DeLayne's call was fruitful, more quickly than Cortin had expected. As soon as he identified himself, he was transferred to Ranger Medart. Cortin studied him while DeLayne reported. She'd seen photos of the Ranger before, but that had been before she had any expectation of meeting him, or having her society's future depending on how she dealt with him. But now everything about him was meaningful.
Except for some graying around his temples, he looked young—normal for an Imperial officer, with the anti-aging treatments they got. But there was something in his bearing that made it obvious he was no innocent, even if she hadn't been acquainted, however vaguely, with his handling of the Sandeman annexation. He was, she decided, the sort of man she could respect—which meant she'd have to be careful not to let that feeling hinder her judgement during the negotiations.
She frowned when Medart, informed she'd been named negotiator, asked if she were available—long-distance negotiations didn't strike her as a good idea—but when Delayne replied that she was, she had no choice but to go to the ultrawave. "I am Colonel Cortin."
"Ranger James Medart," the man on the screen replied. "Pleased to meet you, Colonel. I'm also pleased to hear you'll be the one I'll be talking to. Do you have any objection to Captain DeLayne and his crew acting as Special Liaison until I get there?"
"I would appreciate their assistance, though I am not sure what you mean by Special Liaison."
"In this case, a demonstration of what Imperials are really like," Medart said. "Maybe by the time I get there, you'll have decided we aren't the sort of monsters you've apparently been taught."
"That is possible," Cortin said. "I gather you do not intend to carry out our discussions long-distance?"
"No." Medart grinned. "All our experience says long-distance negotiations are much less productive than face-to-face ones, especially something that looks like it might be tricky—such as working with a culture I know nothing about. So I don't plan on anything except this type of talk, and that only if you insist; I prefer to get my data in person. If there's anything you think I can do to help, of course, don't hesitate, but I won't be able to go beyond advice. Unfortunately, even an IBC can't go over three lights per hour, and I'm over five hundred hours away."
Roughly three weeks, Cortin calculated. "I should be able to manage for that time; if not, I am the wrong person for this job. Until your arrival, then."
"Agreed. Medart out."
Cortin looked around, spotted one of her team and a couple of the Imperials watching TV, what looked like a news special. "Chuck!" she called. "What's up?"
"Aaron Spence's analysis of the Imperials' arrival and His Majesty's designation of you as the sole authority regarding them," the young man called back. "He doesn't like the first, but he's in favor of the latter, of course."
"Of course." Cortin chuckled. Spence was the only commentator who supported her completely, so he was naturally Family Cortin's favorite. But the fact that he'd gotten past the news to the analysis told her what she needed to know: her authority in regard to the Imperials was public knowledge. Odeon was done with the phone; she dialed the main spaceport, told its commander the Imperial scoutship was being transferred to Harmony Lodge, and asked him to connect her to its Bridge.
When that was done, she turned the phone over to DeLayne and listened as he gave the necessary orders for its move to her estate. She wasn't sure that was the right move, but with the Brotherhood becoming increasingly active, it seemed the safest one. Her team, the Imperial Marines she knew better than to underestimate, and possibly— "Mike, did you get through to Brad?"
"Uh-huh. He'll be glad to lend us any local Strike Force troops not otherwise occupied—though he warns you he may need to take 'em back if the Brothers stage any more terror raids—and says to tell you he's asking all the Strike Force priests to include you in their Mass intentions until further notice. Which Dave and I, at least, will do gladly."
Cortin grinned at him. "All of which I'm grateful for. I'll have to thank him personally next time he comes over—did he give you any idea how soon they'll start arriving?"
"About an hour," Odeon replied. "Shelters will be here about an hour after that. I told Matthew to have the groundskeepers get things ready."
"Good. That should be after the Columbus lands—or will she need more time, Captain DeLayne?"
"Less, Colonel. She should be airborne by now, landing any minute. Scouts sometimes have to lift off at almost no notice, so regulations forbid a complete engine shutdown outside Imperial space."
"Sensible," Cortin agreed. "I seldom get to watch spacecraft land; would it be safe to go out and watch yours?"
"I don't see why not, as long as we stay close to the house."
Even a small spacecraft was large—fitting hyperdrive in anything less than a hundred meters long seemed to be impossible—and Cortin knew this scout was one of the smallest of the Imperial ship classes. But that didn't seem to help as she watched it descend into her side yard. Nothing that big should be able to move under its own power!
But it did, settling slowly onto the grass, sinking until she wasn't sure it would ever stop. Finally, though, it did, and she thought ruefully that her head gardener was probably wishing her in Hell for what she'd done to his beloved lawn. And this wouldn't be the worst of it; the entire estate grounds would soon be a mess, with troops camped and living on them. Well, so be it; she'd been consigned to Hell often enough, especially by the Brothers and assorted other terrorists and criminals.
When the ship's main hatch opened, DeLayne turned to her. "Normally I wouldn't invite someone from outside the Empire aboard my ship, but under the circumstances, you're welcome any time." He grinned at her. "Someone who's called for Imperial help isn't going to sabotage us, after all."
"Quite true, and I'd like to take advantage of your offer when time permits, but His Majesty didn't say anything about my workload being reduced. So until he does, or Ranger Medart arrives and I don't have time for anything else, I think I should keep to my usual schedule."
"Or lack of it," Odeon put in.
"Or lack of it," Cortin agreed. "As active as the Brotherhood's been of late, I don't get much time off; my only semi-free day is Sunday. If you have no objection, I would like to visit then."
