The Alembic Plot Part 15

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 cla.s.sic--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."

Degas' prediction proved correct; the rest of the team did want cartridges she'd blessed, and wore them on neck-chains--but attached so they could be quickly removed if necessary and used as they'd originally been intended, a precaution Cortin approved of. From the team, the popularity of her blessed cartridges spread to the rest of the base and beyond, gaining in reputation as field teams credited them with the fact that casualties seemed to be fewer and less serious among troopers who wore them.

As the team's stay in Middletown lengthened, all of them became impatient with the sheer frustration of waiting for the Brothers to make the first move. It was a frustration law enforcement personnel learned to live with, since they almost always had to react to lawbreakers, but that didn't make it any easier as winter became spring, then early and mid-summer.

At least, Cortin thought, the Base Commander kept his promise. There were fewer Brothers or other terrorists among her subjects than she would have liked, but she was kept busy with other criminals. They were less personally involving than the Brothers, though she discovered as she worked with them that they provided just as much professional satisfaction. Unlike terrorists, most of them survived her attentions; her interest in murderers, thieves, and the like was restricted to getting the necessary information from them, then turning them over to judges for sentencing. As her skill grew to match her talent, that became both easier and more satisfying, though it had a side effect she hadn't really expected and didn't like as well. Her reputation also grew, to the point where--as Illyanov had predicted--the threat of being handed over to Inquisitor-Captain Cortin was enough, in many cases, to elicit a full confession. Even that had its satisfactions, though, after the first few times; the point, after all, was to get the necessary information, and if she could do it by proxy, that only made her more effective.

And, one late February evening, Chang and Odeon reported to their commanding officer's quarters with the news that Chang's research had at long last borne fruit. When Cortin invited them in, Chang bowed.

"I can report limited success, Captain--and our superior has taken an interest." She handed her commanding officer an envelope. "He wished me to maintain silence until a suitable donor was found, to prevent undue anxiety on your part. Lieutenant Bain and I did so this afternoon; if you agree to the procedure, Team Azrael will depart tomorrow morning for a suitable surgical and recuperation area with its prisoner."

Cortin waved them to seats and took one herself, then opened the envelope. It held a single sheet of paper, directing her to place herself under Medic-Lieutenant Chang's orders if she chose the procedure, with a handwritten note at the bottom: "It sounds indecent, but promising. If you decide to have it done, keep me in mind next time you're in New Denver or I'm out East."

Cortin scowled at her subordinates, but couldn't maintain the expression; it was too hard to keep from grinning, and she finally did.

"For people who've been going behind their CO's back, you two look remarkably unrepentant--not to mention smug. So tell me about this 'indecent but promising,' 'limited success' procedure . . . not that I think I'll need much convincing."

"The team will be ready to go at 0500," Odeon said, doing his best to look innocent.

Cortin gave him a dirty look, then shook her head in resignation. "I must be getting too predictable. Go on, Sis, spill it."

"As the Captain says." Chang's face remained impa.s.sive, but her eyes twinkled. "As I thought, the original rumor was exaggerated. The Inquisitor was not regrowing tissue; he was merely reattaching items that had been removed. And it was only external items; internal organs are either too complicated or simply beyond his skill. However, full function and sensation were restored in all cases, even when the reattachment was to another subject, provided the blood type was the same and the work was carefully done. And the recipient subject was maintained on an adequate dosage of algetin."

Cortin winced. Algetin was a potent pain-enhancer, which made it extremely useful for interrogations, but this was the first she'd heard of it having any medical use. Still . . . "I gather this talk of reattachments and algetin is not just theoretical, and is connected with my problem?"

Chang nodded. "Inquisitors on St. Ignatius do tend to take more time with their subjects than do those in other Kingdoms. This one discovered that algetin, used in adequate quant.i.ty and for an adequate period, promotes both healing and nerve growth. While, as I said, reattachment was successful in all cases, that of genital tissue was spectacularly so." She allowed herself a brief smile. "The Service's favorite virus, I suspect, is involved there. So, while any skin could, in theory, be used for the reconstruction you require, I have chosen somewhat more specialized material. You are, of course, aware of penile nerve density and sensitivity."

Cortin chuckled. Sis knew perfectly well she did, but she said, "Of course," willing to play along. What the medic called a virus wasn't, exactly; it was called that only because it wasn't exactly anything else, either, except itself, the cause of the Satyr Plague. That was the only "disease" she knew of that people hadn't tried very hard to avoid, because of its effect: it enhanced s.e.xuality, especially in men, and gave them capability to match their increased drive--capability that had been purest fantasy before the virus' appearance thirty years ago. "Go on."

"The donor we have found is a Brother with your blood type; I believe the appropriate skin and nerve layers, inverted and properly placed, should serve your purpose nicely." She smiled again. "We are, of course, a.s.suming you wish to resume female function. If not, there is nothing I can do. However, from our discussion some months ago and what Captain Odeon has told me, I believe that a.s.sumption is warranted.

