"Ego te absolvo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."
"Amen," Medart relayed. "He'd like Communion, but without a tongue, he's not sure he can manage." He paused, grinned. "We may be able to help there, too, unless you've developed regrowth techniques."
"Spiritual Communion is as effective as physical," Cortin reminded the penitent, "though I admit it doesn't feel the same." She turned to the Ranger. "We don't have regrowth, no, but I do seem to remember hearing something about it. Only as a rumor, though."
"It's quite real. We learned it from the Traiti, and the Lindner's doctors are trained in the procedures. Initiating it will only take a few hours, but the regrowth itself usually takes a couple of weeks."
"A couple of weeks shouldn't matter, and since it's possible, it should be part of his restitution. What will such treatment cost?"
"No charge," Medart said. "Civilians can be treated at military facilities if there's space and what they need isn't otherwise available, both of which are true here." He turned to the Sandeman. "Take him up to the ship when Colonel Cortin's done, please."
"Yes, sir."
"I'd suggest," Cortin said, "that you bring a few extra bodyguards when you come back, Lieutenant. I learned from an earlier prisoner that Imperials are at the top of the Brotherhood's wipe list, and after the way he helped me today, Ranger Medart will be a particular target."
Medart frowned. "A Sandeman warrior's the only bodyguard I've had since they joined the Empire. And that's more symbol than necessity."
"In the Empire, maybe so," Cortin said. "For a major Brotherhood target, a bodyguard is a necessity. And it's a good idea to have physically impressive ones. Despite their abilities, Sandemans are impressive only to people who're familiar with them, which most in the Kingdom Systems aren't."
"You're the expert here," Medart said. "Okay. Keith, ask Colonel Williamson to detail me a standard team, the biggest people he's got. You'll be in charge of them, of course. Oh, and you can stay aboard overnight, if you'd like."
"Yes, thank you, sir." Keith smiled briefly, and Medart hid a grin. If Cortin thought he should have physically impressive bodyguards, that could be arranged—along with an evaluation of the Systems' attitude toward non-humans, though if it weren't for her suggestion, he'd have put that off for a while yet.
"Good," Cortin said. "Captain Odeon, would you show Ranger Medart to his suite, please?"
"Of course, Colonel. If you'll come with me, sir?"
Upstairs in the Family section, Odeon turned to Medart. "Thanks for helping her, Jim. That's one the Brothers hadn't tried before, tricking her into executing an innocent man."
"It was a nasty frame, all right, for both of them," Medart agreed. "She seems to take a lot of pride in confining her torture to criminals; killing someone who didn't deserve it under your laws, even if it was on false evidence, I'd say would be a major blow."
"One that would lessen her effectiveness, and that'd be a major victory for the Brotherhood." Odeon led Medart to one of the Lodge's guest suites and showed him in. "This is yours as long as you want to stay. If you'll authorize one to go aboard your lander, a servant will bring your baggage."
"Damn—I forgot you don't have fabricators." Medart touched his throat, activating his comm implant. "Empress Lindner?"
When the ship answered, he went on. "Have a standard travel kit made up for me, please, for an indefinite stay. Lieutenant DarElwyn will be up shortly; he can bring it with him when he comes back. Medart out."
"You can communicate with your ship with no equipment?" Odeon asked.
"Not exactly; the equipment's in my throat and behind my ear. It's called a comm implant, and most senior Imperials have them. Normally I initiate the contact the way you just saw, but the ship can contact me if necessary, or I can tell it to monitor full-time if I think there could be a need."
"Still a lot I don't know," Odeon said ruefully. "I'd recommend the latter whenever you leave the Lodge." He hesitated, then asked abruptly, "How do you feel about Joan?"
"I'm not in love with her, if that's what you're asking."
"It was, but how—oh. You felt it when you mind-touched us right at first. I'm not surprised; you don't seem the type to become an Enforcement trooper. In case you're worried, that's the only personality type she has that effect on. I'd say the Sandeman is, though."
"He is," Medart said, then, "You felt my mind-touch? That's never happened before, unless I did it deliberately."
Odeon grimaced. "I had some … mental surgery … a few months ago. It left me able to release the compulsions Shannon could impose, and it gave me a strong sensitivity to mental contact. I can't do anything with or about the contact, unless it's with someone else he mind-touched, but I know when it happens."
Medart sensed the other's reluctance to pursue that subject, so he returned to practicalities. "Since you don't have fabricators, and what I'm wearing is all I've got till Keith gets back with my kit, is there any way I can get my clothes cleaned in the couple of hours I'll be napping?"
"Easily," Odeon said, clearly relieved. "We sometimes have unexpected overnight company, so the guest suites are equipped with robes, pajamas, and standard toiletries. If you'll change, the servants can have what you're wearing clean and back to you in about an hour."
"I'd appreciate that."