"As I said, you'll be welcome any time." DeLayne hesitated. "You've mentioned this Brotherhood several times, in context that makes it sound like it could be a threat to my crew. What is it?"
"The Brotherhood of Freedom," Cortin said. "They're a collection of terrorists, the worst in our history. Their leader, Lawrence Shannon, ordered them to disband before he disappeared about four months ago, but except for a few low-ranking ones, that didn't happen. Yes, they could be a threat to your people. I doubt they'd be stupid enough to attack Harmony Lodge, though I prefer not to take chances—which is why I wanted the extra Strike Force troopers. Outside the grounds is likely to be a different story, though, so I'd strongly recommend any of your people leaving the compound have at least one trooper with them, and that they be armed. If they are attacked, I'd appreciate it if they'd shoot to wound, rather than to kill; we can't get information from the dead."
"We can do that easily enough," DeLayne said. "I'll order blasters set on stun—with that request, I gather you don't have that option?"
"Bullets don't stun, no," Cortin said. "You intrigue me—could I try one of those blasters?"
"I don't see why not," DeLayne replied. "The ship wouldn't let your people into our armory, so we have plenty. Let me get my quartermaster to bring you one."
"I'll be glad to do it, sir," Conley put in.
"Very well, Miss Conley. Have it logged as a permanent transfer, along with a spare powerpack and charger."
"Yes, sir." Conley boarded the ship, emerging moments later with the specified equipment, as well as a holster and pouch for the blaster and spare powerpack. She handed them to Cortin, smiling. "I'll be glad to show you how to use them, if you'd like."
"I would, if your Captain doesn't mind."
"No objection," DeLayne said. "In fact, if you don't mind, I'd like to appoint her as our individual Special Liaison from the Empire to the Kingdom Systems until Ranger Medart arrives. She can stay at your Lodge, but I think the rest of us should go back to living on the Columbus."
"If you wish, Captain." Cortin smiled at the young woman. "But the final decision will have to be yours, Miss Conley. I should warn you, associating with an Inquisitor will do nothing to improve your social standing in the Systems; we may be respected, but we certainly aren't popular."
Conley laughed. "Since I won't be in the Systems long, I'm not worried—I'd love to learn what I can about you and your people, and—" she glanced at her Captain, hesitating.
"And a stint as Special Liaison would look good on your record, I would imagine." Cortin chuckled. "We share that much, at least. Consider yourself accredited, Miss Conley. And Family Cortin's guest, until your superiors require you to return to your duties."
"I'd like that—thank you, Excellency. When would you like to learn how to use your blaster?"
"As soon as I can. What facilities do you need?"
"A standard target range will do fine for the blaster function. If you want the stun function demonstrated, you'll need a volunteer and some good strong headache medications."
Cortin frowned. "I thought stunning wasn't harmful."
"It isn't," Conley said. "At least, it doesn't do any physical damage—unless the fall itself injures you, of course. But it does leave you with a nasty migraine for most of a day."
"Interesting," Cortin said thoughtfully. A weapon that caused pain without injuring its target sounded like an extremely useful tool for an Inquisitor. "Does it cause actual unconsciousness, or is it the pain itself that's incapacitating?"
"At standard intensity, it causes about four hours' unconsciousness. The headache's just a side effect we can't seem to get rid of."
That was even more interesting, Cortin thought. If Kingdoms scientists could isolate the "side effect" and eliminate the unconsciousness, the severe migraine would do very nicely to intensify an Inquisitor's other attentions. She didn't want to upset the young Imperial with that line of thought, though. "I should be able to find a suitable test subject," she said. "Not right now, though; I need to get to work. Let's go back inside; you can explain the controls, then I can familiarize myself with it if I get any breaks."
"Just a moment, please, Excellency," Odeon said. "I know you're busy, but there are going to be a lot of troopers here soon, and if the Imperials go into town, they may stop at the joyhouses; don't you think they ought to know about our favorite plague?"
"Plague!" DeLayne exclaimed, his expression horrified.
Cortin chuckled. "Yes—the only one I know of that most people wanted to catch. But you might not want to export it to the Empire, so Captain Odeon's right; I ought to warn you. It's called the satyr plague, which should give you some idea of its nature."
DeLayne nodded. "I think so—but I don't care to guess at the details, so tell me about it, please. And what a large number of troopers has to do with it."
"The troopers first," Cortin said. "Because of the hazardous nature of our work, the Royal Enforcement Services have both Church and civil dispensations from the sexual restrictions that apply to everyone else—except their partners at the time, of course. So they won't have any hesitation asking any of your people they find attractive, or accepting offers from them. The joyhouses don't have that dispensation yet, but since the plague appeared, working in or patronizing them's no more than a venial sin and a misdemeanor the RES pays attention to only if there's a complaint; we have far more serious crimes to worry about.
"The plague itself, of course, is sexually transmitted. There's no danger of infection from casual contact, only about a one percent chance from kissing, but the odds improve with the intimacy of contact. As far as we can tell, intercourse with someone who has the plague guarantees you'll get it; other genital contact is high-probability but not certain."
"But what does it do?" Conley asked.
Cortin grinned at Odeon, who answered. "What it does, Miss Conley, is increase both sexual desire and capability. That's most noticeable in men, though it affects women as well. As you can probably imagine, it's had quite an effect on our society the last three decades."
"What about immunization or a cure?" DeLayne asked.
"Who'd want it?" Odeon asked in reply. "I damnsure wouldn't; I like what it's done for me. And for our wives and Family head."
