Cortin was uncertain what to do after the briefing. Part of her said to read the records and start picking her troops; the other part said to find herself another Brother to question. After some internal debate, she went with the first alternative; her fellow Inquisitors had told her they'd get any information she might be interested in to her, as soon as possible after they'd gotten it, so she could start picking her team without worrying that she'd miss something she should know.
With that decided, she and Mike went to the Academy area that had been set up for such record study and interviews. She groaned when she saw the masses of personnel folders she'd be expected to go through—paperwork had never been her strong point—but she grabbed a handful, sighing. "You, too, Mike," she said. "We may not be able to tell who we do want from these, but we ought to be able to pick the ones we don't."
"Right." Odeon didn't like paperwork any better than she did, but he did know as well as she how inevitable it was. "Anything in particular, or just someone we could both work with?"
"I think it'll be good enough if we get someone we can work with," Cortin said. "Manage that, and we can go from there. Just look for good strong motivations, because where we're likely to be going after Brothers, we'll sure be earning our bonuses."
By the end of the afternoon, the two of them had gone through about a third of the records, finding a medic and a communications specialist they definitely wanted, as well as several that looked promising if an interview showed they had no objection to working for an Inquisitor. Quite a number of people objected to even working near an Inquisitor, for which Cortin supposed she couldn't blame them—she'd been apprehensive about Inquisitors herself, not all that long ago—but since all the teams would have Inquisitors, it semed reasonable to assume that those who couldn't work with them at all would have been removed from consideration.
Her first interview was the following day with the medic, a nun transferred from St. Ignatius to St. Thomas by her Order, at her request. Cortin rose as the young woman in sky-blue slacks and shirt—the Blue Sisters' field habit—entered. Sister Mary Piety was as attractive as her photo indicated, but there was an air of stress that hadn't shown there. From her records, Cortin thought it was probably the residue of her mistreatment by the Brothers—well, she'd find out. She introduced herself and gestured the nun to a chair, then took her own seat. "I know what's in your records, of course, Sister; I just want to get to know you as a person, and let you know me well enough to decide whether or not you can work for me. So relax; I only hurt criminals."
"I understand, Captain." Chang studied the woman in Enforcement gray, puzzled. There was something about Captain Cortin that reminded her of the Raidmaster—but in Cortin, it wasn't frightening. It wasn't even mildly disturbing, the way she usually felt around an Inquisitor; if anything, it was reassuring, even comforting. "What do you wish to know?"
"Well … it puzzles me that when you reported the attack on the clinic, you always called Shannon 'the Raidmaster', never by name. I admit he's frightening, but that much?"
"I was not aware then that he used that name," Chang said, hiding her irritation. "Nor is it fear that keeps me silent. I tried to tell the troopers, but I was unable to say his name—or to describe how I discovered his identity."
"No offense intended," Cortin said mildly. "Your report said he'd forbidden you to tell, yes—obviously with more than words."
"That is true, Captain," Chang said, mollified. "Though I have found that almost as difficult to describe." She smiled tentatively. "It may be as well I have such difficulty—were I able to identify him as I know him, I would not be believed."
"If you ever feel able, I'll believe you. He qualified me for Special Ops and the Strike Force, too." Cortin chuckled, though with little real humor. "I don't even think I'd be too surprised if you identified him as Shayan incarnate. Mind you, I don't think I'd believe it—" She broke off at the nun's sudden expression of shock. "Did I say something wrong?"
Chang sighed with the relief of Shannon's coercion dissolving. "That is he. You have said what I could not, Captain Cortin. I am in your debt."
Cortin didn't believe the identification, but her truthsense left no doubt Chang did. And she had to admit it was a natural identification to make, given the plaguer's actions. "Was there anything special to identify him?"
"His power and evils are enough, but I believe he wished me to be certain. Did he seem a normal man when he attacked you?"
"As normal as a terrorist ever is," Cortin said.
"That was not so in my case. His general body temperature was quite high, well beyond a human's survival limits. His genitals, however, were extremely cold—the classic description, as you know."
"Yes." That had to be hypnotism or drugs, Cortin thought, but beliefs were hard for mere facts to alter; she wouldn't argue pointlessly with someone who promised to be extremely good for the team. "Even with that, you're willing to help hunt him?"
"We are all called to fight evil," Chang said calmly. "My call was simply more unmistakable than many. Yes, I am willing."
She couldn't ask for more than that, Cortin decided. Excellent medical qualifications, an "Expert" small-arms rating, plenty of courage—and she sounded almost as devout as Mike. Cortin thought it odd that she'd be concerned about devotion when she wasn't particularly devout herself, but the fact remained: talking to Piety had made it clear that it should be one of her considerations. "One stipulation, and you're in," she said. "I don't want any auxiliaries on Team Azrael; you'll have to trade that habit for a uniform. There's no proof you're technically qualified for Special Ops, but since you've gotten a waiver, that's no problem."
