The Alembic Plot Part 66

She returned the gesture. "And you, Ranger Odeon. You will have our prayers."

Odeon bowed, then turned to his colleague. "I'm going up to the ship, Jim. See you later."

This continues in the novel Resurrection

[Preparer's note: This is the end of the main story. The material following this note is the supplementary material linked to from elsewhere in this file.]

1a. Raid Master

St. Thomas, Wednesday, 19 June 2571

"The G.o.dd.a.m.ned b.i.t.c.h is still alive, Raidmaster."

Lawrence Shannon looked up from the shabby table he was using as a desk, smiling as one of his doubles threw a newspaper down in front of him. "Yes, excellent. Thank you, James."

"Excellent!" the double snarled. "I said she's alive!"

"You weren't mumbling," Shannon a.s.sured him. "If I'd wanted to kill her then, I would have. I chose to let her live for now, maimed and crippled; that will make it all the more satisfying when I do decide to kill her." He smiled in a way that made his double flinch. "Isn't it better to have her alive and in pain than dead and free of it? Doing something of the sort to her was my purpose in leading that raid, after all."

"But I thought--"

"Yes, I know." Shannon raised his hand, silencing the other. "For you Brothers, the hospital was the target; for me, Cortin was. We both accomplished our objectives, without casualties and with bonuses. I also warned you from the beginning not to question my motives. I use my powers on your behalf because our desires generally coincide and your help is convenient, not because you are necessary to me."

"You've made that clear often enough," the double admitted. "If I had your powers, though, I'd wipe out the Church, the aristocracy, and Enforcement so we could rebuild from scratch."

"Which is precisely what you would be doing." Shannon chuckled at the man's turn of phrase. "But there's a much more artistically satisfying way of accomplishing the same end--one which will also increase their suffering many-fold. Would you deny me that little pleasure?"

"Not me, Raidmaster!" the double exclaimed hurriedly, his face paling.

Shannon was normally a charming man, polite and undeniably attractive, his blue eyes and wide smile almost irresistible--but the double had seen what happened to a Brother who cut short Shannon's enjoyment of a priest's slow death, and the memory still sickened him.

"Good." Shannon read his subordinate's discomfort, and projected encouragement. "You really must learn to control your sympathy for the oppressors, James. Our work is difficult enough without that."

The Raidmaster smiled again, and this time his double relaxed. "d.a.m.n straight! It just seems so slow!"

"Anything worthwhile does take time," Shannon said, "and you have to expect setbacks. The raid was a success, the whoring b.i.t.c.h can't any more, and she bears the marks of those who brought her justice on her hands. Not a bad accomplishment, all in all, don't you think?"

"Not bad at all, Raidmaster. What's next?"

"I haven't decided," Shannon said thoughtfully. "Any raid will be far more hazardous now that Special Operations is going to be responding to all of them, and for at least a couple of months we can count on them being after revenge for the b.i.t.c.h as well as doing their jobs. So we'll have to pick our targets carefully." He tapped one of the papers he'd been working on. "Until we get them out of our hair, we can't do anything constructive. And we haven't enough people or resources yet to strike their strong points, so while they're on an increased state of alert, it might be interesting to attack their recreational facilities."

The double smiled. "I like your thinking, Raidmaster. Such as the wh.o.r.ehouses they frequent?"

"Exactly," Shannon agreed. "Pa.s.s the word along to your colleagues, please. And I'd say you've had enough theoretical training; unless you need specific help, I'll expect you to plan and carry out your operations with as little inter-group communication as possible. Keep me informed, of course--but as far as others are concerned . . . well, what they don't know, an Inquisitor can't force them to tell."

The double grimaced. "True--but can't you protect us against them?"

Shannon smiled briefly. "It's more economical to use them. Anyone incompetent enough to get captured deserves their attentions, and it saves me the bother of reprimands. Maintain reasonable security, and you should have no serious problems."

"Yes, Raidmaster." The double would have expected Shannon to prefer handling his own punishments, but he did have a good point about making use of the Inquisitors. "If that's all, I'll go pa.s.s along your orders."

"Thanks, James." Shannon sketched the Brothers' sign in the air.

"Revenge for the oppressed."

"And death to the oppressors." His double returned the gesture and left.

Shannon looked after him for a moment, then stood and went to look out the window. He was putting a good face on it, he thought, but in truth he'd like nothing better than to have Cortin dead and in h.e.l.l, or at least lying b.l.o.o.d.y at his feet.

