves, unlike the telepathic Talent Ivan described, it would have been useful.
There was no point in fruitless wishing, though, so she turned her attention to the meal and her hosts. "This was very thoughtful of you and the rest, Captain Watkins—we all appreciate it. I, for one, have gotten more out of touch than I intended, that morning at the Eagle's Nest."
"You have had a lot to occupy you, Excellency." Watkins ventured a smile. "It's an honor to have you with us—but I must confess it's a little unnerving sitting next to the Protector's Herald."
"It's more than a little unnerving to be the Herald," Cortin said. "It might not be as bad if I had a decent idea what I was supposed to do, but I'm operating by guesswork. On the other hand, it'll give me a better chance of establishing the Families." She wished she could tell everyone here about her Family, and fief, and coming grandchild, but that would have to wait … "Do you have an understanding chaplain yet?"
"Not exactly, but Lieutenant Bain hears Confessions at the Center often enough that we're in a lot better shape than we were." This time, his smile wasn't tentative. "Having the Communion of Promise, and the Herald being an Inquisitor, helps even more. Civs still don't like us, but I've seen less hostility since you got the stigmata."
"That'll help," Cortin said. "I have a feeling we're supposed to be the leaders of the Protector's … guardians, I suppose, for lack of a better word. Not to guard Him, of course, He won't need it, but to guard His people from the ones who don't accept Him and aren't willing to let those who do live in peace. As I told Colonel Illyanov once, as long as humans have free will, Enforcement's still going to be necessary."
"Colonel Illyanov, yes." Watkins looked at her quizzically. "Four of the ones Sealed so far are Inquisitors, and two of them have gotten sudden promotions to the top rank; one other was already there. The rest of the Sealed are high ranking themselves or closely associated with rankers—not at all like Jeshua and His disciples."
Cortin shrugged. "That's how I'm told it's supposed to be, this time around. This is the Final Coming, and if the Protector defeats Shayan, He'll be reigning over at least the Kingdom Systems; His mortal staff will have to have some top-level experience to give Him proper support. I think you can expect to see more promotions and other changes in the fairly near future."
"God willing, He'll come into the open soon—promotions or not, I want to be Sealed myself."
"And he's not the only one," an intense-looking young Lieutenant said. "Don't get us wrong, Excellency, we sure wouldn't turn down any promotions, but over half the staff of the Center—maybe three-quarters of the Inquisitors—mostly want Sealed. Myself included."
Cortin's truthsense said they were understating the intensity of their desire for the Protector's chief benefit. Their yearning to be Sealed seemed to be every bit as strong as her desire to avoid the confrontation with Shayan she was sure would cost her her life—and if, she thought grimly, the Hell-King could manage it, with pain even greater than Mike's. She forced that thought back; the confrontation would happen, and a Strike Force member's job description practically guaranteed death in the line of duty—the questions were when and how, not if.
It didn't surprise her particularly that it was the Inquisitors who most wanted to take advantage of the Sealing. Their work, done properly, was a constant strain, with the accompanying urge to take out their frustrations on a subject—or not do what was needed to get vital information. The line between the Warrant-protected violence of their duties and the sin of giving in to personal weakness was a thin one, easy to rationalize crossing … "I'm praying for you and everyone else who wants His protection," Cortin said. "And I'm beginning to believe being Sealed is going to be necessary for Inquisitors in His Kingdom. We may never be loved, but having truthsense and being in a constant state of grace, we should at least be trusted, and only criminals will have any reason to be afraid of us."
Watkins smiled. "Theoretically that's true now—but in fact, I'd like to be able to walk down the street in uniform and not have half the sidewalk to myself."
Cortin chuckled. "That's a problem I haven't had lately, but I remember the feeling. I hope you get it soon."
Watkins frowned. "That doesn't sound like you expect to, Excellency."
Cortin looked at the red crossed daggers on her sleeve. "I'm Special Ops, Captain, and I've been told I'll be going face to face with Shayan. That has to mean it's my death that'll signal the Protector's arrival. So no, I don't expect to see His earthly Kingdom."
Watkins nodded. "I understand, Excellency. But I'll pray for it anyway."
"I'd appreciate that. Something else I was told was that piety was crucial—spread the word, would you?"
"Of course." Watkins hesitated. "What about—what you just said, that you'll have to face Shayan yourself?"
Cortin shrugged. "If it had to be kept secret, I wouldn't have been able to say anything about it. Say what you want." She took a deep breath. "I'd rather not think about it any more right now, though, so would you mind if we change the subject? This breakfast looks and smells too good to spoil with that sort of discussion."
"As you say, Excellency." Watkins thought for a moment, then cocked his head. "I've heard Your Excellency is fond of animals?"
"Yes—why?"
"Because I have some six-week-old kittens I'm trying to find homes for. They aren't purebred, though."
"Neither am I," Cortin said. "Yes, I'd like one—two, if that isn't being greedy."