"As this branch of Enforcement now has priests, there is no reason it should not also have a nun. I will make the trade."
"Good! Let me get my second and another witness, and I'll swear you in."
Cortin was a little surprised that no one questioned her power to administer a commissioning oath without prior authorization, but she'd apparently been right in her guess that it was one of her rights as a Strike Team leader; after all, it was neither treason nor regicide, and it was in the interest of eliminating the terrorists. As a side effect, one she hoped might reduce press attention to herself, it made her no longer the only female Enforcement officer.
When the ceremony was over and Chang had accepted Odeon's offer to help her get her ID and uniforms later, that afternoon—"Anything to get away from stacks of personnel records," he admitted cheerfully—he and the other witness left the two women alone. Cortin studied the nun for a moment before speaking again.
"You're aware, of course, that your Enforcement oath takes precedence over your vows—and that being Strike Force means you owe obedience only to your Strike Force superiors, the High King, and His Holiness."
"I am aware of all that." Which was true, Chang thought. She was no longer restricted by her vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience—or protected by them, illusory as that protection had proven when she had most needed it.
"And you're a field medic, so you know what tends to go on in a team's spare time. Will that bother you, now?"
"No, Captain. I have been on missions since; shelter parties and the like do not disturb me." Chang smiled momentarily. "In fact, my last … experience … with His Infernal Majesty seems to have had a side effect he did not anticipate and may not like. Forcing me to feel sexual pleasure, even with him, has let me appreciate what willing partners give each other. Since then, I have found it highly enjoyable watching them, where earlier I had no particular reaction."
"As long as you don't have to participate, naturally." Which she most certainly wouldn't; any attempt to compel sex, at least in Enforcement, was dealt with harshly—and usually right then. "If you'd like, I'll tell the men not to even ask you."
"I would appreciate that. Even though I am unable to accept their offers, I would prefer not to hurt their feelings by refusing."
"I'll take care of it, then. Have you tried therapy, to get over what happened?"
"And prayer," Chang agreed. "I shall increase my efforts at both now, of course; it would be unfair to the rest of the team to do less."
That was true, Cortin thought. No one could be faulted for not taking part, but that shouldn't be because of a correctable disability; it should be either voluntary, or because of permanent disability like her own. It seemed a cruel irony that Chang had the ability without the desire, while she had the desire without the ability. At least she could try to take comfort in the fact that one of them had a chance to be fully functional again … "If there's any way I can help, just let me know. And let the men know if you beat your problem."
"I will be certain to."
Shannon felt a brief surge of power, traced it—and hastily retreated, swearing. That God-loving Cortin had dissolved the compulsion of silence he'd put on Piety, without even knowing she was doing it! That was a minor use of power, of course, but it was more than he'd thought her capable of, even—or especially—unconsciously. If she could do that, he'd have to stop even observing her—not just when she was idle, but when she should have her full attention on her work. No more watching her while he played with Victor, then, unfortunately—no more watching her, period.
He could do without the entertainment she provided, but it would be inconvenient doing without the information she let him eavesdrop on. What really bothered him was the timing. It might simply be coincidence that Cortin's first real use of her power took place the first time she met Piety—but he didn't trust coincidence, especially not when it involved someone with Cortin's latent power.
He should've killed the nun when he had her, amusing though it had been to torment her further by letting her live. Well, that was one mistake he could remedy! Sister-Lieutenant Eleanor Mary Piety Chang had just made it to the top of the Brotherhood's wipe list.
There was more than a little risk to that, of course, especially if an attempt was made on her when Cortin was in the area—it might trigger the Bitch into using her powers instead of keeping her from them—but he thought it a risk worth taking.
Wait a minute! Lieutenant? He'd barely brushed her mind before jerking back, but the brief contact had been enough to tell him she thought of herself differently. A Lieutenant of Enforcement, and a member of the whatever-it-was—Strike Force?—the various Kingdoms had gathered groups of their best to form.
Shannon scowled. A Strike Force or equivalent, able to attract people like Piety, was extremely bad news—especially at a time when he was forced to restrict his own powers.
Cortin's next interview, with the communications specialist, was rather different. She'd known his size and race, from his records—but facing a man over two meters tall and built like a weightlifter, with skin so dark it was almost blue, was an experience she'd never had before. So was his reaction, when he entered the interview office; his eyes lit up, and he gave her a brilliant smile before saluting. "Lieutenant Joseph Pritchett reporting to Team Leader Azrael as ordered, ma'am. And thank you for considering me."