When Medart woke, his uniform was hanging up inside the bathroom door, his underwear was folded neatly on top of the clothes hamper, and his boots and other leather items had been polished. He showered and dressed, decided not to call DeLayne since he'd gotten the necessary information about Cortin's odd Talent from Odeon, and checked the time. He'd slept longer than he expected; it was about 1730 Standard, about an hour later local time.
He left his suite, followed sounds of talk and laughter to the living room—and was pleasantly surprised to be greeted with a hug and enthusiastic kiss from the Inquisitor. He returned both with equal enthusiasm, got a similar greeting from Sis and a more restrained one from Betty—right, she wasn't a trooper, didn't share their dispensation, so more wouldn't be appropriate. Then Odeon approached, his expression inquiring.
Medart shook his head with a smile. "I'm flattered, Mike, and I don't want to offend you, but I'm afraid you aren't my type."
"Thanks, and none taken," Odeon said. "Too bad, though—does being around it bother you?"
"No, not at all—it just doesn't do anything for me, either."
Odeon chuckled. "It would if you'd had the plague and been out on remote patrol. There aren't many women in Enforcement, so all but a very few troopers go both ways, especially in the field."
"I can understand that," Medart said. "The ones I've seen, on a couple of worlds where sex is considered an art form, didn't leave any doubt they were enjoying themselves, either."
"That's all very well," Cortin said, sounding plaintively amused, "but would you mind going into reminiscence and philosophy later? I, for one, am ready for supper and after-dinner relaxation."
Her semi-complaint drew chuckles and agreement; the Family and guest went to the dining room.
After breakfast the next morning, Cortin asked Medart to accompany her to her ground-floor office. When they were seated in the conversation area there, she said, "While you were napping yesterday, I called Colonel Bradford and asked him to go into the details of what you found out from Shelton. I'm the best in the Kingdoms at third-stage, but he's the best at first, especially the memory-enhancing techniques we use with cooperative witnesses. I'd like you to work with him this morning; you can join me this afternoon, if you want to observe an execution."
Medart grinned briefly, then nodded. It was almost half a century since he'd taken orders from anyone except the Sovereign—but he wasn't in the Empire now, he was Colonel Cortin's guest; he'd go along with her arrangements, as long as they didn't interfere with his duty. "As you say, Colonel."
Cortin returned the grin. "Pretty good, for someone Captain DeLayne told me gave orders rather than taking them."
"That depends on circumstances. One of my colleagues, not quite twenty years ago, took orders from a fourteen-year-old who'd rescued him from rebels—but if I may change the subject, did DeLayne and his people have any effect on your attitude toward the Empire?"
Cortin sobered. "In that they were all proud to be citizens and part of your military, a little. They got along well with the troopers, and Spacer Third Class Conley made a very favorable impression on my Family, so I can say your ordinary citizens would probably get along with ours. And Mike is convinced that joining the Empire would be good for us, after a transition period he does think would be difficult—he says that's the only thing I have any real reason to worry about. None of the Columbus' people were on a policy level, though."
"And I am. Yes." Medart was silent for a moment. "Our basic policy is pretty simple, really, though some of the corollaries can get complex. People everywhere in the Empire have the same basic wants and needs: a stable environment, a secure home, safety for their family. Those can be achieved in any number of ways, and a way that's ideal for one person may be totally abhorrent to another. That's why we try to preserve cultural diversity, even at the cost of some order and efficiency, and whatever we may think of some aspects of a given culture. If it can provide most of its citizens with the opportunity for those basics, the Empire won't try to change it."
Cortin frowned. That matched what Mike had reported, and Medart believed it implicitly, but it was still hard for her to believe it could be true. She started to say as much and challenge him, but was stopped when Matthew knocked on the door and announced Colonel David Bradford.
Cortin made the introductions, then smiled. "You two don't need me, so if you'll excuse me, I have a multiple rapist-murderer I've been looking forward to."
Bradford chuckled. "I've heard about him—how long do you think he'll last?"
"I think I can stretch him a day and a half, maybe a little longer."
"Good. I may come down and observe for a bit, if this doesn't take too long."
"Fine. If not, I'll see you Sunday."
"I wouldn't miss it." As Cortin left, Bradford turned to Medart. "I understand you actually have Shelton's memories, in full detail?"
"Of that particular series of events, yes. Not of his entire life."
"That series is all we need." Bradford smiled, though Medart didn't think he meant it. "You should be as relaxed as possible for this interview; I'd suggest you lean back, or perhaps lie down on the couch."
"In a moment. How long will this take?"
"That depends on several factors, but probably not over two hours. Why?"
"My new bodyguard team's due down sometime this morning, and I want to be there when they arrive." Medart touched his throat. "Empress Lindner, what's Lieutenant DarElwyn's departure time?" Subvocally he added, "Monitor till I tell you otherwise."
"Yes, Ranger," came the answer only he could hear. "He is preparing for launch now."
"Ask him to delay for two hours, please," Medart said aloud. "And make sure he's bringing a shelter for the team; they'd be pretty cramped in the facilities available here." He paused. "Oh, and program my chrono to display local time as the primary."
