The Alembic Plot Part 14

"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 vanis.h.i.+ngly 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 Sat.u.r.day before the Strike Force's Monday rea.s.signments, 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 b.i.t.c.h" was most definitely alive, and was deeply interested in the Brothers' welfare.

6. Tony

St. Thomas, August 2571-February 2572

During the first week after Team Azrael reported to Middletown, Cortin got her men a.s.signed 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 n.o.bles and gentry, not common troopers--until Cortin, with considerable hidden amus.e.m.e.nt, 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 a.s.sert 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 s.e.x, 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, b.u.t.t-first.

"You may want to use this."

Cortin accepted it, stunned. "In G.o.d'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--d.a.m.n near irresistible. I don't know how I was able to resist, but I've thanked G.o.d 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."

Members.h.i.+p in a terrorist organization normally carried sentences of excommunication and death, but there were, on rare occasions, mitigating circ.u.mstances. 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 a.s.sured 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."