The Alembic Plot Part 5

"Why, is it Sunday?"

"No." Odeon chuckled again; it was easy to lose track of time in a hospital! "That was yesterday; I just thought you might want to join me. I talked to the Academy chaplain, and he's going to offer a special Ma.s.s of Thanksgiving for your recovery."

Cortin stared at her tea, turning the cup in her gloved hands. "That's a little premature," she said at last. "And I'm not at all sure it's something I'm thankful for. It might've been better if you'd been just a few minutes later."

She meant it--and that was exactly what he'd been afraid of. "You shouldn't feel that way, Joanie. G.o.d had a reason for keeping you alive; you've got to believe that."

"Why?" Cortin asked tiredly. She'd spent quite a few hours thinking about that, when she should've been sleeping but the pain wouldn't let sleep come and nothing seemed to matter except an end to her torment.

"I'm no saint, but I've never done anything really terrible, either.

Certainly nothing bad enough to deserve this living h.e.l.l."

That was true, Odeon thought. Still--"We can't hope to understand His reasons for what He does," he said. "We can only accept. Offer the pain to Him, Joanie. Come to Ma.s.s with me tomorrow, dedicate yourself to Him, and ask Him what He wants of your life."

He looked so hopeful she couldn't refuse him. "All right, Mike. I'll go with you, and I'll try to do what you say. Just don't expect too much."

"I'll settle for anything that'll help you." Odeon smiled at her, raising his cup. "To your recovery."

"Thanks--are you going out tonight?"

He'd been planning on it, but he quickly changed his plans. "No, why?"

"I'd like some company, then, if you don't mind." She grimaced.

"Though if you'd prefer a woman who can do something for you instead of a counterfeit, I'd certainly understand."

"Even disabled, you're more of a real woman than any I've paid to be with," Odeon said. "I've always enjoyed your company, even when one of us was too tired or too hurt for fun and games--you know that."

"I know--I felt the same way." Cortin managed a smile. "But I will miss the fun and games, and you'll have to be careful about waking up shooting because you hear something out of place--I haven't learned to stay in the right position while I'm sleeping yet, so it's at night my back acts up worst, and I have a bad tendency to scream when it does."

At least her sense of humor hadn't completely deserted her, even though the humor now was on the dark side. "I'll be careful," he promised.

"I certainly wouldn't want to shoot my favorite recruit."

She found it comforting to lie beside Mike, even though part of her also found it a near-painful reminder of what they'd shared earlier.

She lay awake for awhile listening to his quiet breathing before it lulled her into a doze, then into deeper sleep and dreams of a better time. It was her Graduation Day; the Duke of Columbia had almost finished pinning on her cla.s.smates' gold Second Lieutenants' bars. Her own, the silver of a First Lieutenant since she was first in her cla.s.s, already gleamed on her immaculate gray uniform. She was impatient for the ceremony to end. She'd seen her recruiter in the crowd, and she wanted to carry out the plans she'd made for him, plans that bore no resemblance to the sometimes-s.a.d.i.s.tic ones her cla.s.smates claimed to have for their recruiters. She'd discovered the surprisingly pleasurable reality of the Enforcement Service's s.e.xual freedom not long after her arrival at the Academy, quickly losing her inhibitions.

Being the only woman in the cla.s.s, she had enjoyed her instructors'

attentions--but the corollary was far less enjoyable. In prewar days, being a teacher's favorite had supposedly meant having an easier time than other students; at the Royal Academy, it meant additional work, more intensive instruction, and more severe testing. The harder they were on her, she was repeatedly told, the better her odds of survival would be when she got out in the field--and she had thrived on the increased challenge, as she'd proven by graduating at the top of her cla.s.s. But much as she had enjoyed her instructors'--and a few of her cla.s.smates'--beds and bodies, it hadn't taken her long to realize that Mike Odeon was the one she wanted most, and she was determined to take full advantage of this chance at him.

The ceremony ended at last; she accepted congratulations--and her first salute, from Lieutenant Odeon. She returned it with the proper dignity, then launched herself at him for a completely undignified, and equally thorough, kiss. He cooperated after a second's startlement, then grinned down at her. "That isn't the kind of attack I carried out on my recruiter!"

