The Alembic Plot Part 3

"True, especially when they belong to His Majesty's Own. And I've got a couple of months before I'm well enough I have to make a final decision--I presume I am eligible for a disability discharge?"

"Yes, of course, at full pay. But I don't like what I think you're getting at. Joanie, don't do anything you'll regret."

"I don't intend to," Cortin said quietly. "I know what I have to do, though. If I can stay in and do it, that's best, of course. If I have to get out, though, I'll do that instead. One way or another, Brother Lawrence Shannon and the rest of them on that raiding party are gone--and so are any Brothers who get in my way to them." She looked at her bandaged hands for a long moment, then back up at him. "Which I'm sure you guessed when Egan pa.s.sed along the information that I was keeping their marks."

Odeon nodded. "Partly--that you'd go after them. Not that you'd consider going rogue to do it." Enforcement took superlative care of its members and their families, if they had any . . . but when a trooper went bad, all its resources went into hunting and then killing him. Or her. Odeon had partic.i.p.ated in three of those hunts, hating the necessity but as grimly determined as any to rid the world of them.

Dammit, Enforcement troopers were sworn to protect the Kingdoms and their citizens--when one went rogue, he had to be stopped! And yet . . . the idea of taking part in such a hunt with Joanie as the target upset him more than it should. Not that the alternative was any better! "Joanie, please--don't do it."

"As I said, I don't intend to." Cortin took a deep breath. "You know me too well to believe I'd do something like going rogue if I had any choice in the matter. And I need time and resources a rogue wouldn't get, to do what I have to--but I can't do it if I'm stuck behind a desk, either." She frowned, still unable to make sense of the feeling of absolute certainty that had come over her during the Brothers'

torture. "Mike, we both know I'm as practical and non-mystical as anyone could be--but while the Brothers were working me over, I . . .

realized, or discovered, or something, that eliminating them is my job.

It helps that I have a personal reason for wanting to, but that's a bonus. Whatever happens to me, whatever I have to do to accomplish it, I don't have any choice about the fact. I have to get rid of the Brothers--and I plan to enjoy it." She stared at her hands again.

"Then I may be able to get rid of these h.e.l.l-marks. Can you understand that?"

"I think so--and G.o.d help me, I couldn't blame you if you did go after them on your own. But I'd still have to help hunt you down." Odeon was less positive of that than he made himself sound, though. He wasn't at all certain he'd be able to, even if not doing it meant he'd share her outlawry--if the thought of hunting her was upsetting, the idea of actually harming her was revolting. Worse than revolting, really--impossible was more like it.

The sudden awareness of that stunned him. He hadn't realized he felt so strongly about her! He shouldn't; no one in Special Ops should have any more than professional respect for another person. There most emphatically should not be anything like that strong a feeling! It was almost like--no. He was too professional to love anyone, especially a fellow officer, however many times he might have shared a bed with him or her.

On the other hand, what else could it be? He'd have no objection to hunting down Wolf Corbett, say, if it were necessary--and Wolf had been on his team the longest of any, almost a year now, and was the closest friend other than Joanie that he had.

He sent up a quick prayer for guidance, and felt an immediate sense of rea.s.surance. He did love Joanie, and it was all right . . . but she didn't love him yet, so there was no reason to burden her with the knowledge of his feelings.

"Is something wrong, Mike?" Cortin's voice brought him back to the present. "You look like you ate something that's disagreeing with you."

"No, I'm fine. It's your problems we should be worrying about now, anyway." Odeon made himself smile. "Let's a.s.sume you make it into this cla.s.sified project, and that it's something that'll let you at the Brothers."

"We might as well," Cortin said, shifting position slightly. "The first thing is to get off these drugs. The sooner I learn to cope with what's happened, the sooner I can get to work. I need to get my strength back, hone up my hand-to-hand combat, and do some serious study of interrogation techniques. I'm okay at first-stage, but Brothers don't break that easily; I'm going to have to be more than just good, at all three stages. Especially third. Will you help me?"