"Be seated, Lieutenant," Cortin said. As he obeyed, she went on. "Your enthusiasm is flattering; may I ask why?"
It was impossible for his complexion to get any darker, but she had the impression he was flushing. "I've heard about Captain Cortin ever since my freshman year at the Academy," he said. "I've always wanted to work with you, but I was never in the right place at the right time, and when I heard what the Brothers had done to you, I thought sure you'd retire. I'm glad you didn't, and I'll finally get to work with you—if you want me after this, of course. I hadn't heard you were an Inquisitor, though."
"That's quite recent," Cortin said. "Would it bother you, working for one?" She was flattered that he'd wanted to work with her that much, and hoped it wouldn't.
"Not working for one, no, ma'am—but I've got to tell you right from the start that I'd really rather not help with third-stage."
"I don't see any reason you should have to," Cortin assured him. "I'm training my second, Captain Odeon, as my assistant, and I hope to find someone with Inquisitor as a second specialty for the team. Any other problems?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good. Welcome to Team Azrael, then. Two more items, before I turn you over to Captain Odeon for a complete briefing and equipment issue. Firstly, off duty and within the team, first names are proper; mine is Joan. Do you prefer Joseph or Joe?"
"Either is fine, ma'am. I'm generally called Tiny, though."
Cortin chuckled. "Tiny it is, then. The other thing: I will expect your sexual conduct to remain withing so-called 'normal' bounds while we're within populated areas. I'll make sure you have adequate access to decent, reputable courtesans, or you can find yourself an informal wife; that's up to you. Otherwise—as long as you don't involve anyone who isn't willing, of course—what you do is up to you."
"Couldn't ask for more than that," Pritchett said. "Ah—does that freedom include yourself, ma'am? I've heard how much fun you are, especially at a shelter party; I'd appreciate being allowed in, either alone or with the rest of the team."
"And I'd enjoy having you, either way." She'd liked the pairing that, even with Enforcement's dispensation, it was wisest to confine oneself to in civilization—but she'd also liked, and taken full advantage of, the opportunities offered by an entire team in one of the shelters the Service put up for its people traveling in remote areas. She cut off those memories sternly, before they could become too painful. "Unfortunately, the attack left me incapable of that pleasure."
"Dear God!" Pritchett said, looking sick. "There must be something that can be done!"
"Cosmetically, yes, my doctor says. Nothing … erotically useful." Cortin grinned sourly. "Which I don't think upset her unduly. She's a good doctor, but a typical civilian. I'm learning to live with that, as well as the pain. I appreciate your concern, but if you'll excuse me the Terran slang, what can't be cured must be endured; don't worry about it." She stood, extending a hand. "Welcome again, Tiny."
It took two dozen more interviews over the next couple of days to find the other two members she wanted for Team Azrael. Odeon had conducted the interviews with both; she promised herself she'd have a private talk with each of them later, when they were less pushed for time. One was Lt. David Bain, demolitions expert and the backup Inquisitor she'd hoped to find, a tall blue-eyed brunet with an easy grin; the other was Lt. Anthony Degas, a quiet, self-contained small-arms expert who could have been the model for Michelangelo's David. She could have had more—some teams had over a dozen—but she and Odeon wanted to keep Team Azrael small and mobile enough to respond quickly.
With the team complete, Cortin had them begin training together every morning. She herself started the day with Mass for the Detention Center Inquisitors and their guests, as she'd promised, losing herself in the ceremony and coming back to mundane reality only when it was over and she removed the stole. After breakfast was the team training, then lunch, followed by individual work or study. For her, that meant interrogations—and she decided quickly to allow Bain to do the preliminary stages, concentrating her own attention on the stubborner subjects. With a limited, if uncertain, time before they had to be ready, she had to get Odeon past his squeamishness as quickly as possible so she could start training him as her assistant.
It was Saturday before he managed to get through a session without throwing up, and she didn't think it proper to conduct interrogations on Sunday except in an emergency, so it was Monday when she started teaching him. The subject was a young Brother that Bain evaluated as having no useful information, but as being strong enough to survive up to a week of teaching sessions. Cortin preferred to go after something specific, make it a contest between her and her subject, even though it was a contest she was almost certain to win. But teaching was as valid a function as extracting information, and it would insure that the Brother served at least one useful function in his life while paying for his crimes against the Kingdoms.
Their subject was waiting when they entered the interrogation suite's third-stage room, prepared as usual: naked, with some bruising, spreadeagled between ceiling chains and floor eyebolts. Cortin gestured at him, speaking to Odeon. "You've already noticed I keep our methods simple, Captain; the reason is that almost all our work will be done in the field, so I think it best to practice with equipment we can either take or adapt there. This method of securing a subject is an example; you can almost always find trees and ropes, while you'll seldom if ever find a surgical table. The same principle goes for drugs; we use ones like algetin or eroticine that are effective, simple to administer, and can easily be replaced at a shelter or detention center. Any questions so far?"