"Oh, that's just the first sortie," Cortin a.s.sured him, pleased to find that although he was sterile, he certainly wasn't impotent, as quite a few sterile men were; she'd felt that quite clearly during the kiss.

"I think I'm going to like this attack," he said, still grinning.

"I hope so." She tightened her arms around him. "You're staying at the VOQ?"

"Uh-huh." Odeon raised an eyebrow. "You're thinking of a tactical strike?"

"Not exactly--more like a siege, if you don't mind my using your toothbrush in the morning. I couldn't think of a reasonable excuse to bring my kit to Graduation in case you did show up."

"My toothbrush is yours," Odeon said with a chuckle. "It sounds like you're anxious to get this siege started."

"I've been taught that unnecessary delay is bad strategy," Cortin said.

"Shall we go, Lieutenant, or should I begin my siege here?"

"We go, Lieutenant," Odeon said, and they did.

When they got to his room, they didn't hurry, but they didn't waste time, either; once their uniforms were hung in the closet, Joan's siege began in earnest, and with her target's full cooperation. Lying beside him, kissing him, caressing his body with the battle scars few Enforcement and no SO men escaped, feeling his answering caresses on her still-smooth skin, was even better than she'd dreamed.

Exploration grew into pa.s.sion, caresses becoming more direct and intimate, yet there was still no hurry. Cortin savored the touch of his hand skillfully stroking her, the silk-over-steel delight of him as ready for her as she was for him. It was she who moved first, eager to take him in, and she gasped with pleasure as they joined and began moving in the eternal rhythm.

Then pain stabbed through her, bringing her awake with a choked sob.

As it slowly subsided, she became aware of arms around her, a voice in her ear, and she tried to tear herself away.

Odeon wouldn't let her. "It's me, Joanie, Mike--not some Brother.

You're safe. You know I won't hurt you--and I'll do my best not to let anyone else hurt you, either. Relax, try to go back to sleep. Want your gun?"

"I've got it under my pillow." Cortin managed a half-smile. "The sovereign remedy for boogey-men, my father used to say. A 10-mm Ruger with every fifth round a tracer load."

"Smart man, your father," Odeon said. "Not much human-size a 10-mm load won't stop, and tracers'll discourage the rest. Think you can sleep now?"

"Yes, I think so." Cortin sighed, relaxing slowly. "Thanks, Mike.

For being here, and for . . . you know. Make sure I wake up in time for Ma.s.s, will you?"

"No problem," Odeon said. "Sleep in peace, Joanie."

Tuesday, 23 July 2571

The Ma.s.s had more of an effect on Cortin than she had expected it to--more than it ever had, even when she was in a mood for religion.

For some reason it seemed more meaningful, more immediate, than it had before. Maybe it was the pain that made her empathize with the tortured image on the cross, maybe it was something else, she didn't know. All she was sure of was that for the first time, it felt like the "collective sacrifice" it was supposed to be, and when she went forward for Communion reciting the "Domine, non sum dignus," she found herself hoping the Host would actually heal the hurt in her soul.

It didn't, but when she returned to her pew she did feel less despondent, and when the service was over, she found to her surprise that she intended to return the next morning. As they walked to the Officers' Club for breakfast, she turned to Odeon with an unforced smile. "Thanks for getting me there, Mike. Mind if I go with you again tomorrow?"

"Be glad to have you. It helped, then?"

"Yes. I don't know how, but it did."

"Good!" Odeon grinned down at her. "I thought it had, from your expression. Just remember, He doesn't allow any of us to be tried beyond our endurance--even though He may come right to the brink of it."

"I will." She started to ask him a question, but they were almost at the Club; she waited until they had gotten their food and started to eat, then she said, "You told me once you wanted to become a priest.

Why didn't you?"

"Because my primary calling was to law enforcement instead." He shrugged. There were priests in Enforcement, true--even a few bishops--but not in the operational sections, which was where his calling lay. "I've never understood why the two couldn't still be combined--the prewars sometimes had fighting priests and bishops--but since I had to make the choice, I decided I'd rather be a good law officer than a mediocre priest."

Cortin nodded. "That makes sense, though I'd bet a month's pay you'd be an outstanding priest, not a mediocre one. As well as a great law officer--have you ever thought of applying for an exception?"