DeLayne raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "We'll work on both, then, if you could provide a blood sample from someone who's infected."
"How big a sample?"
"A few drops should be enough." DeLayne grinned. "Scouts may be small, but we get state of the art medical equipment, and people to use it who want a challenge."
Odeon turned to Cortin. "If you don't mind, Colonel, I'll give him his sample, then come help you."
"Fine. Take as long as you want, maybe get a tour of the ship." She paused, thinking. "Yes … under the circumstances, I think I'd better change your primary duty." She turned to DeLayne. "Captain Odeon has been studying your Empire as well as possible from comm intercepts and what's left of our Founders' records. If you're willing to loan him books or have some of your people talk to him, I'd like to make those studies his top priority. He can then brief me on whatever he considers important."
DeLayne nodded. "Comm intercepts and fragmentary records won't give you very good information, especially since your Founders obviously weren't at all fond of the Empire—I'll be glad to help him learn as much as he wants." He turned to Odeon, grinning. "Come on, Captain—we'll go by Sickbay for the blood samples, then I'll give you a ship tour and introduce you to teaching tapes. Can you read Imperial English?"
Odeon looked up at the ship's name as he followed DeLayne up the gangplank, then shook his head ruefully. "If that's a sample, no—I can recognize most of the letters, but they don't make sense."
"Easy enough to remedy." DeLayne saluted the armed guard at the hatch. "Permission to come aboard, sir? Myself and one of our hosts."
The woman returned his salute. "Granted, sir. Are you permitting him aboard armed?"
"Yes. And no one's to leave this estate—definitely not the compound—unarmed. I'll make that—"
"Captain?" Odeon interrupted.
"Yes?"
"If I were you, I'd have them armed any time they leave the ship. And I'd have Miss Conley sent one of those blasters as soon as possible."
DeLayne frowned. "The Brotherhood's that dangerous?"
"Probably not here at the Lodge, as Colonel Cortin said—but we don't know how they'll react to the Empire's presence, and I don't think we should take any chances."
"Neither do I. Okay, I'll make the announcement and put it in the standing orders." DeLayne turned to the guard. "No one's to leave the ship without a sidearm, Corporal; pass that on to your relief. I'll make the all-hands announcement as soon as I show Captain Odeon to Sickbay."
"Aye, sir."
Odeon wasn't sure what he'd expected the ship's interior to be like—similar to an airplane, maybe. Once they got past the airlock and a series of large lockers, though, what he saw could have been the inside of a large, modern building. If he hadn't just watched it land, he wouldn't have believed himself inside a vehicle. "Your guard's uniform was black—a Marine?"
"Right. SecuDiv—sorry, Security Division; I doubt you know our abbreviations—like all the ones assigned to Columbus." DeLayne smiled at his guest. "I'd better warn you, Captain—my medical people will probably want more from you than a blood sample. I don't know how your people feel about doctors, but don't let Drulet intimidate you into more than you're comfortable with."
"I won't. I don't have anything against doctors; I owe my life to several of them." Odeon paused, thinking. Joanie was taking them into the Empire, which knew even less about the Kingdoms than the other way around, so— "Since you've got to start learning about us, too, I'll go as far as a complete physical—provided it doesn't include the use of any drugs."
"It doesn't. He'll be delighted."
The examination didn't take as long as Odeon expected, less than three hours, but it was the most complete he'd ever had—and the least understandable. The doctor tried to explain, but Odeon didn't have the background to make sense out of body scans, biochemical and genetic analyses, or other procedures. After a bit he told the doctor so, to Drulet's amusement. "Okay, Captain, no more jargon. I'll wait till we're done and just give you the results, okay? If you want them."
"The results, sure, if you can keep them down to a layman's level. I'm not even trained in our medicine, and this—" Odeon gestured to the equipment around them, "is so far ahead of ours it isn't funny."
"I think I can manage that. Okay, nothing but chit-chat until we get to my office. Do you like coffee?"
"I'll drink it, but given a choice, I really prefer herb teas. Something with a tang, like cranberry or ginger."
"I know just the thing." Drulet grinned. "I'll stick with coffee, and you can try Blue Ginger. That originated on Herbert's World—have you heard of it?"
"Afraid not."
Odeon sipped his tea, then nodded appreciatively. "This is good, Doctor. Okay, what's the verdict?"
"You're healthy as the proverbial horse, Captain. More injuries than I've seen on a single individual before, but no lasting damage—and contrary to what you told me about your medical history, you've never been sick a day in your life. No chickenpox or measles, no colds—and no satyr plague." He shook his head as Odeon started to object. "Oh, you're a carrier, all right; the pseudo-virus is in your body fluids. It just isn't inside your cells."
"But I've got all the symptoms!"
"Yes, you told me—the diagnostic ones being the increased sexual capacity and the penile moistening during arousal. The tests are conclusive, though; in your case those are genetic, not disease-caused."
Odeon frowned. "Then how come none of it showed up till the day after I had intercourse the first time? Because that's when the urge got strong and I started getting wet."
Drulet shrugged. "That question I can't answer; I don't know enough about the disease. Could be pure coincidence, or maybe the virus' presence in your body pulled the genetic trigger, so to speak. Possibly any physical stress or trauma could've set it off, once puberty hit. But that's all guesswork."
"I understand." That part, anyway, Odeon thought. Why he'd have a genetic condition that mimicked the satyr plague was a whole 'nother question, and one he knew the doctor wouldn't be able to answer, so he dropped the subject. "Would you mind sending my commanding officer a copy of your report, so it can go in my medical records? I'm due my annual physical next month, but with this one so recent and so much more thorough, that can be waivered."