"Yes, sir. Is there anything else?"
"That's it; Medart out." Turning his attention back to the Inquisitor, Medart settled back in his chair. "All right, Colonel. I'm ready."
Bradford's questioning, Medart thought when it was over, was the most thorough and probing debrief he'd ever been through. It hadn't been pleasant reliving those memories of murder, family loss, torture and maiming—his, even though he hadn't been the one the originals happened to—and he was relieved when Bradford called a halt, saying he'd gotten all the useful information Medart had. His smile this time was more genuine. "You're a good subject, Ranger. You've given me all I need to have that judge arrested, as well as identify and arrest the rogue Inquisitor and the rest of those Brothers."
"If they haven't gone into hiding." Medart checked his chrono and rose. "My bodyguard team should be down in ten minutes or so, if you'd care to meet some non-humans."
Bradford hesitated, then nodded. "I don't really care to, but if Colonel Cortin's right, I'd better start getting used to them."
Medart smiled. "If you join the Empire, yes. I'd planned on giving you a bit more preparation, but Colonel Cortin suggested my bodyguard be the biggest people we have, and those are Traiti. The Empire includes standard humans, human variants like the Sandemans and the Narvonese Dragon-Kindred, and non-humans, like the Traiti and Irschchans. One of my fellow Rangers is Irschchan, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if she became Empress some day. Plus there are occasional genetically-engineered variants who're so far from the human norm they'd be classified non-human if that weren't their root stock."
"I understand."
Medart was thinking hard as they went outside to wait. He would have liked to get a reaction uninfluenced by prior information to his bodyguards' appearance, but from Bradford's response to the mere mention of non-humans, that didn't seem like such a good idea. He'd warn the spectators, then, and see about having pictures circulated before he went out in public with them. Bradford was right: if there was a chance these people would join the Empire, they'd have to start getting used to their fellow citizens.
He'd barely finished a brief description of the Traiti when the sound of null-grav engines made him look up. It was the lander, making a fast but otherwise sedate approach. Medart hid a grin as spectators drew back, expecting a crash. Sandeman reflexes made the speed perfectly safe, and if they thought this was something, they should see the type of landing a pilot trained at Clan Leras preferred. Given a choice, especially on a non-Sandeman world, those would stunt a craft till it was barely a couple of meters off the ground. That usually resulted in one of the watchers panicking and calling the local emergency services before a safe, if overly dramatic, landing.
The lander touched down, and moments later the hatch opened. Keith disembarked, followed by four enlisted Marines. Despite Medart's caution and description, the massive gray-skinned Traiti drew sounds of astonishment—and, Medart thought, some fear—from the troopers, and an exclamation of "Dear God!" from Bradford.
The team stopped about a meter from Medart and saluted. When he'd returned the salute, Keith introduced the team members. "Do you have work for us right away," he asked then, "or should I have them set up their shelter?"
"The shelter," Medart said. "And it might not be a bad idea for them to circulate, let these people get used to them. You can do that as well, or join Colonel Bradford and me; we'll be observing Colonel Cortin at work."
"I'd prefer to join you, sir." Keith turned to the senior NCO. "You're in charge here, Sergeant Tovar."
"Yes, sir." The sergeant smiled, exposing shark-like teeth. "You need not worry, sirs. This is not our first time among humans who haven't seen Traiti before. It's just too bad there are no children here."
"Children!" Bradford exclaimed in disbelief.
"Children," Medart confirmed with a chuckle. "Traiti adore children, anyone's children—and the youngsters have some way of knowing it. Five minutes or so after they meet, they're fast friends."
"I think I would like my children to have such friends," a woman said behind Medart. He turned, to see all of Family Cortin except Cortin herself, Odeon, and the children. Chang stepped forward, one hand brushing the bulge of her abdomen. "I do not know why, but I find these Traiti … comfortable."
Medart smiled. Sis had a trace of empathy, not enough to be called Talent but clearly enough for her to sense the Traiti regard for children and women—especially pregnant ones—of whatever race.
Betty looked from the Traiti to the Family's senior wife, thought for a moment, then nodded. "I trust Sis' feelings; they can come out after lunch."
Breakthrough! Medart thought as all four Traiti smiled and Tovar bowed to the women. If Cortin's Family allowed their children to play with non-humans, it would have to have a favorable effect, at least on those who saw them.
"We thank you, ka'naya," Tovar said. "Not having children around is one of the most difficult parts of military life; we will treasure this opportunity."
"They will, too," Medart told Bradford as the three made their way to Cortin's underground suite. "If they can't be at home, the Traiti version of perfect shore leave is a park-full of kids."
Bradford didn't have anything to say to that, so the three were silent until they got to the observation room door, where he paused with his hand on the knob. "Colonel Cortin says she told you briefly what she does. I have to add that she's extremely good at both making the punishment fit the crime, and at making that punishment last. If you're at all squeamish, I'd strongly recommend that you not follow me through this door."