"No, ma'am." Odeon had been more concerned with keeping his stomach under control than with evaluating her methods and techniques, but thinking back, he realized she had kept them to the basics.
"Good." Cortin went to the prisoner. "The preliminary examination seems simple, but it will give you both physical and psychological information invaluable to the interrogation process itself." She ran fingers over the subject's face and throat. "For instance, Lieutenant Bain has convinced this one that arguing back is not a good idea, although there is little damage visible; that tells me he is easily intimidated, and would not normally require third-stage interrogation."
"Why, then?" the subject burst out. "I told—"
Cortin backhanded him across the throat. "Because I need a training aid, and you were available. Now be silent." She paused, but saw no sign of disobedience. "That's better."
She continued her examination and commentary to Odeon. "No particular sensitivity around the ears … about average for the eyes … rest of the face and throat the same … minor sensitivity at the nipples, promising … ribs tender in spots … same over the kidneys, have to be careful there if we want him to last; internal injuries should be avoided in an extended interrogation." She paused, turning to Odeon. "We are getting to a particularly interesting area now. There are a few rare subjects who do not seem to mind being naked to an Inquisitor, or having their buttocks and genitals handled—but in most cases, a subject's sexuality is his most vulnerable area, in theory especially so to a female Inquisitor. Physically, these areas are extremely rich in nerves; psychologically, they are ego-centers. Both make them easy targets, which is why I seldom exploit them early; if the subject cooperates without that particular pressure, nothing is lost since you can still use it as punishment if you feel it desirable. If the subject does not cooperate, you can be almost positive he will when you add that pressure to the rest. A perfect example is the first interrogation you saw me conduct."
Where Illyanov had raped the subject while Joanie finished her skinning of him with his genitals. "Yes, ma'am, I remember—though I'm afraid I don't understand how the Major could have been … able … to do his part."
Cortin grinned without humor. "You'll see, perhaps with this subject, probably within another two or three. It's a reaction I'm no longer capable of, but it's perfectly normal for pain—usually another's, but sometimes your own—to provoke arousal. I'm told it's similar to the pre-danger form we're all familiar with."
Odeon nodded slowly. Put that way, he thought he could understand, at least a little.
"With this one, if you feel the urge, go ahead; in a serious interrogation, I may need for you to wait till it's most useful."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good." Cortin turned back to her subject, probing between his buttocks, pleased when he whimpered. "Brothers, in particular, express a strong revulsion for what they choose to call 'unnatural' sex—but you would be surprised how many of the older ones show evidence of having participated in it repeatedly. I know I was." She probed deeper, hearing truth in her subject's cries of horrified denial. "This one, however, seems not to be party to such, ah, rarefied pleasures. Yet." She moved to his front, stroking the underside of his penis and smiling at his uncertain response. "Or to more usual ones, it seems. Is it possible you are a virgin, Brother? I do find that hard to believe."
"Yes …" the subject gasped.
"Intriguing … I will have to inform my colleagues. But you will cooperate in anything Captain Odeon wants of you?"
"No, please!"
"Don't bother begging; I am not inclined to show a Brother any moremercy than they showed me. The primary difference is that I finish the job."
The youth stared at her, then shook his head. "No, you can't be—the Bitch is dead!"
Cortin started to hit him for his insolence, then paused. "Perhaps she is," she said thoughtfully. "But if they killed the Bitch, they gave birth to Azrael." She turned to Odeon. "I gather the Brothers don't believe the news stories of my survival. That is unfortunate; for the maximum psychological impact, they should." She turned back to the subject, frowning as she studied him, her fists on her hips. "Is that it, Brother?"
The young man shook his head, then nodded. "Sort of … the Raidmaster says you're alive, and a few may believe him, but the others in the raiding party say you can't be—an' since no one wants you to be, well …"
"I see." Cortin's frown deepened as she thought. "I had not intended to permit any Brother who came to me to live—but I begin to think I should make an exception, use you as a messenger and advertisement."
"You can't just let him go!" Odeon exclaimed.
"No, of course not—that would give the wrong impression." Cortin scowled as her subject licked dry lips. "He is a Brother, by definition deserving of a painful death and eternal damnation. Conventional punishment, however—especially mine—would leave him in no shape for anything except intensive care or a disabled ward. If you have any suggestions, I would appreciate them."