"Be glad to. If you don't mind, I'll forward a copy to Ranger Medart as well. His eyes only, of course."
Odeon didn't particularly like that idea, for no reason he could pinpoint—he'd taken the examination so Imperials could learn about Kingdoms people, after all—but he nodded. "I suppose so."
"In that case," DeLayne's voice broke in, behind Odeon, "you wouldn't mind if I also send him anything I learn from you."
"No—but he did say he wanted to get his data in person."
"What's the difference if I send him the ship's record tapes of our conversations, or he talks to you himself?"
Odeon frowned. "The ship tapes everything? You don't have any privacy?"
"Everything in the public areas, yes. Admiral Columbus, please tell Captain Odeon how you handle monitoring of private quarters."
"Yes, Captain," came from the air, startling Odeon. "I monitor those only for sounds of distress or people requesting my attention, and permanently tape only those situations; everything else is wiped automatically within approximately one microsecond."
"Your ship talks to you?"
DeLayne and Drulet both chuckled at Odeon's incredulity. "Yes, she does. All Imperial ships of this class or higher—which means all but couriers or landers—have AI-level ship-comps."
Odeon was silent for a moment, then he said, "Okay, I'll bite; what does that mean?"
"Sorry," DeLayne said. "That's a ship-wide computer complex enough to be classified as an artificial intelligence. That means that if you didn't know you were talking to a computer, you'd think it was a very intelligent human. I gather you're not too familiar with computers?"
"That's one way to put it; I've never used one, and only seen a few. None of those talked, and I never heard of any being intelligent!"
DeLayne chuckled. "Any time you want to talk to one, address her the way I did. She'll answer you, as long as you don't get into classified information."
"That may take me a while to get used to. No offense intended, Admiral Columbus."
"I do not have feelings, so I cannot take offense, Captain Odeon, but I thank you for the courtesy."
"You're welcome," Odeon replied automatically, before turning to DeLayne. "Even the little bit I've experienced so far—this Sickbay and talking to your ship—is awesome. It makes me feel … I don't know. I'm competent enough in the Kingdom Systems, but it's pretty clear none of us are anything but total incompetents in your terms. I don't like that feeling."
"Neither would I, in your place. But don't worry about it; as I told Colonel Cortin, we aren't monsters, and we don't force ourselves on anyone. If she does decide the Systems should join the Empire, we'll offer but not impose education about us and our science. Also whatever you need to bring yourselves to our level."
"Like you offered to teach me?"
"Exactly. Ready to get started?"
"Definitely." Odeon allowed himself a brief smile as he stood. "Let's go see one of these 'teaching tapes' you mentioned. Are they anything like a book?"
"Nothing at all. They aren't really tapes, either; they just got called that, back when they were invented, and the name stuck. Let's go to my cabin, and I'll introduce you to them. Admiral Columbus, please have a reader and basic-language tape waiting in my fabricator."
"Yes, Captain."
"Fabricator?" Odeon asked as they left Sickbay, going deeper into the ship.
"Yes. Do you know anything about molecular physics?"
"No." Odeon sighed. "I'm really in over my head, aren't I?"
DeLayne chuckled. "Not really; that's one of my degrees, is all, and I enjoy discussing it when I get the chance. Most people haven't the faintest idea how fabricators work; they just use them. We don't manufacture small items any more; once a prototype's developed, the pattern is scanned and recorded. When you want one of that item, you code it into your fabricator, and the fabricator constructs it, with any modifications you specify in the coding, from reconstituted raw materials. When you're done with it, you feed it back into the fabricator's raw material storage for re-use."
Odeon whistled. "That's incredible. Things like your uniform?"
"Among others, yes."
"And I thought the plague and Families were causing a major social upheaval. What you're going to do to us … Maybe Colonel Cortin's right to be afraid of you after all, though not for the reason she thinks."
"I can't deny there'll be stress," DeLayne said soberly. "You won't have to join, and you won't have to accept anything from us that you don't want—but just making open contact will cause changes, yes. It's a good thing for your Systems that Colonel Cortin was able to get Ranger Medart, too. Any Ranger would be good, but he's the Empire's best at anything involving cultural differences—which we don't try to destroy, as you probably already know. To quote a twentieth-century writer by the name of O'Sullivan, our aim is to 'preserve the unique viewpoints of different groups, but at the same time require that each group be tolerant of the others'. We see harmonious diversity as a good thing."
"I'd gotten that impression, but not in so many words. The Sandemans and Traiti, from what I've studied, both maintain their own cultures within their Subsector and Sector."
"And so do the cloudcats, on Ondrian. They're another race Ranger Medart managed to bring into the Empire peacefully—damn good thing for us, since that's the only place miracle-weed produces usable rapid-heal."
"I never heard of any of those."
DeLayne chuckled. "Learning from comm intercepts would tend to be fragmentary, especially when the ultrawave beams aren't aimed at you and you don't have the cultural background to understand a lot of what you do hear. That's what we're in the process of remedying. And here's my cabin." He put his hand to a small plate beside the door, which promptly opened onto a small living area. "Have a seat while I go get the tape and player—my fabricator's in the bedroom."
Odeon obeyed, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't afraid of the Empire, and as he'd told Joanie months ago when he first started studying them, he already had some respect for them. DeLayne was adding to that, even as he was overwhelming Odeon with casually incomprehensible references. Fabricators, cloudcats, miracle-weed, rapid-heal … and teaching tapes. DeLayne was emerging from the bedroom carrying what looked like a small book and a thin box of matches, though Odeon was sure those had to be the reader and 'tape' he'd mentioned.