"Two is fine. Whenever you have time to come by and pick them out."
"How about as soon as we're done here?"
"My pleasure, Excellency."
For the first time since learning to drive, Cortin was glad that her rank meant she sat in back while someone else drove. She'd ended up with three of the kittens, and they were currently playing tag around her lap and shoulders, with occasional forays to Odeon. He didn't seem to object to their touch, and once he even seemed to smile for a second when the orange tiger-striped one purred in his ear. He hadn't worked up to stroking them yet, but she hoped that would only be a matter of time; animals were supposed to be good therapy, as well as being fun.
Even the kittens, it seemed, couldn't distract her completely from Mike's problem. He needed help too badly for her to ignore it long, especially when he was right there beside her! He'd helped her when she was hurting; why in God's Name wouldn't he let her help him? She hadn't planned on saying anything, but—"Mike, you must know I'm willing—eager!—to do anything in my power for you."
"I do know," he said. "Blast it, Joanie, you can't think I enjoy feeling this way—afraid of intimacy with any of you!"
"I don't think that at all," she said quietly. "I just wish I could convince you—you must know you can't contaminate us. You're Sealed, Shayan can't corrupt you! Sis and I both know it feels that way, but being victimized doesn't make you any less of a person."
He was silent so long she didn't think he was going to answer, but eventually he said, "Intellectually, I understand that. It's my feelings that're the problem."
"Yes, they are." Cortin paused. "Have you considered taking the advice you gave me once? Offer the hurt to God. You're Sealed to the Protector, His priest as well as Jeshua's; if you ask, I'm sure one or both Aspects will help you gladly."
"I've done that, of course. So far it hasn't worked." He glanced at her, then looked down at the kitten. "Joanie, it's not just what Shayan did to me. That's most of it, but …"
Cortin frowned. "What Ivan was saying about the Protector?"
"Yeah."
"I'm scared of the Empire myself—but if it does produce the Protector, I'd have to change my opinion." She sighed. "I'm not sure whether I like the idea or not, but if that's the way it works out, I'll have to accept the fact. So will you."
Odeon nodded grimly. She was acting Protector, so he couldn't argue that; if the true Protector came from the Empire, he would have to accept Him or Her, and by extension, His or Her place of origin. "Should I start studying the Empire, then, like Ivan did?"
Cortin cocked her head, thoughtful, then she nodded. "It might not be a bad idea at that. I don't have any cosmic hunches or anything, but if he's right, we should be prepared."
"Okay. It might actually be interesting."
Cortin smiled. "I'll settle for that. Between study and little Orange there, you may be combat-ready in time for the convent defense."
"I hope so. But she's Tangerine, not Orange." Odeon's lips twitched in a near-smile as he kept the kitten from crawling into the sleeve of his tunic. "I'll work it out, Joanie—just give me time."
"All I can, but we know there isn't much, and I will not have someone under my command going into combat in that condition. If you haven't straightened out by noon Tuesday, either you let me try unity or you're on the inactive list until you do recover."
"Permanently, you mean," Odeon said bleakly. "After Wednesday, if you remember, His Majesty has ordered me out of action."
"Of course I remember," Cortin said. "Mike, please believe I don't want to hold you back—but I won't let you go into action with almost no chance of survival unless there's absolutely no choice."
"I understand."
Blackfeather was still apprehensive when she arrived at Harmony Lodge. She'd been met at the airport by a staff car driven by a young man who introduced himself as Lieutenant Charles Powell, Colonel Cortin's aide, though he looked too young to drive, much less be an Enforcement officer. He'd helped with her luggage, then driven her silently but efficiently to the Palace Complex, gotten her through the formalities of a temporary pass, and brought her to the Lodge's main entrance, near the front of the estate.
Servants approached as Powell opened the door for her and helped her out of the car. "They'll take your luggage to your room, Miss Blackfeather," he said. "Her Excellency and Captain Odeon are waiting in her office; I'm to escort you to them immediately."
"I would prefer to clean up first."
"Sorry, Miss Blackfeather," Powell said, not sounding at all regretful. "Her Excellency was most specific; if you will come this way, please."
Young or not, Blackfeather thought, he had the false-polite presumption of an Enforcement veteran. Still, what else could she expect from an Inquisitor's lackey? "Very well, Lieutenant, take me to Her Excellency."
Moments later, Powell showed her into a large office with Cortin seated behind the desk and a tall, grim-looking scar-faced man who had to be Captain Odeon standing to Cortin's left at a stiff parade-rest.
Cortin rose as the reporter entered. "Thank you for coming here first, Miss Blackfeather. While I'm sure you would have preferred to bathe and have a brief rest before meeting my team, we have a compelling reason to've asked you here. Captain Odeon assures me it will take only seconds, then Lieutenant Powell will show you to your room."
Despite her irritation, Blackfeather was intrigued. "What reason, Your Excellency?"