"Um." Odeon thought for several minutes, then said slowly, "I don't know if it's possible, but what you said about sexual vulnerability gives me an idea. He's a virgin, and he had a strong negative reaction when you mentioned homosex, both of which his superiors must know about him. He's also beautiful—so how about turning him into a catamite for them?"
Cortin turned to him in surprise. She hadn't expected anything that creative; it certainly wouldn't have occurred to her. "It should be possible, given the appropriate drugs and experiences—I like it."
"What's a catamite?" the subject asked apprehensively.
"A young male prostitute, especially one for older men."
The subject looked sick. "No, please—it's not right!"
"It isn't as if homosexuality were still banned," Cortin said reprovingly. Thanks to St. Eleanor and the Compassionate Mother, sexual orientation had been recognized as something one was born with, like blue eyes or black skin, and no more blameworthy; the Church even recognized stable pairings as equivalent to common-law marriage, though it still didn't grant them the sacrament of Holy Matrimony.
"Even if I were that, I'm no whore! I won't—you can't make me!"
"Wrong on both counts," Cortin said pleasantly. "We can, and on the physical level, you will find it most enjoyable. How you feel about it emotionally may be less pleasant, and I hope it is. It goes against my grain to release a Brother, and you may assure the rest that you will be the only one—but if I must let you live, even for my own purposes, simple justice demands that you suffer." She turned to Odeon. "I can handle the drugs and overall direction, but I obviously cannot participate in the operation itself. We'll need more than you to partner him, too, if we want him properly promiscuous; if you'll check with the rest of the team, I'll check with my fellow Inquisitors." She grinned. "I'm sure several of them will find this project interesting enough to want to participate as their own projects permit." She looked around, then chuckled. "These aren't appropriate surroundings, though; I'll have to arrange for some redecoration." She turned to the subject. "Under the circumstances, anonymity isn't appropriate either; what's your name?"
"Charles Powell," he said sullenly.
"Very well, Charles." She went to the instrument table and loaded a hypodermic, then returned to him. "This is eroticine, a potent aphrodisiac. Under its influence, you will have no interest in anything except sex, of whatever type your partner wants. And I assure you, you will find it most pleasant."
Powell shivered as she made the injection, but said nothing.
"It will take effect in about five minutes." Cortin turned to Odeon. "I'm going to make arrangements for the redecoration, and ask whoever's around if they'd be interested in helping with his tutoring. You can wait if you want, or release him and begin his lessons when you see the eroticine taking effect. It'll definitely be noticeable—and as I told him, he won't be interested in minor distractions like fighting."
Odeon nodded. "I'll do whatever looks best when he shows a reaction."
"Good enough." Cortin left, thinking it would be useful if she could help in the redirection. Mike, plus any of the other men on the team and any Inquisitors who were interested, could handle the positive aspects of Powell's reorientation, but it would be even better if a woman could provide negative reorientation. She was incapable in one way, Piety in another, and you couldn't ask a civilian—even a paid-woman—to take part in something like this. There might be a few female enlisted personnel willing to take part, but by the time one could be found and brought here, it would be well after the Strike Force teams had left. Too late, in other words; she'd just have to hope the reorientation worked without that. She scowled, angry at herself. If she'd realized, rather than just read, that even a simulation of sexual function could be this important, she'd have insisted on what little Dr. Egan had admitted to being able to do. Too late for that as well, now, though; she'd talk to Sis later, see what she could do when they had some time available. A synthetic vaginal passage shouldn't be more than minor surgery, well within a medic's abilities—and Sis would be able to understand why she wanted it, even knowing its limitations.
The Powell project proved even more popular with her team and the Inquisitors than Cortin had expected. And, after a night of considerable thought, she'd reluctantly decided that she couldn't direct it properly if she couldn't take part, so she'd turned direction of the project over to Illyanov, who'd promised to handle it as well as he could, as far as the subject was concerned acting under her instructions. She made it a point to spend some time in the observation center every morning, though, following Powell's progress.
The redecoration she'd ordered was in place the first morning; the third-stage room of Interrogation Suite Delta now looked more like a courtesan's room at the New Eden. Most of the equipment was still in place, she knew, but the surgical table had been replaced by a wide bed, the floor now had thick rugs covering tile, and draperies hid drug and instrument cabinets, with others turning the harsh brilliance of overhead fluorescent lighting into soft pastels. Powell was still apprehensive despite the eroticine, looking as if he wanted to pull away when the Inquisitor with him began to caress him, but unable to resist the drug. Cortin disliked seeing a Brother display even the little enjoyment Powell did, despite the fact his pleasure was drug-enforced, but she was pleased that his tutor was obviously enjoying himself.