"Here we go," DeLayne said, pulling up a chair. He handed Odeon the reader, which turned out to be a screen with a row of words underneath—all of which, to Odeon's gratification, he was able to puzzle out—and showed him how to insert the tape, then explained the touch controls for tape direction and speed. "The older models have electrodes that have to go on the temples," he added, "but the new ones don't need them. Some people have a mild reaction, disorientation or a touch of nausea; if you do, slowing the tape down usually gets rid of it. Whenever you're ready, just touch the "Go" button."
"Okay." Odeon did so—and promptly doubled over.
Alarmed, DeLayne grabbed the tape player and shut it off. "What's wrong, Captain?"
"I thought you said … mild nausea and disorientation. Not stomach cramps and … the worst headache I've ever had."
DeLayne frowned. "I've never heard of a reaction that bad, or I would've warned you. Let me get Dr. Drulet to prescribe you something."
"Thanks, but no thanks; I'll be okay. It's fading already." Odeon straightened cautiously, shaking his head. "I don't think I'd care to repeat the experience, though. Do you have any ordinary books I can use instead?"
"No, but I can have the ship print you out what's on the tapes. Normally I'd suggest you try a standard reading tape, but after that reaction, printouts would probably be the best idea. They're a hell of a lot slower than teaching tapes, though; it'll take you a day or so to learn what the tape would've given you in a couple of minutes."
"I'll take the day, and the printouts."
"You've got them. Imperial English, or should I have the ship transcribe everything into the pre-Imperial alphabet?"
"Imperial," Odeon said, after a moment's thought. "I'm going to have to learn it sooner or later, so why put it off?"
"That makes sense. And I don't think I'd better let any of your people try taking a tape till the Lindner gets here. An IBC has better research facilities than a scout; they may be able to find out why you reacted so badly, whether it's an individual reaction or something everyone in the Systems shares, and how to avoid it."
"That makes sense, too. Thanks, Captain. Aside from the alphabet, what would you recommend I study first?"
"In your place I'd start with basic history and Imperial structure. Once you know that, you're in a better position than I am to decide what else you'll need."
"I'll do that, then."
27a. At Harmony Lodge
James Medart was looking forward to his arrival in the Kingdom Systems. Another new culture to study, this time a group whose ancestors had fled the early Empire in an attempt to escape religious persecution. From Captain DeLayne's reports, that had been about four hundred years ago, and even though they refused to discuss religion, DeLayne said that from their symbols and occasional references, they were a Roman Catholic variant.
DeLayne's primary informant was Cortin's second-in-command, who was also studying the Empire with considerable interest, DeLayne said, but making slow progress because he had a strong negative reaction to teaching tapes. That was unfortunate, Medart thought, but Odeon's attitude was a distinct improvement on Cortin's fear. He admitted to being a priest, once DeLayne asked about some of his insigne, but was reluctant to go beyond that, and said most of their Founders' records had been destroyed in the Final War. He couldn't provide the historical background Medart would have liked, then, so the Ranger decided to see what he could find from the Imperial side.
After several days' research, he studied what he'd been able to put together from obscure and also incomplete records—not typical of the time, and he found himself wondering if that could be deliberate. Sabotage, maybe, by some who had stayed behind, to protect those who had left?
The group that founded the Kingdom Systems had begun as a large Roman Catholic parish in the Southwestern United States, conventional except that it was allowed to use the Latin Mass. In 2148, however, they were assigned a new priest. Until his arrival there, he had seemed equally conventional, though he had already gained a reputation for great charisma and persuasiveness. When he became parish priest, however, he began preaching about the Final Coming—not of Christ, but of a Third Aspect of God he called the Protector. This Aspect would appear after Satan had been released from Hell and allowed to wreak his will for a hundred years. He also called for the ordination of women, a priesthood allowed to marry, and numerous other changes.
To the Vatican's dismay, he attracted a large number of followers from all over the world. Many moved to his parish, while those who disagreed with him moved out. The entire group was excommunicated in 2156, branded a heretic cult, and generally scorned by outsiders. At this point, it began implementing the priest's suggested changes, including new terms for Satan and Jesus—now Shayan and Jeshua.
All this got them greater notoriety and contempt. To escape that, the priest persuaded his followers that it would be best to flee this persecution and the Empire that permitted it—though in fact the Empire was simply maintaining its strict neutrality regarding religious matters—and, in 2158, the group left Terra, fleeing in three surprisingly large and well-equipped ships. Nothing had been heard of them since, and apparently no one had particularly cared; there had been no investigation or follow-up of any kind.
Another deliberately self-"lost" colony, Medart thought. At least this one wasn't fighting them, and from Odeon's medical records there didn't seem to be any genetic tampering, as in the case of the Sandemans—just a pseudo-virus, one that enhanced the sex drive, which had surfaced about thirty years ago, and a mutation in Odeon that somehow mimicked it. That, Medart was certain, was natural rather than engineered; the Kingdoms' medical care was more advanced than the Sandemans' had been at Annexation, but it certainly wasn't up to genetic engineering.
He spent the rest of the trip studying the tapes DeLayne transmitted, including what teaching tapes he'd transcribed for Odeon, and brushing up on Roman Catholic theology of the mid-twenty-second century. The church had been starting to splinter then, but from what little Odeon let slip, it seemed safe to concentrate on what was currently called the Traditional branch—while keeping firmly in mind that this was a variant, possibly in more than the Persons of the Trinity and the names of God and Devil.