But that wasn't to be. Not yet, at any rate, and perhaps never. She was as vital a part of this d.a.m.nable charade as he himself, so he could neither kill her nor cause her death, at least until after her role was played out. He couldn't even use many of his powers against or around her until she realized and began using those that would be hers for a time. He could do anything short of those, however--and he smiled at the delicious memory of torturing her.

Although he'd known it would cause her relatively little distress--far less than a normal woman, and certainly far less than being branded with the marks he'd suggested to the Brotherhood--he had particularly enjoyed raping her. It would have been even better if she'd been a virgin, but given what she was being primed to accomplish--whether she realized it yet or not--and the fact that she was an Enforcement trooper, he'd known better than to even hope for that. Still, it was the rape she'd get support and treatment for, when the marks were the real violation; he could take comfort in that.

He cursed the fate that was making him fight to preserve the prewar morality. It served his purposes, true, but having to live by it himself--having to set a G.o.d-loving example!--was going much too far.

Celibacy was definitely not his style. At least his favorite sado-s.e.xual activity was expected behavior from terrorists, even those calling themselves freedom fighters--but it was so h.e.l.lishly long between opportunities, and when they did arrive, he usually had to restrain himself!

The Brotherhood of Freedom had, after all, started out as the champions of freedom, family and justice they still claimed to be. To lead it, he had had to seem the most conservative of them all--and much as it went against his personal inclinations, he reminded himself yet again that it did serve his purposes. The Adversary's as well, unfortunately, but the Adversary was willing to tolerate his existence; those who were going to invade this universe could and would destroy him as easily as any human. So he had no choice but to cooperate.

He'd be living with these att.i.tudes for some time yet, so he really should learn to tolerate them, at least in others.

That thought made him smile. In others, yes, as long as it was he who controlled their behavior--and really, he should only have to live by those old standards himself for a brief time. There was ample precedent for a charismatic leader like himself to be free of the constraints that bound his followers--and to be so with their full knowledge and consent, because of his "special needs and burdens". It wouldn't hurt, either, that they were already accustomed to the idea of special dispensations, such as the one Cortin had enjoyed until he took the ability away from her.

Cortin! Shannon fumed at that name. Maimed and crippled as he'd left her, he had no illusions that she was harmless. Not that she could be and still fulfill her role, he conceded grudgingly, and the other two currently alive would be worse yet, never mind the one who would be returning from his tomb. But they were all necessary to his continued existence, even though they would seriously reduce his influence. The living one yet to arrive in the Systems would provide no entertainment, but much of Cortin's and the other's development involved considerable stress and pain, for them and those around them--which he could and would enjoy.

Return to main storyline: 2. Hospital

2a. Musing

St. Thomas, June 2571

Within five days of Cortin's arrival at the New Denver hospital, Shannon had managed to get three Brothers working there, with orders to keep him informed of anything and everything she did. His agents'

first report, the following day, told him that Cortin was under constant guard by a minimum of two troopers, and usually had Captain Michael Odeon with her during the day.

As the report continued he frowned, wondering if he shouldn't laugh instead. Odeon had brought her texts for the Academy's Inquisitor-specialist students, and that evening the course's ace instructor had spent several hours with her. Cortin, studying to become an Inquisitor? Not only didn't it seem her style, he wouldn't have thought her capable of the toughness or the deliberate violence it required.

He could be wrong, he acknowledged--he'd been wrong before, about her and other humans too--but it seemed impossible he could be that far wrong. In his harshest moment, he couldn't truthfully call her exactly soft . . . but on the other hand, he'd never respected her for her resolve. He'd be astonished if she turned out to have the necessary toughness now--but if she did, he certainly wouldn't hesitate to make use of it. Because if she were able to pa.s.s muster as an Inquisitor at all, the b.i.t.c.h would be the Systems' best--a suitable punishment for any of his men who managed a particularly bad foulup.

As reports continued to come in, it became clear that she was not only excelling in her studies--Illyanov's evaluations said she was doing quite well, which for him was extravagant praise--she was apparently enjoying them, which Shannon found almost impossible to believe. This was only the theoretical work, though, he reminded himself. While he conceded that she could endure considerable pain, the question was whether she could deliberately administer it.

And that answer would have to wait. In the meantime, he had a campaign to plan.