The next day, Powell's apprehension had disappeared; when she entered the observation room, he was absorbed in his tutor's instruction. Cortin found it amusing that he took to his lessons so readily, and that his instructors were so gentle and patient. It wouldn't surprise her too much, she thought, if they decided they wanted to keep him; she might even agree, for their sakes, if his testimony to his Brother superiors weren't so important to her plans.
The day after that, Chang and an Inquisitor were coaching him on relaxation techniques. By now, he seemed eager to learn, even more eager to try what he was being taught, and Cortin found her hostility to him diminishing. He seemed more like an innocent boy now than like a Brother of Freedom, and she found herself hoping, when the Inquisitor had him roll over for a practical demonstration, that he wouldn't find it too distressing.
He didn't; when his instructor began penetration, his sounds and movements were ones of unmistakable pleasure, increasing rapidly as the Inquisitor rode and manipulated him. To Cortin's surprise, she was pleased when Powell's enjoyment peaked at his climax. When she left the observation room after telling one of the techs to have Chang report to her when the session was over, she found herself thinking Powell would be wasted on the Brothers—but told herself sternly that he would do well, for both her plan and herself.
An hour later, Chang joined her in the Inquisitors' Lounge. "Good day, Captain," she said. "A most interesting experiment, though perhaps a bit too reminiscent of what was done to me for complete comfort."
"If you want out, all you have to do is say so," Cortin told her. "The last thing I want to do is make things worse for you."
"I do not," the nun said with a brief smile. "While it is reminiscent, the purpose is entirely different, and for a good cause. By God's grace, that relieves the discomfort. And as I said, I enjoy watching others enjoy themselves. So: is there anything more I can do to help?"
"Not with him, no. With others in the future, maybe." Cortin went on to explain what she would have liked to do, and what she would like from Chang whenever it was possible. "Can you do that?"
"Easily; as you say, it is minor surgery. However, it may—and I stress may—not be necessary to settle for function without sensation."
"Nerves don't regenerate," Cortin said flatly. "Dr. Egan was quite emphatic about that. And the necessary tissue is gone."
"The latter I can do nothing about," Chang conceded. "The first, however, I am less sure of. With all respect to the good Dr. Egan, I doubt she follows the doings of Inquisitors on St. Ignatius, while I have heard rumors that one has had some success in regrowing removed organs, with restoration of full function." She raised a cautioning hand. "I believe that to be an exaggeration—such regrowth would, I believe, require a saint rather than an Inquisitor or medic—but there is a grain of fact behind any rumor. I would be most happy to investigate, and, if his actual results warrant, apply his findings to your problem."
Cortin took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled slowly. Getting her hopes up, on the basis of some fact that might lie behind a rumor, was stupid. She knew that, she'd resigned herself to her loss—but apparently not as well as she'd thought, because she found she was hoping. Regrowth and restoration of full function would mean the chance, again, of children—though honesty compelled her to admit that her failure to become pregnant in years of more than adequate opportunity meant the chance was vanishingly small. Even the chance of restored sensation would be worth a lot, though! "Please do, Lieutenant. Let me know the results as soon as you have something definite, then we'll base what we do on that."
Chang inclined her head respectfully. "I shall begin at once, Captain." She left, and Cortin went on to her next subject.
Powell was released the Saturday before the Strike Force's Monday reassignments, in an area known to be infested with terrorist sympathizers. He was provided with fresh clothing, a month's supply of eroticine, an authorization to get more from any medical supply center he happened to be near—which she didn't expect him to need or use—and a brief message that "The Bitch" was most definitely alive, and was deeply interested in the Brothers' welfare.
During the first week after Team Azrael reported to Middletown, Cortin got her men assigned quarters and the personal vehicles they were authorized, then made arrangements for them to have unlimited access to the Elysian Gardens, the city's most exclusive—and equally expensive—joy-house. The proprietor was reluctant—her ladies were accustomed to New Pennsylvania's nobles and gentry, not common troopers—until Cortin, with considerable hidden amusement, paid generously in advance, and promised bonuses if her men were pleased.
She also offered the Base Commander her services as priest and Inquisitor. He preferred to retain the base's civilian chaplain, but did accept her other offer, promising her all the work she could want. With that done, Cortin discovered that time went by very slowly when you were part of a group that had to conceal its mission, yet remain independent and assert special privileges.
Her work helped ease the boredom for her, and she took advantage of some of her spare time to ease more by practicing her driving. She'd never been in a car before her trip to the Academy, hadn't driven one until Strike Force training. It had been frightening at first, but she'd come to like it, and Odeon encouraged her. Since she no longer had the consolations of sex, he said, she really ought to make full use of what she could enjoy—and after all, a tank of gasoline wasn't much more expensive than an evening at the Elysian Gardens.