The Columbus left as soon as Medart's ship, the Empress Lindner, entered orbit. Battle cruisers were far too large to land in a gravity field as strong as St. Thomas', so he came down in one of the bus-sized landers along with a single pilot/bodyguard. There was none of the pomp or ceremony Cortin would have expected when royalty from one realm visited another, but Colonel Bradford had decided to leave the Strike Force troops in place because of the Brotherhood, so she was able to have a proper military formation, at least. The Ranger had asked for informality, though, so she and Odeon were the only ones who approached to greet him when he emerged from the lander, followed by his bodyguard. They exchanged introductions, and Medart confirmed Cortin's guess that the small, dark-skinned blond was indeed one of the genetically engineered Sandeman warriors, Lieutenant Keith DarElwyn.
"I thought it might reassure you," Medart said, "if I brought along one of the people we were able to make friends with thirty years ago. I've got Traiti aboard as well, but I don't think you're quite ready for them." Cortin, he thought, was more impressive in person than on screen. She was medium height and build, with straight brown hair not quite shoulder length, wearing a gray uniform with wide-brimmed hat—but it was her eyes that struck him. They were a light brown, with pupils that seemed blacker than space, making them seem to look through you.
Even though he was familiar with Odeon from DeLayne's tapes, he found the scar-faced man more impressive in person, as well. He was a good twenty-five centis taller than his commander, strongly built without looking like a weight-lifter—and the nasty-looking scar that cut across his right cheek down across his mouth and into his chin seemed more a distinction than a disfigurement. Both officers reminded Medart irresistibly of predators, though he couldn't pinpoint the reason … maybe that neither seemed to have any softness about @.
It had become almost a reflex for Medart to do a quick mental scan of anyone he met, and under the circumstances, he would've scanned Cortin and Odeon anyway. Mike Odeon was average, with no mind-screen or perceptible Talent other than very minor telepathy, but Cortin was an entirely different story. She had an incredible degree of Talent latent, though it wasn't like any he'd felt before. Still, three and a half years of experience didn't make him an expert in Talent varieties—especially human ones, since that had been discovered only the same three and a half years ago. Her mind-shield had a potential strength even greater than a Sandeman warrior's, though she wasn't using it. She also had a strong telepathic potential, of which she was using a small, untrained portion—and there was another aspect, one he hadn't encountered before, that it felt like she was using fully, though unconsciously. It was a good thing, Medart thought, that he seemed to be immune to that particular aspect. His focus had to remain on the Empire as a whole; he couldn't afford—and had no desire—to fall in love. He was less sure about Keith's immunity, though; even in this brief a time, he could sense a sort of mellowing. He'd have to keep an eye on that, he thought; if Cortin could affect a Sandeman, even one of the rare unshielded warriors like Keith, it might be risky letting her around too many Imperials. On the other hand … He made a mental note to contact DeLayne when he was alone, and find out what effect she'd had on the Columbus' captain and crew. Probably none, since he hadn't said anything about it, but best to double-check.
Cortin nodded to the Sandeman. "It would be interesting to get his reactions to the Empire first-hand."
Keith bowed. "I look forward to the opportunity, Excellency."
"Let's go inside, then, and I'll introduce you to the rest of my Family. Did Captain DeLayne brief you about the satyr plague?"
Medart chuckled. "And the Strike Force's … ah … 'enthusiastic use of their dispensation' was how he phrased it. We've both been immunized, just in case."
"Yes. Well, one of the social changes it triggered, and I helped bring about, was an expanded family structure to allow for the variety it makes you want, while still providing stability for the family itself, particularly the children. Family Cortin began as Strike Force Team Azrael, and most of it still is, though we've added a civilian wife. I understand Sandemans have a strong privacy drive?"
"Very strong," Medart agreed. "Why?"
"Because Family behavior on the private floors can best be described as uninhibited, particularly in the evening," Cortin said. "If open sexuality disturbs him—either of you, for that matter—I'm not sure what to do. You want to learn about us by living with us, and that's part of our life. I certainly can't put one of your rank in a field shelter!"
Medart chuckled. "It doesn't disturb me, but Keith would probably be seriously embarrassed." He enjoyed it, in fact, any time he was on one of the worlds where open sexuality was the norm—particularly where outsiders were allowed or encouraged to participate. That was a preference, though, that Sandemans definitely didn't share. He turned to Keith. "Would you prefer staying in a shelter or the lander, Lieutenant? With this many troops around us, I don't think I need a full-time bodyguard."
"I would, thank you, sir. The lander, by preference."
"You will still eat with us, won't you?" Cortin asked. "We don't generally relax to a degree that should make you uncomfortable until after supper, and the ground floor is always formal."
"I intend no disrespect, Excellency. I will be honored to eat and visit with you."
"Good. Let's go introduce you to my Family, then." As they entered the Lodge and went upstairs to the common-room, she said, "To spare you some confusion about our names: we're all Cortin, since Mike and Sis—the senior spouses—wanted me as head of the Family and named it after me. So Mike's full name is Michael Patrick Cortin-Odeon, but around the Lodge or people who know us well, he's Mike or Captain Odeon, depending on circumstances. Since he's also a priest, you'll sometimes hear adults calling him Father, too."