"Of course." That was his Joanie, all right, Odeon thought proudly.

No crying or self-pity for her; instead, a plan that would let her accomplish what she intended. He took the clipboard from the foot of her bed and studied it for a moment. "Dear G.o.d! They do have you in deep, don't they? Do you want to make a cold break, or would you rather taper off?"

"Cold break," Cortin said firmly. Even though it was probably a decision she would regret, it was what she was certain he would have done.

"Right." Odeon made the necessary notations, initialed each one, then replaced the clipboard. "You can't do much about exercise or combat training until you're out of bed, but you can read . . . mmm. I think you should go for an Inquisitor's Warrant, even though you won't be able to do the practical work right away. If you want to go that route, I know an instructor at the Academy who'll give you cla.s.sroom credit for reading the course materials and pa.s.sing a test, then let you do the practical when you're back on your feet."

Cortin nodded. "I would--thanks." The Warrant wouldn't do her any legal good if she did go rogue, but she'd have the skill, and letting her subjects know she'd had a Warrant should make it easier to break them. "How soon can I get the texts?"

"I should be able to have them for you by visiting hours tomorrow.

Anything else?"

"Newspapers, please--and a pair of gloves, for when the bandages come off."

"No problem; Sergeant Vincent promised to send your gear along. I figure it should be here tomorrow or the next day."

"Thanks--I should have thought to ask."

"You did have other things on your mind at the time," Odeon pointed out. He hesitated, went on reluctantly. "Speaking of which, as soon as you feel up to it, you should be debriefed."

Cortin would have preferred to keep the information for her own use, but by the time she was able to do anything with it, it would be obsolete, useless. Best to pa.s.s it on to the debriefers, then hope her fellow Enforcement troops would keep the trail warm without taking the quarry that was rightfully hers. "I'll be glad to talk to them any time they want. And if the team includes an artist, I think I can describe the ones I saw well enough for him to draw."

"That would help--I'll make sure it has one. And I'll try to get them here before the painkillers wear off; I don't think you'd want them to see you in pain."

"I don't, and I wouldn't be able to cooperate as well, either. As soon as you can, then."

"I'll do that." Odeon turned to leave, then hesitated and turned back.

Joanie went to church Sundays and holy days when she wasn't on duty, though she wasn't what he'd call really devout. Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask. "Would you like to see a priest?"

Not really, was her first reaction, but on the other hand, why not? As usual, she didn't have anything to confess--part of her, with wry humor, said it was because she hadn't the imagination to think of any interesting sins, as well as not having any opportunities. Might be a good idea to take advantage of this chance, though; if she were accepted for Special Ops, she'd be given Exceptional Holy Orders--empowered to carry out time-critical priestly functions, mostly Last Rites--and she really ought to be sure of being ready for ordination. "Maybe I should." She hesitated, then asked, "Mike--did you give me Last Rites?"

Odeon shook his head. "By the time I got to you, Sergeant Vincent had already taken care of it."

"If you get a chance, will you thank him for me?"

"My pleasure." Odeon bent to kiss her goodbye, then paused when bandaged hands took and held his.

Cortin looked up at him, her throat tight. Maybe he wouldn't fault her for one bit of weakness . . . "Mike, I know I'm not a real woman any more, but . . . maybe I can still function like one. Will you help me find out? Please?"

"As soon as the plumbing's out and you feel up to it," Odeon promised, stricken by her uncharacteristic vulnerability. Blessed Mother of G.o.d, he prayed silently, don't let them have robbed her of that, too! She's lost the ability to have children; don't let her be condemned to the constant danger we face without even this consolation! "Just let me know when, Joanie. I'll be here for you." He kissed her again, and left. Cortin watched him go, relieved. He'd been rea.s.suring, not scornful, and that was a big help in itself.