She was pleased when, midway through the second week, Degas asked to join her on one of her after-work drives. She'd known from their first meeting that something was bothering him; it was about time he got whatever it was out of his system. He was silent as she drove them through town and past the Ducal Palace, but when they got to open country, he asked her to pull over. She did so as soon as she found a shady spot, and turned to him. "What is it, Tony?"
Silently, slowly, he drew his pistol and held it to her, butt-first. "You may want to use this."
Cortin accepted it, stunned. "In God's Most Holy Name, Tony! Why?"
"Something I've kept from everyone except the priest I confessed to." Haunted eyes looked at her from that beautiful face. "I—Captain, for almost a year I was a Brother of Freedom."
Cortin's finger tightened reflexively on the trigger, but somehow she managed not to fire. "Why, Lieutenant?" she asked coldly. "And why tell me, now?"
"My confessor said that when I found the person I really wanted to follow, I'd have to tell, and accept her judgement."
"Go on."
"I was a kid, idealistic—I believed in what they said they stood for. I still do, but what they say doesn't come anywhere close to what they really stand for."
Cortin nodded, relaxing slightly. "I've never faulted the ideals they claim, or their courage—just their methods and their real morals."
"I was slow—it took me a while to realize the two didn't match. Once I did, and let people know I was sorry I'd joined, my superiors arranged for me to meet Shannon, and that told me I had to get out." Degas paused, looking sick. "He's an attractive man, handsome and—from the effect he had on the people I was with—damn near irresistible. I don't know how I was able to resist, but I've thanked God every day since that I was." He shuddered. "Shannon's evil, Captain! There's no other word to describe him. He may not be Shayan himself, like Sis thinks—though I tend to agree with her—but if he's not, he's not far off. A demon, or possessed by one. Most of the Brothers, I think, are just deluded—but Shannon's evil, and as long as they're under his spell, they'll act that way too."
"Did you commit any crimes while you were a Brother?"
Degas shook his head. "Not for lack of trying, I'm afraid. As I said, I was a kid; I wanted to do everything I could. But my superiors wouldn't let me, until I was older and knew more. So the only thing I was guilty of was joining, which I've been forgiven for—and I think I've paid any criminal debt I owed. I became a trooper because I was a Brother."
A trooper with a good Academy record, fifteen of his twenty-one active duty years in Special Ops—critically wounded several times, but living that long at all in Special Ops qualified as a real miracle—with numerous operations to his credit that he'd refused well-deserved awards for, as he'd refused promotion beyond the one to First Lieutenant he'd had to accept to remain in service. She'd wondered about those refusals, but Odeon had said he'd claimed personal reasons. Now that she knew, she respected him for it; that was his way of atoning. "You've decided to follow me, so your confessor said you have to accept my judgement—and he knew you'd decide to follow a woman. That sounds peculiar—did he give you any reason?"
"Not exactly, ma'am. He just told me he knew, with absolute certainty, that if I lived long enough I'd find the one I needed."
"Um." That statement made Cortin uncomfortable; she didn't like the idea of something being predetermined, the way Tony made this sound. Still, it had been his choice to join Team Azrael. "Why did you choose me?"
Degas frowned. "I'm … not positive. Your record, of course, and you've got the same sort of odd attraction Shannon does—except that with him it's lethal, evil, and with you it's … I don't have the words. 'Good' sounds soft, and that it certainly isn't … maybe 'creative'? And definitely not evil; after Shannon, I can feel evil." He looked at her, his gaze steady. "Following you feels right, if you'll still let me."
Membership in a terrorist organization normally carried sentences of excommunication and death, but there were, on rare occasions, mitigating circumstances. Degas had been young, that sin had been forgiven, and he'd done more than enough to help the Kingdom to repay any harm he might have done. Cortin reversed his gun, handing it back to him. "You're still in, Tony. And I'd advise keeping this conversation between the two of us."
"Gladly!" Degas' expression was one of pure relief.
"We won't mention it again, then." She started the car and pulled back onto the dirt road. "I've got to stop at the Harrison ranch for a few minutes, then we can finish our drive."
Cortin hadn't intended to let any of her team see the softer side of her—it didn't seem fitting for an Enforcement officer, much less an Inquisitor—but she'd thought Tony's willingness to talk too important to miss. And she wasn't about to let anything stop her from visiting the retired priest, his brother's family—and her family, the cat she'd found in labor on the back seat of her car three days ago. She'd always remember the expression on the good Father's face, when he opened the door to find a desperate-looking Inquisitor with an armful of very pregnant cat, trying to explain she'd gone into the woods for a minute to answer a call of nature, and come back to find this, and was there please any place Mama-Cat could have her kittens?