They were in the living room by then, where the rest of Family Cortin was waiting; she introduced them to the visitors. "Medic-Lieutenant Eleanor Chang, otherwise known as Piety or Sis, the Family's senior wife; Elizabeth Bain, our only non-military adult; Communications-Lieutenant Joseph Pritchett, generally called Tiny; Armorer-Lieutenant Anthony Degas; Demolitions-Lieutenant David Bain, who's also a priest like Mike and myself, and my backup Inquisitor; Lieutenant Charles Powell, who doesn't have a rated specialty but acts as my secretary; and our children—legally my grandchildren, though I can't have children of my own—Luke, Kateri, and George."
The two Imperials bowed slightly, and Medart did the honors on that side. "I appreciate your hospitality," he said then. "Before Colonel Cortin and I can do any productive negotiating, we have to get to know each other and each other's cultures. You got a bit of a head start with Columbus' crew, but I'm deliberately starting from scratch, except for the little Captain Odeon gave Captain DeLayne."
"With first names," Cortin said, "since you're guests in our home; formality's for the ground floor and below. Unless that's considered rude in the Empire, which I doubt from the time Gwen spent with us."
"In the Empire it'd be undue familiarity from anyone except my parents, other Rangers and the Sovereign, or the captain of my ship. But this isn't the Empire, so we go by your customs, not ours; I'm Jim."
Cortin smiled. "Joan—maybe Joanie, if you feel like joining our Family pleasures some evening." She sobered. "Now—I agreed to let you observe me, and I won't go back on that. But I do have to warn you that, based on people's reactions here, you'll probably find my work extremely unpleasant. I know Mike didn't go into detail about it with Captain DeLayne, because I told him not to." She paused, using the brief silence for emphasis. "I'm an Inquisitor, Jim. Normally, that would mean I question prisoners, and turn them over to a judge for sentencing if the evidence warrants it. But I'm the High King's Inquisitor, which means I deal only with capital crimes of the worst type; by the time a criminal gets to me, he's either proven too stubborn for other Inquisitors, or he's under sentence of prolonged death. So far, only one of the prisoners remanded to me has left Harmony Lodge alive, though with your help there may be a second."
"That," Medart said with considerable aversion, "sounds like you torture people to death."
Cortin nodded. "If you restrict 'people' to 'heinous criminals', you're absolutely right. I have never gone beyond first stage interrogation—simple questioning—with an innocent, and truthsense lets me be sure the ones I kill are guilty of the crimes they're sent to me for." She smiled, grimly. "I don't even have to ask, since they all protest their innocence."
"You said that if I help, a second prisoner may leave here alive. What help do you need?"
"Your mind-probe, if it doesn't require the subject to answer verbally." Cortin explained about her anomalous prisoner, then said, "It's probably nothing significant, but I don't like it. I can't find the Inquisitor who conducted the interrogation, and there are rumors the judge who sent him here has ties to the Brotherhood. If he was sent here under false pretenses, my prisoner should be freed and given compensation, and the judge should take his place."
"The probe doesn't require verbal answers, no," Medart said. "And since it may mean saving a life, I'll have a probe unit and operator come down." He paused, considering. He could use telepathy to get the answers she wanted, and her own—the small part she was calling truthsense—would let her be sure he was reporting accurately. That would be quicker than waiting for the probe; the question was whether it would be wiser to reveal his Talent or not mention it at all.
Use it, he decided. Odeon had read about the White Order rebellion and Corina's discovery of human Talent in Medart, then others; he might not know the details, but he did know the basics, and it would be logical to assume he'd passed the information along. "That'll take several hours, though, and there's a faster way, if you want. I'm a fairly powerful telepath; I can read his mind as well as a probe could, and I'm already here."
It was Cortin's turn to hesitate. Mike had mentioned Talent, yes, and had some telepathy himself, with anyone Shayan had mind-touched; the idea wasn't that odd, really, and Medart's offer would save time. Still—"Are you reading my mind?"
"No. I touched you briefly when we met, enough to learn you're not a threat, though I did pick up a little other information. Otherwise I seldom use it unless I'm invited or there's an emergency."
Her truthsense agreed, so Cortin nodded. "If an injustice is being done, it should be corrected as soon as possible; I accept." She turned to her people. "Mike, Dave—would you take that prisoner to my first-stage room, please, while I give our guests a brief tour of the dungeon?"
"Of course," Odeon replied. The two left, and Cortin turned back to the Imperials.
"I was making an assumption perhaps I shouldn't," she said. "It's your choice to accompany us or not, Lieutenant DarElwyn."
The Sandeman bowed. "I would be honored to do so, Excellency."
Something in his tone made Medart glance at him, then do a quick surface scan. Cortin's unconscious Talent had done its job; the warrior was thoroughly in love with the High King's Inquisitor. That, Medart thought, was a complication he didn't need—but it was also one he couldn't do anything about, so disregard it for now. Just make a point of getting hold of DeLayne as soon as he could find a reasonable excuse to be alone.
"Let's go, then." Cortin led them outside and to the rear of the Lodge, where a cave-like entrance led underground. Above it was carved, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."
"Dante's Inferno," Medart commented. "I take it, then, that this is the prisoners' entrance?"
"Right," Cortin agreed. "It isn't really Hell, of course, but it is the anteroom to it for most. A few escape that by repentance, but they still have to pay the worldly penalty for their crimes. What happens after that is between them and God; all I can do is administer the Sacraments and finish my work. If it's an interrogation, though, I'll kill one who repents as soon as he's given me any information he has."
"You don't even try to save them?" Medart asked.
"Their bodies, no," Cortin said, leading them down the stairs. "I told you, I get the stubborn ones. By the time I break them, forcing them to live longer than necessary would be a torment even Cortin the Bitch doesn't care to inflict."