"I'm here to observe," Medart said. "I don't expect to like it, but I can't form an accurate assessment of this society if I only observe the positive side. Would you mind telling me what this one did?"
"Of course. He's attacked three families, in all cases raping and killing them one at a time, while the survivors watched. Children first, then the mother, with the father last. Grandfather, in one case. He claims more, but Enforcement has found only those fifteen bodies. Even Colonel Cortin can't make him suffer for that many, so any more would be academic as far as his punishment is concerned."
Medart grimaced. "I see what she meant about getting the particularly nasty ones. Do you know what she has in mind for him?"
"That depends mostly on how he reacts to her preliminary examination. Most people have one major fear, criminals usually more; when she discovers his, that's what she'll concentrate on. But since he's a rapist, that'll definitely include sexual pain."
"She'll geld him, of course," Keith said.
"Probably," Bradford agreed, "but not immediately; intact genitals are too useful for producing both physical and psychological pain to waste them early. Especially with one like this, where they're powerful ego points."
For the torture scene:30a. Torture (Cortin's point of view)30b. Torture (Medart's point of view)30c. Torture (Odeon's point of view)30d. Torture (Keith's point of view)
Medart wasn't hungry at all by the time Cortin and her new sworn man were finished with their prisoner, but he did feel better when they left the third-stage room, better still when they left the dungeon. As soon as they got to the main floor, he touched his throat, activating his comm implant. "Empress Lindner?"
When the ship replied, he went on. "Show Lieutenant Keith DarElwyn released from Imperial service effective this date; reason is oath of personal fealty to Colonel Joan Cortin of the Kingdom Systems. All back pay and allowances are to be sent to her in whatever form she specifies. Have his personal belongings—and copies of all reference materials we have pertaining to Sandemans, transcribed into pre-Imperial English—sent down as soon as possible. And I'll need a replacement pilot."
Cortin frowned. "Why me? It's his money."
"How to explain best is difficult," Medart said slowly. "I've been in a 'na's mind, and I'm still not sure I understand it completely. When you accepted his oath, he became a part of you—literally, by their reckoning, to the point where Sandemans would consider you the father of any children he might engender."
"Dear God! I thought the oath was extreme, but I didn't dream …" Cortin trailed off, staring at her 'na.
"Going to extremes is a Sandeman characteristic," Medart said drily. "As another example, he'll want the tattoo I mentioned on his face to show he's yours. Their custom entitles him to it—and if he does anything against their custom with other Sandemans around, it protects him from punishment or dishonor, because they'll see it as doing your will."
And, Cortin thought, if their negotiations took the Kingdom Systems into the Empire, there would definitely be other Sandemans around. She turned to Keith. "Do you want that?"
"Yes, Thakur, very much."
"It's your face; is there any particular mark you'd prefer?"
Keith thought for a moment. "Since you're an Inquisitor, a question mark like the one on your badge might be appropriate."
"It would, yes—and since I'm High King's Inquisitor, there should be a crown on top." She cocked her head. "I don't know much about the local tattoo artists, but I'm sure someone here does; if you're as eager as you look, I can find out who's best and have him brought here to do the job."
"I am eager, Thakur, but not enough for you to go to extra trouble."
Cortin grinned. "Sometimes I enjoy going to extra trouble for my people. Let's get up to the Family floor and see who knows about tattooing experts."
"Thank you, Thakur!"
"My pleasure."
On the way upstairs, Keith began to feel something odd. Not really odd, he corrected himself; just inappropriate in these surroundings and certainly not the sort of thing he'd expect a proper 'na to feel toward his thakur! Honor, respect, devotion, of course—but desire? Custom was silent on the subject—naturally, with almost all such relationships between warriors—so sex wasn't forbidden, exactly. On the other hand, it didn't quite seem properly respectful, either.
The feeling subsided a bit as his thakur spoke to her team, then had Tony call an artist he knew, but it didn't go away completely. And, oddly enough, he seemed to be sensing her feelings, maybe even a shadow of her thoughts, in spite of his lack of Talent. That was a blessing he hadn't expected, and he sent a quick prayer of thanks to the gods for it; if he could know her thoughts, it would make doing her will far more certain.
They had supper while waiting for the artist to arrive; Medart excused himself as soon as the meal was over, saying he wasn't in the mood for sex and had some thinking to do.
For Keith's experiences:31a. Tattoo
Medart went to his suite, preferring to be alone rather than spoil the Family's evening. It wasn't their fault he didn't consider torture a valid form of punishment—and never would, though he had to accept that in many cultures it was exactly that—or that watching it made him feel he wouldn't be comfortable company for several hours. The best thing for him in a mood like this was privacy, a long hot soak, and either something to study or an action-adventure tape that didn't take much thought.