It was Odeon who answered. "Something your … patron … wanted me to do. You don't remember that you were there when he … made it possible for me, but you'll remember once it's done. It won't hurt at all, and it'll only take a few seconds, as Colonel Cortin said. It'd be easier on me if you make eye contact, but that isn't really necessary."
Although Blackfeather normally had no interest in making anything easy for an Enforcement killer, there was something in Odeon's expression that made her waver; she stared into his pale blue eyes.
The promised seconds later, she collapsed in shock, to be caught by strong arms. Larry was Shayan, and he'd had her under compulsions to do things she never would have dreamed of on her own, and he'd done things to her body that were horrible, and she'd enjoyed them and what he'd done with his changes, and oh dear God the horror he'd done to the man who'd helped her in spite of what had been done to him and— "Sis!" she heard Cortin snap.
"I am here, Colonel," a soft voice said. "Miss Blackfeather?" A pause. "Miss Blackfeather?"
"Go 'way."
"I am a medic. With your permission, I can give you something for shock. Otherwise, I can treat you only with warmth and quiet."
Drugs were bad … but the horror of these sudden disclosures was worse. "Do what you think best," she managed.
An immediate needleprick startled her; the quick blackness that followed came as a distinct relief.
Cortin watched Pritchett carry the reporter out, Chang accompanying them, then she turned to Odeon. He looked tired and a little shaken, but nowhere near as bad as he had after Shayan's "lesson". "Are you all right, Mike?"
"I will be, after a nap." Odeon rubbed his temples. "He said the operation would be nothing compared to the lesson, and he was right—but it was rough enough. I don't have the kind of strength he does."
"You're a human, not a fallen angel," Cortin said drily. "I was thinking about emotionally, though—you don't look quite as wound up as you have been."
"Not quite," Odeon admitted. "I do feel a bit more human, now I've made some constructive use of what he put me through. My studies are helping, too, but …" He shook his head. "I'm not back to normal, no."
"Close enough for unity? I'm still convinced that's what you need."
Odeon thought for a moment, then shook his head again. "No, I don't think so. I'd like it, but I'm still afraid of touching you. Give me another day or two of Tangerine and studies, though, and I think I'll be okay."
Cortin looked at him curiously. "Really? A kitten and studying the place our ancestors fled from seem like odd therapy. On the other hand, I'm not about to argue with anything that works."
"Truth to tell, I'm surprised how much the studies, especially, do help." Odeon rubbed the scar across his lips, unsure of himself. "I'm just scratching the surface, of course—can't do much else with nothing but comm intercepts and what's left of the records the Founders kept—but even this early, I'm starting to develop respect for the Imperials. Maybe a little bit of liking, too."
Cortin's expression became quizzical. "That's pretty fast, isn't it? Especially for you?"
"Faster than I'd expect, yeah." Odeon paused, frowning. "I'm not even as upset as I was yesterday about the Protector maybe coming from there."
Cortin grinned. "I'd be looking forward to contact instead of it scaring me if I could believe that; at least then I'd know for sure it couldn't possibly be me. And the Empire'd be less likely to attack us if one of their own became our ruler. Did those ambiguous prophecies Ivan mentioned say anything about the Protector's relationship to the Great King?"
"Nothing I could make any sense out of, though Ivan might be able to. Unfortunately—for me; fortunately for him—Shayan never touched his mind, so I won't be able to check with him till he gets back from Archangel. As for the Empire attacking us—" Odeon smiled briefly, "I don't think I'd waste time worrying about it. They've got a whole new Sector full of non-humans to cope with, as of three years ago; I can't see them wasting resources on a mere dozen planets."
"If Ivan's right, we'll find out soon enough, and frankly, that's a subject I'd rather avoid as long as possible. What's the verdict on Miss Blackfeather?"
"About what he said," Odeon replied. "She's in shock right now, but I got the feeling she's pretty resilient; she should be settled down in a few hours. And she's basically a good person; outside his compulsions, she hasn't committed more than the normal venial sins. She's confessed them, too, as of just before her flight left New Rome, and been forgiven. By him, but as he pointed out to me, the sacrament's validity doesn't depend on the priest."
"And acts committed under compulsion are chargeable to the compellor, not the compelled. Other than that?"
"I think I could get to like her. She's intelligent, honest, and given the chance I think she'd have a decent sense of humor. No more devout than usual, which is hardly surprising considering her patron; if anything, I'm surprised she's as devout as she is. After the shock she just got, she may even be willing to listen to us about the Protector."
"And be Sealed, become part of His staff?"
"I'd bet so. Probably not immediately, though I think we should let her attend services."
Cortin frowned briefly, then nodded. "If Sis agrees. I'm not sure how Blackfeather will react with her background, though. She can't possibly be used to public nudity, much less anything like the Protector's celebration."
"She was Shayan's mistress," Odeon said drily. "He's taken her to Hell, though only his palace—we might both be surprised what she's seen. And she's adaptable."