At the end of a short passage, she unlocked a massive door and gestured them through, into a dimly-lit corridor with doors along both sides, some with small lights turned on above them. "These are the holding cells, under constant monitoring from the Detention Center and periodic monitoring by my people. Troops from the Center take care of the prisoners, then remove bodies when Lt. Bain and I are done. Or our colleagues, who're free to use any suites we aren't, if they have an overflow."
Halfway down the passage, she unlocked another door. The corridor this one led to was wider and brightly lit, much like a hospital corridor; she led them straight across, to a door marked "Interrogation Suite Alpha", the "In Use" light above it lit. "This is the one I normally use," she said, ushering them into the office area. "The layout's standard, but it's bigger than usual, and I have quite a bit of experimental material, both equipment and drugs. This section's normally used for Stage One, which rarely happens here; today is unusual." She nodded in the direction of her desk, and the chair in front of it which held a prisoner, flanked by Odeon and Bain. "He's all yours, Ranger. Do you need anything special?"
"A chair would help, so I'm not standing over him; otherwise, no."
Cortin nodded; Bain left, returning moments later with a folding chair he handed to Medart.
Medart positioned himself facing the prisoner and introduced himself, then said, "Colonel Cortin has some doubts about your guilt, but since you can't talk, she can't question you very well. I can read minds, so I don't have that problem. Do you understand?"
The man nodded, but his attention was obviously on Cortin, not the Ranger, and when Medart mind-touched him, all he could read was fear. He turned to the Inquisitor. "He's so terrified his fear's acting like a mind-shield, Colonel. I could get through, but not without hurting him; is there anything you can do to calm him down?"
"That might be difficult," Cortin said. "I generally want my subjects afraid of me; this is the first time I've had to calm one." She turned her attention to the prisoner. "Kenneth Shelton, isn't it?"
The man nodded.
"I'm sure you've heard the usual rumors of my methods; it should be at least a little reassuring that you're dressed and in this suite's office, rather than hanging naked in my third-stage room."
The man nodded, mouthing, "Why?"
"Because, as Ranger Medart said, I have several reasons to wonder about your guilt." She detailed them, ending with, "In particular, the fact that you were muted, apparently to keep you from talking to me—which is the only way I can rely on my truthsense for more than basics. Since I knew the Imperials were coming, and that they had a method—not this one, though it should be equally effective—which would insure truthful, if non-verbal, responses, I used my prerogatives as High King's Inquisitor to postpone your execution, and if my suspicions prove well-founded … we'll see. Does that help?"
Shelton nodded, with Medart agreeing. "The fear's going, Colonel; his primary emotion now is gratitude. When that fades a bit, I'll be able to read him."
"Gratitude," Cortin said, her expression grim. "He is innocent, then. I owe you a personal debt, Ranger; I have never harmed, much less executed, anyone who didn't deserve it. Thanks to your assistance, this will be no exception."
"My pleasure," Medart told her. "I think he's settled down enough now for me to get through without hurting him." He closed his eyes, concentrating on the prisoner. The light touch needed for simple communication wouldn't be enough, though he paused briefly at that level to reassure the other. *Mind-reading is painless, Shelton, even though I'm going to have to go deep enough for direct memory access. I won't trigger the memories, so you won't have to relive them; I'll just copy them to myself, so I can report accurately to Colonel Cortin.*
*I understand.* The man was nervous—naturally enough, Medart thought—but there was a basic stability to him the Ranger liked. *Do what you have to—and God bless you for helping.*
*Thank you.* With that Medart went deeper, scanning memories until he found the relevant set. They were as nasty as he'd expected, and he didn't like the idea of experiencing them, but to accomplish his objective, he didn't have any choice. He "reached" for them.
Cortin watched with interest but no understanding as the Ranger closed his eyes and sat silent for several seconds. Then he shuddered, tensing, and she watched sweat stains appear and grow on his uniform. By the time he opened his eyes again, almost half an hour later, he was soaked and looked exhausted. She wanted to ask about her prisoner, but instead said, "Are you all right?"
"I will be after a bath and nap," Medart replied. "Reading minds, except for the simplest communication link, isn't like reading a book; on any deeper level, you share the other person's thoughts—and feelings. This is my third time at that level, and by far the worst." He stood, moving around to ease the kinks. "He's committed no crimes, Excellency, but he's damnsure been the victim of some. He's a small farmer; he and his family were sitting down to supper one evening when several men broke in. They restrained him while they killed his family, making sure he knew they were making it look like he'd done it. Then they changed to Enforcement Service uniforms and took him to an Inquisitor. The Inquisitor already had his report written; all he did was cut out Shelton's tongue and beat on him to make it look like he'd resisted interrogation. When that was over, the phony troopers took him to a judge, who sentenced him to you. The rest you know."
Cortin didn't even try to hide her cold anger. "I'll need more details, of course, but that's enough to let me get started. Did you happen to check on whether he was given the Sacraments?"
"Sorry, that didn't occur to me." Medart sent a quick thought. *Were you?*
*By the Brotherhood?* Shelton's thought was bitter. *No, and I need them—if you'll help me with Confession?*
"I'm Omnist, not Catholic," Medart cautioned aloud. "I'll relay if you want, though, and anything you say will be treated as Empire Secret."
*Please.* Shelton's thought held a trace of wan humor. *You have some of my memories; why should I mind you reporting some of my sins?*
Medart managed a chuckle. "Put that way, no reason."