The suite's 'fresher provided the first, and there was a bookcase in the suite's sitting room that, while it didn't have either of the other two, did have enough variety and interest to keep him occupied until a reasonable time, local, to go to bed and do some thinking until he fell asleep. If you were alone, he'd found, bed was one of the best places possible for concentrated thought: dark, quiet, and with no interruptions.
One thing he'd have to do fairly soon, he decided, was have a serious discussion with Odeon about religion. It was clear even from the little he'd seen, never mind Odeon's conviction that God and Devil had cooperated in healing Cortin, that religion was far more important in the Systems than it was in the Empire.
After that, though, what? The Brothers of Freedom seemed to be the Kingdom Systems' biggest problem; it would have to be a big plus if he and the rest of the visiting Imperials could help wipe out that sort of threat.
He wasn't prepared for what happened next. He felt a mind-touch, more powerful than he would have believed possible. *You needn't be concerned about the Brotherhood, Ranger. They are my concern, and the Protector's.*
*What the— Who are you?*
*I have many names. You call me Satan, people here call me Shayan, and at present I call myself Lucius. You are absolutely correct about the other, however; you should indeed have a talk with Michael Odeon, and soon. Tonight, I think.*
*Satan, huh?* The other believed that, and his mind-touch was definitely both powerful and non-human, though it reminded him in a way of Cortin's. But the actual Christian Devil? *That's a bit hard to swallow.*
*You will come to accept it. I would say, from what I sense going on in the common-room, that Cortin is in the process of transferring her Protector role to the one who will hold it permanently. That means a decision point crucial to this entire universe will arrive within days, perhaps hours, and you should have the same information I was permitted to give Family Cortin.* Medart got the impression of a sardonic smile. *Cortin's role in the primary drama has ended, save for the formality of bringing the Systems into your Empire, and the Protector will be, as I am, restricted to the Systems, at least for a time. The true focal point here is, and always has been, Michael Odeon; his birth and development are the culmination of the history you studied on the way here, and his decision will determine the fate of this universe. He does not know that, and you will be no more able to tell him than I am—but I would urge you most solemnly to influence him in the Empire's favor, to the point where he would leave his family to serve it.*
Medart frowned, sitting up. *If I can't tell him, why tell me? Who'll stop us? How could one man's decision affect an entire universe? And, most important, if you're who you claim, how come I sense anxiety from you instead of hostility?*
*The last question first, then. This universe is going to be invaded soon, by beings who frighten even me. If Odeon's decision is for the Empire, that invasion will lead to the most life-destructive war in the universe's history. If he decides for his family, instead of war there will be simple massacre, which will include me and my demons. So I act as I do out of pure self-interest. That also answers your first and third questions. Knowing my identity, you should be able to tell me who will stop us.*
*Assuming you are who you claim to be, it'd have to be the Creator.*
*Yes. While He—A, in your Omnist terms—wants the same choice we do, Michael must be allowed his freedom. An odd concept, to me, but one He insists on.*
*Mike's more than he seems, then. And that's got to be one rough enemy, to have someone like you worried; even if you're not Satan, you've got the strongest Talent I've ever felt. When's the invasion, so I can tell His Majesty?*
Medart sensed amusement. *Your skepticism should anger me, James Medart, but I find it refreshing instead. If Odeon makes the proper decision, you will come to belief in the appropriate god at the necessary time. It is indeed 'one rough enemy', but I am not allowed to identify them to you further, and since the timing of numerous incidents in the defense is crucial, I doubt you will be able to tell anyone except Odeon any of this conversation. It is even possible that, once the decision point is passed, my Adversary may edit some of your memories to prevent inadvertent premature revelations.*
*I don't like that idea, but if you're right, I won't have any say in the matter, so there's no point in worrying or complaining. What about Mike?*
*I am not permitted to go into his background. I can, however, tell you that, should he decide in favor of the Empire, the Protector will give him Ranger-level abilities—including, if he chooses, the necessary mind-set.*
*Umm.* Medart got out of bed and put on a robe. An invasion he couldn't report, by an enemy that frightened someone as powerful as the one who was briefing him, with the best-case scenario for the Empire a devastating war—that didn't sound good at all. And it all hinged on one man! Well, at least it included the possibility of a new Ranger, which was definitely to the good. Tarlac assassinated right after the Traiti War, Menshikov, Ellman, and Steinhauer killed during the brief White Order revolt—even though he'd recruited Corina Losinj during that revolt, they were still three short of the average, and even that wasn't enough. *Will I be able to use that possibility in convincing him?*
*I believe so, though he does not at present have the scope to fully comprehend what a Ranger is. I have told you what is possible to me and necessary to you; we will not be in contact again until the decision point.*
With that, the contact broke. Medart shook his head, then went into the living room and made himself a cup of coffee. Instant from a microwave didn't match what he got from a shipboard service panel, but it was coffee, and he had a bad habit that way.
A knock on Medart's door didn't surprise him. "Come in, Mike—I've been waiting for you."
Odeon entered, tying the belt of his robe. "You've had some sort of odd experience too, then?"