She was kept busy the rest of the day, first by the priest, then by medical personnel, and then--over Dr. Egan's objections--by the debriefing team, which included the artist she'd asked for. It also included a lieutenant wearing the silver question-mark badge of one who held an Inquisitor's Warrant, and who was treated with a degree of respect that was highly unusual for a junior officer. Cortin made note of that, then disregarded it; if she was under consideration for something cla.s.sified, she had to expect some non-standard attention.

And he was a good Inquisitor, whatever else he was, eliciting details she didn't remember noticing, gaining her confidence even though she was familiar with the techniques he was using, reading her face and body language well enough that at times he seemed to be reading her mind instead. No, she thought when the team left, he was more than a simple lieutenant!

The drugs had worn off by early the next morning. When an orderly brought her breakfast, Cortin was in physical pain and emotional shock, but she forced herself to be as polite as possible to the orderly, and then to eat in spite of her lack of appet.i.te. Afterward, she endured the medical attentions that brought more pain, telling herself she had to go through that and the accompanying humiliation to reach her goal.

She was glad when it was over and she was left alone; the only person she had any real desire to see was Mike.

He arrived moments after visiting hours began. She started to greet him, but fell silent in shock when she saw his face. Mike had been crying, and there were still tears in his eyes! Hesitantly, she held a hand out to him. "Mike--?"

He took it, tears again starting to fall. "Joanie--oh, Joanie, I'm so sorry!"

Her stomach churned with miserable certainty of his answer, but she made herself ask, "What is it, Mike?"

"Dr. Egan said nurses had heard you talking in your sleep, that the bad news would be easier coming from me, but not to tell you yet, not till you were stronger . . ." He took a deep breath to steady his voice, though the tears were running unchecked down his face. Dammit, there was no kind way to tell her this! "She's a civilian, she doesn't understand that we can't afford false hopes. Or how important this is--she told me that except for your back, you'd have a complete recovery!" He took another deep breath, trying with a little more success to calm himself. "Joanie--I'll never share your bed again, and neither will anyone else, unless all you want is company."

"I'm totally non-functional, then," Cortin said flatly.

Odeon nodded miserably. "I'm afraid so. The Brothers . . . damaged you too badly. Egan's team was able to salvage the urinary tract and make a usable opening for it in the skin graft--but I'm afraid the other is gone, permanently."

Cortin clung to his hands, her mind numb. She wanted to scream, cry, do something to protest this additional, gratuitous despoilment--dear sweet Jeshua, they had been killing her, why do something so pointless?--but she didn't seem to have the will.

Odeon took her in his arms, stroking her and speaking quietly, rea.s.suringly. She was taking it hard, of course--so was he, dammit!--and it was no wonder. Most civilians didn't understand, so they resented the civil and canonical laws that exempted Enforcement personnel from the s.e.xual restrictions everyone else was morally and legally bound to observe--but, thanks to Saint Eleanor of the Compa.s.sionate Mother, Church and civil authorities did understand that people in almost constant danger of sudden, violent death needed more of a distraction than books or cards or dances could provide. Not even s.e.x always helped--but most of the time it could take your mind off the danger enough to relax for a few minutes, or an hour, or if the Compa.s.sionate Mother was kind, an entire night. Joanie wouldn't have that escape any more, which was grossly unfair.

Still, there was a purpose behind everything G.o.d did, Odeon reminded himself, whether a human could perceive it or not. He couldn't imagine what purpose would condemn Joanie to constant pain, as well as all of an Enforcement officer's normal stresses, with no chance of relief--but he believed there was one, and if he were allowed to, he'd help her achieve it.

After several minutes, Cortin pulled back, still dry-eyed. "If that's the way it is, I guess I'll have to learn to live with it. Thanks for giving it to me straight, Mike--you were right, I'd rather know the truth than get my hopes up and then have them dashed."

"I'm glad. I thought you'd feel that way--but I was praying I wouldn't just make things worse for you." He squeezed her hands, debating whether or not he should kiss her, then decided against it until later.

If he was any judge, she was in no mood for affection at the moment, especially the fraternal kind that would emphasize it was the only kind she'd get from now on. "I have the books," he said, instead.