Am I correct?"

"You are," Cortin managed to say, staring at her medic. But it did make sense--was even just, in an odd way. If it worked, a Brother would be providing what several of them had ruined. "You are absolutely correct. It sounds like fantasy, but if you think there's any chance at all, I'm willing to try." She glared at Odeon, who was trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. "What's the matter with you? Don't you think it'll work?"

"If Sis's this optimistic, it'll work." Odeon grinned. "And I know you, remember? You've had a long dry spell--I can hardly wait to help you make up for that."

Cortin's eyebrows rose. "Longer than I ever have before, true--and I'm as eager for the drought's end as you are. Maybe more so--and from what you two are saying, that won't be long."

"Not long at all," Odeon said. "We'll be heading for Dragon's Lair first thing tomorrow--no need to look so surprised! Bradford pointed out that it'd have to be kept between him and us; what better place than a well-secured Royal retreat? He may've told His Majesty, to get us permission to use it, but can you imagine the reaction if the public found out someone--even a Brother--had been maimed for the purpose of allowing an Enforcement officer to have s.e.x again?"

"I can imagine it would cause a bit of an uproar," Cortin said drily.

"Even if it's part of the punishment he deserves for his crimes."

"And I imagine that's putting it d.a.m.n mildly," Odeon said. "It's pretty obvious how you feel, but to make it official?"

"I want it--even if it means being under algetin for however long."

That would be days at least, maybe a couple of weeks, of pure agony . . . but it would be worth it. She hoped. "I'm at your orders, Lieutenant Chang."

"The only one I have at the moment is that you are to eat no solid food until after the operation," the medic said. "Let me rea.s.sure you about the algetin, however. It will cause you no distress; those of my profession have drugs to ease or eliminate even such extreme pain. I can render you unconscious while the algetin is necessary."

"Good." Cortin had no desire to use drugs for normal pain, but algetin enhancement was an entirely different situation. She turned to Odeon.

"You said we leave at 0500, which means getting up at 0300 if we're going to say Ma.s.s and still have time for the rest of you to eat breakfast. So I think you'd better have supper, and all of us should get to bed early."

7. Dave

St. Thomas, Thursday, 20 Feb 2572

The Royal Family, the King's Household and staff, and favored n.o.bles flew to Dragon's Lair; everyone else rode. So when Team Azrael and its prisoner left Middletown for the deliberately-isolated Royal retreat, they were on horseback. Cortin, like most people, had learned to ride almost as soon as she'd learned to walk, and was expert at it, but she quickly found that riding was another thing she could no longer enjoy.

She was wearing the back brace Egan had given her for unavoidable strenuous exercise and riding the smoothest-gaited horse in the Base stables--a black Arab named Rainbow--complete with a lambswool saddle pad, but within fifteen minutes she was thinking that maybe disability retirement might not be such a bad idea after all. Without it she'd be spending a lot of time in the saddle, hurting worse than usual. On the other hand, if she got out she'd be spending even more time in the saddle, unless she abandoned her crusade--and she had no intention of doing that. So she just had to learn to endure this, too. At least, she thought, if they had to ride they had a nice day for it. The temperature was still comfortable in the morning sun, and by the time it got too warm in the open, cultivated areas, they'd be in forest shade. And the quiet was pleasant, only an occasional word or two and the soft sounds of leather or hooves on dirt breaking the silence. She could see landfolk out working their farms and ranches, but they were far enough away she couldn't hear them--and they weren't likely to approach a group of Enforcement troopers, especially one escorting a prisoner.

Cortin smiled grimly at that thought. Prewar, even Terran, police, from her reading, had gotten the same reaction: civilians tended to stay away, unless they needed something. And civs were even less interested in having anything to do with police carrying out the enforcement part of their duties. Let one get close enough to see an Inquisitor's badge, and lack of interest usually turned into active avoidance of contact; the Harrisons' pleasure at her visits was unusual. At one time, she'd disliked provoking that reaction; now she was accustomed to it, and at times found it useful.

She heard a horse speed up slightly, until Lieutenant Bain was riding beside her. "Is anything wrong, Captain?" he asked. "I've been noticing you don't look exactly comfortable."

"Nothing that can be helped, thanks. It seems my back doesn't approve of horses any longer, is all."

"How bad?"

"Late second stage, maybe early third. Nothing I can't handle for a few hours if I have to--though I'll admit I'm already looking forward to stopping for the night." She gestured to the rear, where Degas was leading the unconscious prisoner's horse. "How far did you get on him before Sis tapped him for surgery?"

"I didn't even start," Bain said, surprising her. "She and I were looking for a blood type match, plus a couple of other factors she thought might help; when we finally found one she thought would be right, we put him straight under." He grinned. "Don't worry, though.

He'll have to stay out while Sis takes what you need--we don't want to take any chances on damaging it--but once he wakes up, I'll make sure I get anything interesting. Unless you'd rather I save him for you?"