"Yeah. A mental visit from someone who calls himself Satan, or Shayan, or Lucius. Want some coffee?"
"I'll make myself some tea, thanks." Odeon busied himself doing so, thinking that it was clear both of them were in seriously unfamiliar territory. "Did he tell you anything useful?"
"Yeah, sort of, though it seems I can't talk about all of it."
Odeon snorted a laugh. "That doesn't surprise me! So much of this is keeping secrets from various people, I'd be astonished if you could tell me everything. At least I can tell you that the permanent Protector's shown up, so Joanie doesn't have that problem any longer."
"Whoever it was did tell me that was happening. What nobody's told anyone in the Empire is what the Protector is."
Odeon frowned, staring at his cup. "That's because Joanie told us to avoid talking about religion. But I don't think we're going to be able to avoid it any longer. You know I'm Catholic, and the bio sketch I read on you says you're Omnist—which I'm afraid doesn't mean much to me."
"Not practicing, but yes. And your version of Catholicism is a variant; I studied Traditional theology on the way out here. In that, and in other Christian faiths outside the Systems, there's no mention of a Protector. Instead, it's Christ's second coming that's supposed to start God's kingdom."
Odeon's frown grew deeper. "No Protector? But the Bible says—"
"Your Bible," Medart corrected. "I'm a little surprised you didn't do any religious study, even though Joan told you not to discuss it. If you want, I'll have my ship make you a copy of the Traditional Catholic version, along with an outline of their teachings; except for the doctrine of the Protector, that seems to be the branch your Founders belonged to."
"I'd … appreciate that," Odeon said slowly. "You're telling me we've been lied to?"
"Not necessarily." Medart paused, studying the other. "Will you be offended if I give you the Omnist position on different religions?"
"I'll try not to be."
"Good. The primary tenet is that all religions are true in part, none in totality—Omnism included. While the Creator's both infallible and unchanging, the creations aren't; we change, hopefully mostly for the better, and He gives us different religions to reflect our changing needs. I'd say that for some reason, your Founders were given a revelation about the Protector. I can't say how faithfully they recorded it, or if any interpretations were accurate, but another of our primary beliefs is that the Creator plays fair with His creations. He doesn't lie, though we may misunderstand or otherwise screw up what He shows us." Medart grinned. "You told me yourself the real Protector's shown up, which should ease your mind on that score. Do I know @, by the way?"
Odeon managed a smile. "You brought him. Joanie had Keith given his tattoo, then made a comment about being anxious for the permanent Protector to take over. Keith offered to take that burden from her and had that offer accepted—I'm not sure by Joanie. Then he sent me here to visit you, telling me I had a lot to learn."
"Keith, huh? Mind telling me what you believe the Protector is, now that we know who he is?"
"Until a couple of minutes ago, I was certain the Protector was the Third Person of the Trinity. Now you tell me there's nothing known about him outside the Systems, when God is universal. So … I don't know. Did Lucius tell you anything about him?"
"That he and the Protector are both restricted to the Systems, at least for a time, and that the Brotherhood's their problem. Of course, if he's who he claims to be, that could be a lie."
"Damn." Odeon rubbed the back of his neck. "He told me months ago that his reputation as Father of Lies comes from humans who don't want to believe him, that the truth was more useful and painful. Since that hurts, it probably is true."
"It makes you feel betrayed."
"Yeah." Odeon sighed. The Ranger wasn't mind-touching him, but he was certain that wasn't necessary; he'd never been very good at hiding strong feelings, and his current feeling of betrayal was as strong as his anguish at Joanie's maiming had been. "What would he be, then?"
Medart shrugged. "All I can give you is a guess."
"I understand."
"Okay. Bear in mind that I don't share your faith and ours uses different terminology, so I'll have to do some more explaining, and you may find that sacrilegious. Especially since you're a priest."
"I'm properly warned; go ahead."
"We'll start with the basic point we agree fully on, then. There is one Creator of all the universes, right?"
"I only know of one universe, but other than that, yes."
"There are more. You'll have to take my word for now, but I'll give you proof later. Anyway, you believe the Creator is three beings in one, a belief I don't share. We do agree, though, that there are lesser supernatural beings. Right again?"
"The various kinds of angels and demons, yes."
"And the souls of those who've died?"
Odeon thought about that, then nodded slowly. "I suppose so, though I don't usually think of them that way."
"Even the saints, who work miracles?"
"God works the miracles through them," Odeon corrected. "Okay, I can go along with all of that."
"Good, because the next step is where you're going to get upset. Since everything ultimately comes from the Creator, including the power to work miracles, Omnists don't see any practical difference whether these lesser beings intercede, as you believe, and the Creator works the miracle directly, or He delegates the power and they work the actual miracle independently. Since demons in almost all theologies can work the negative equivalent of miracles, and I don't think it likely they'd ask the Creator's permission, I tend to the latter view."