He'd been kind enough to let her in and find a large basket he lined with towels. Mama-Cat had promptly settled in, making it clear Cortin wasn't to leave while she gave birth. Not at all reluctant, Cortin had stayed, getting acquainted with the Harrison family—who'd been understandably alarmed to find an Enforcement Service car parked in their front yard—while Mama had eight kittens Cortin assured her were absolutely beautiful. Of course, as she'd told the Harrisons, she'd always had a soft spot for animals, especially baby ones—but they were delightful!
Father Harrison was waiting, as usual, when she pulled into the drive and parked. If he was surprised to see another officer with her, he hid it well, smiling as Cortin introduced Degas. "Welcome, Lieutenant—and come in, both of you. Andrew's fixing supper; you'll stay, of course?"
"We'd love to," Cortin said, "but—"
"And Margaret's baking pies, with last year's dried fruits. She'd like to send your men some, but they won't be done for another hour …"
Cortin raised her hands, grinning. "You win, Father, you win! We'll stay. Has Starfire foaled yet?"
"This morning, a healthy palomino colt. We've named him Lifestar, in your honor—I hope you don't mind."
"On the contrary, I'm flattered—though I don't get the connection."
"In that case, just call it an old man's whimsy. I thought it might be a little early."
Cortin was puzzled by that comment, but she didn't have long to wonder at it; as soon as she and Degas followed the priest inside, she was mobbed—at least that was what it felt like—by the Harrison children and pets. Three children, four dogs, and a cat, she thought, were far more formidable than it sounded like they should be—and she loved being their target. When their greetings settled down a bit, she picked up Mama-Cat and carried her back to her kittens, smiling wistfully as the tiny beings mewed, hunting blindly for nipples, then settling down as they found them and began nursing. She'd always wanted a family of her own; if Mike hadn't been Special Ops, she'd have married him as soon as her Service obligation was complete, and done her best to have a dozen or so children. Now that that was impossible, the wish for it seemed to be getting stronger.
She put that out of her mind, stroking Mama-Cat and, very gently, each of the kittens before she rose to see a bemused expression on Degas' face. "Doesn't quite fit my image, does it?"
"No, ma'am. But it makes me even more certain you're the one my confessor meant."
Father Harrison looked from him to Cortin and back, then smiled slowly. "I thought your voice was familiar, Lieutenant," he said. Then, to Cortin's astonishment, the old priest blessed himself and murmured, "Thank You, Lord."
Degas stared at him, nodded once, and duplicated the slow smile. "Same here, Father. I'm glad we both lived to see it."
This time it was Cortin who looked from one to the other. "I do not believe in coincidence," she said firmly, shaking her head.
"What coincidence?" Father Harrison asked, beaming at her. "This happy meeting is simply the power of prayer in action. Needless to say, I'm delighted to see the troubled boy I counseled has matured into a fine officer and found the one I predicted would complete his healing."
Cortin couldn't argue the power of prayer—and the children weren't about to let adult seriousness delay their fun any longer. They almost pulled Cortin outside and to the corral behind the barn, to show her Starfire and the newborn Lifestar. The colt was a palomino, all right, in the classic—and rare—coin-gold, his mane and tail gleaming white as he frolicked around his mother. If she were any judge, Cortin thought, he'd be a prize-winner before too long. And he positively glowed with vitality—if Father Harrison had seen that kind of connection between her and the colt, she could only feel flattered.
She wasn't allowed much time to think about that, though. The children wanted to show off their Young Farmer projects, so she spent the rest of the time till Margaret called them in to supper happily admiring them and giving any help the children asked for.
Once they were seated at the table and the children's father had said grace, Degas turned to the priest. "If I'm out of line, Father, forget I asked—but is there any reason you're all wearing cartridges on neck-chains?"
Father Harrison glanced at Cortin with a smile. "We wanted souvenirs of Captain Cortin's visit, once we got over the shock of her sudden arrival, and cartridges were all she had extras of. She was kind enough to bless them for us, asking special protection from terrorists. I put them on neck-chains, and we've been wearing them ever since."
"Fortunately," Cortin said, "terrorists seldom show any interest in farms or landfolk, so we'll probably never know how effective they are."
"On the other hand," Degas said, "we might—I'd like one, and I'll even provide my own cartridge. I wouldn't be surprised if the rest of the team felt the same way, too."
"Okay, as long as you don't expect miracles from them."
Father Harrison smiled. "But don't be surprised if you get them, either." He turned to Cortin. "A number of the neighbors would like them, too. I took the liberty of buying a box of cartridges and making several up, hoping you wouldn't mind."
Cortin wasn't really sure whether she approved of that or not, but she couldn't think of any real reason to object, and it would only take a few minutes of her time. "All right, as soon as we finish supper."