Odeon didn't like that, but looked at from a purely logical viewpoint, he couldn't argue. It was for damnsure Shayan could do things on that order. "Go on; I can handle it so far."
Medart smiled. "You're doing better than I expected. Maybe you won't blow up on me at this stage after all."
"I've heard a couple of Imperials swearing 'by the Creator and all the gods', so I can make a guess. I don't like it one little bit, but I'd say what we agree on as the lesser supernatural beings are what they mean by the last part of that phrase."
"Exactly right! The Omnist definition of a god is a being subordinate to the Creator who is the proximate cause of a miracle. It's not a judgement of good or bad; it's a simple term to distinguish those who work miracles from those who don't. And if the Creator chooses, He can grant a material being the powers and knowledge normally restricted to those on the supernatural plane. From what you tell me, He loaned Joanie those powers temporarily, and has just given them to Keith—maybe permanently."
"Umm." Odeon mulled that over for almost a full minute. That was a little better than the absolute betrayal he'd felt before, but not by much. "We were promised the Final Coming of God, and His Kingdom—not a human transformed into an embodied angel or saint."
Medart sighed. "Mike, I wish I could offer you what you really need, but that's the best I can do. If it's any consolation, I know and respect Sandemans very much; you couldn't get anyone better for a Protector than one of their warriors. The only change I can see necessary for him to function that way, besides enhancing his natural attitudes and abilities, would be for him to be given a more open outlook sexually."
"I think he's been given that; at least he undressed when we did, and said he'd take my place conducting his service. But—part of the protection is from sin. How can he do that when he doesn't even know what our sins are?"
"How do you know he doesn't, now? Giving him that information would hardly be beyond the Creator's power."
Odeon rubbed the back of his hand, studying the blue circled triangle on each. "Do you know what these mean?" he asked abruptly.
"No. I'm curious, but elsewhere it's one of the symbols of the Trinity, so I didn't think I should ask just yet."
"It is? Here it started out as the Brothers' symbol, and when you see it burned into someone's hands, it's a mark of their particular hatred. When it's normal skin with a blue glow, like mine, it's the Protector's Seal—means the person with them has given up the ability to sin." He studied them for several more seconds. "Considering what I think about being tricked the way we have been, I'm a little surprised he hasn't taken these away."
"You're thinking standard human, not Sandeman warrior. I'm sure he thinks you're perfectly justified in feeling betrayed, since he's not what you were promised. While he can and will carry out the functions, since he accepted the position, and in Omnist terms has apparently become a god, he certainly isn't the Creator." Medart paused, wondering if this were the time to broach the subject of Odeon becoming a Ranger, or at least claiming his Imperial citizenship and moving to Terra. Before he could decide, Odeon solved that problem for him.
"Jim—can I ask you something?"
"Of course. I'll answer it as the private individual I am here, or as a Ranger, whichever you prefer."
"What's the difference?"
"As a private individual, I can take your feelings into consideration, and the answer doesn't have to be complete. As a Ranger, you get it all, with no shading. And I'll warn you in advance: most people don't ask us questions, because they don't have the first option and they know they probably won't like our professional answers."
Odeon managed a grin. He didn't mean it all the way, but Jim's response did deserve something. "At this point, I'm feeling like nothing can go right, and I don't know what to do about it. I've got to work something out, so you might as well give me the professional version."
"Okay. In that case, I'm going to give you one more out. Lucius told me something that makes me want—need, under our present circumstances—to get you into the Empire and a job that'll regularly get you into dangerously interesting situations."
"I'm Strike Force, Jim, even though I was taken off active duty four months ago because I'm Joanie's heir. Danger's normal for us; it's only by God's grace I survived my first year, much less made it to age thirty-seven. And right now, I've got to admit I wouldn't exert a lot of effort to avoid getting killed. What job are you talking about?"
"Let me get to it more gradually, okay?"
"Okay, if that's your professional opinion."
Medart chuckled. "It is—and that answer gives me a lot of hope. Besides feeling betrayed, I'd bet that being relieved of active duty, and now having Keith take over your work with Joan, have you feeling useless as well. Am I right?"
Odeon nodded, reluctantly. "I've been trying to avoid thinking about that, but … yes, you're right. With Keith the Protector now, he probably won't be helping her the way I did—she probably won't need a helper any more, if he gives her the gifts the Herald was promised—and I didn't really like the work, but it was the only productive thing I was doing. Betrayal, uselessness—and I'm damn close to losing all my faith."
Which sounded like it was tearing him apart, Medart thought. A lot of people, even a few Rangers, needed a religious faith to feel complete; it wouldn't be a violation of the separation doctrine to try and help him regain his. "Don't give up till you read the Traditional church's Bible and teachings, Mike. They might be just what you need."
"I hope so." Odeon hesitated, then decided to go on; as a police officer, he knew that having all the facts was essential to reaching a good decision, and he wanted the best Medart could manage. "The night I was Sealed to the Protector—Joanie then, of course—Jeshua appeared to me in a vision. One of the things he told me was that I'd be tested by pain and loss great enough I'd be seriously tempted to reject him. I thought earlier that Shayan torturing me was that, but I was wrong. This is, and I hate it. It's a horrible feeling."
"I can tell," Medart said sympathetically. "Hang on; let me have that material brought down right away instead of waiting till morning." He touched his throat, gave the necessary orders. "Okay, they'll be here in half an hour or so. Unfortunately, we don't have any Traditional Catholics aboard, or I'd have asked one to come down and talk to you."
"The Bible and outline should be enough, if it's going to work at all. I have a funny feeling I'm going to be up all night reading and praying … Would you mind if we get back to the main subject?"
"Sure. I can't do much else about your feeling of betrayal, but I'm hoping to get rid of the useless feeling for you." Medart paused, smiled. "Even if you decide against the job I want you to take, if those feelings are strong enough that you feel you have to leave the Systems, all you need to do is claim your Imperial citizenship, then exercise your option to change your world of residence once at Imperial expense—in this case, aboard my ship."
"They're strong enough," Odeon said, "but I've still got a Family I love and responsibilities I can't just run away from. I'll claim citizenship, yes—the other, not unless you can persuade me the Empire has more of a claim on me than my Family and the Archduchy of High Teton do."
"I think I can manage that. Welcome to the Empire, Mike—I think you're the first Systems person to take that step officially. Now what's this about being Joan's heir, and an Archduchy? I don't remember anything about you being part of the nobility."
"What?" Odeon frowned, thinking back over the past three weeks. "You know, I don't think the subject ever came up. Joanie's Archduchess of High Teton, and she named me her heir, which makes me a Duke. Local nobility only, of course."
"Of course," Medart agreed, pleased that Odeon was showing even that tiny trace of humor. "Shall I start calling you 'Excellency'?"
"I don't feel much like an Excellency at the moment. Just stick with Mike, please."
He'd better slow down, Medart told himself. Mike was good, but he wasn't Ranger-level yet, and if Medart screwed up, he never would be. "Sorry; I was just trying to lighten things up a bit. If you decide to take the job, you won't be able to inherit. Is the succession set up?"
Odeon nodded. "If anything happens to me, Sis' baby would inherit, with her acting for him until he's of age."
"Good. No extra arrangements to make if you accept, then. Okay, Mike, let me talk you through working out what job I want you to take; you don't have the background to accept it if I just come out and ask."
"I asked for your professional help; we do it your way. I think I'm starting to see where you're going, though."
"I hope so; that'll make it easier for both of us. I know you've read about recent Imperial history, so you're aware of our losses during the Traiti war and the White Order rebellion."
"Uh-huh—specifically the four Rangers, if I'm reading you right."
"You are. I was incredibly fortunate to find Ranger Losinj during the rebellion, but we're critically short even when we have the average of ten, and right now we're down to seven."
"You want me to be number eight, I'd say. We both know I don't have even the widely-known qualifications, and I can't believe you'd consider for a second lowering the standards, so—" Odeon broke off. "Who's supposed to make the changes? If it's Shayan, forget it!"
"He told me about it, but it's the Protector who'll make you Ranger-level, if you agree to the changes. Including the mind-set we have to have, but again, only if you agree."
"That's a tremendous offer, Jim, and I can't deny it'd be a useful and satisfying job—but I can't give you an answer just yet. First I've got to work out my spiritual problem, and decide whether or not I'd be willing to leave my family even for something like that."
"I can't do anything for you about the first, but maybe I can ease your concern about the latter a bit. The one who mind-visited me said he gave Family Cortin some of the same information he gave me; did that include anything about an upcoming invasion I'm not going to be allowed to warn the Empire about?"
"He didn't mention that part, but yeah, a super-nasty one. Why?"
Medart chuckled. "You don't need me to answer that; you can do it for yourself, but I'll give you a hint if you want."
Odeon thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Don't bother. It's pretty clear that someone who can command fleets would have a lot more effect against invaders than a Strike Force officer who's been ordered off active duty. Which means I could do more for the people I love by leaving them than I could by staying with them." He paused, then shook his head. "And that hurts too—especially since one of the public things is that Rangers don't have any close personal ties, so if I take the job, I won't even love them any more. Will I?"
Medart hesitated, but he couldn't either lie or refuse to answer. "No, you won't. That's an emotion I've never had, other than maybe for the Empire as a whole. Liking and respect for individuals, yes—love, no."
"And I won't miss it. I think that may be the worst." Odeon sighed. "But you hit me in my vulnerable spot, Jim, and I think you know it. I've spent my entire adult life doing my damndest to protect and help people; if I can get past my spiritual problem, I'm going to have to accept the job."
"If it's any consolation, none of us asked for the job, or particularly wanted it—my own plans were to go through the Academy, have a Naval career, and then retire to Herbert's World with a cattle ranch. Every one of us, Corina included, took it on out of a sense of obligation."