The Alembic Plot Part 67

Cortin was recovering faster than Shannon liked. That she was recovering at all, of course, was unfortunate--but given that, he couldn't honestly be surprised at the speed of her recovery. It looked like her return to duty would be about the time that collection of Special Ops men--and the woman auxiliary who'd once been his "lover"--was complete. He was concerned about that; the necessary limitation of his powers made him dependent on normal systems of information, and security around the gathering was unusually tight.

Since there were similar gatherings in every Kingdom, it was obvious the Sovereigns were planning something that promised no good for the Brotherhood and his plans, but he couldn't find out what without taking a risk of alerting Cortin.

Since there was nothing constructive he could do about that, he let himself reminisce about the auxiliary. Eleanor Chang, since age eighteen a professed Sister of the Order of the Compa.s.sionate Mother of Succor and known as Sister Mary Piety. Shannon had a particular dislike for that order, since they specialized in caring for seriously wounded or ill Enforcement troopers, sometimes accompanying them as medics.

That was Sister Piety's specialty, and she'd been handling one of its more difficult aspects when he'd encountered her almost a year ago.

He'd been on St. Ignatius then, picking and training some of his subordinate raid-masters, and he'd given in to the urge for some recreation. That had taken the form of a raid on the clinic where she'd just brought a trio of wounded from her last mission, and it was a raid he remembered with considerable satisfaction.

The clinic was in the country, to let the troopers recover or die in the most pleasant surroundings the Order could manage--and it was remote enough that Shannon and his raiders could take their time, with troopers and nuns alike. Piety caught his attention immediately, being the youngest and most attractive of the women as well as the most spirited, and he promptly claimed her for himself. His subordinates were welcome to the rest.

To his satisfaction, she fought him. Not with any skill, but with enough energy and determination to excite him as no woman had in far too long. Stripped of her habit, she was even more attractive--and better yet, she continued to fight, even as he pinned her arms and forced her legs apart. Starting into her, he felt resistance that told him his hopes of her had been fulfilled. He paused, relis.h.i.+ng that for some moments while he made certain adjustments to his body. He respected courage, even in an enemy; add that she'd managed to remain a virgin, surrounded by Enforcement troopers, and he was inclined to give her a fair chance. Like the pre-Empire Terran game show, if she said the magic word, she would win--not money, but her life. And her fighting had bought her a clue to that word.

Her eyes widened as she felt the change. She struggled harder, shaking her head and gasping negation, but her sudden panic was no match for his strength. He rammed into her all the way, savoring the hot blood that flowed out of her when he ruptured the membrane.

She screamed his name, winning her life--though Shannon took pleasure in the certainty that she'd rather die. She s.h.i.+vered under him, her screams gradually subsiding to sobs, until she was close to pa.s.sing out with pain and horror. Shannon could have kept her conscious, but he'd be having her again later, and there were the troopers to play with; he finished in a series of rapid, violent thrusts, then kissed her roughly and pulled out.

"One more before we go, sweet Piety." Shannon's voice was almost gentle; over the last six days, he'd developed an unusual--and, he thought, delightfully perverse--fondness for the nun. It was nothing like his feelings for Sara, his mistress; those were totally unprecedented, not simply unusual. He couldn't pinpoint the reason he had taken to Piety, though it probably had something to do with the fact that she managed not to hate him. Fear, disgust, revulsion--he could read all of those and more, even pity. But there was no hatred.

"Please," she said tiredly. "Not again . . ."

"One last time, then we will part." It was unfortunate that she no longer fought him physically, but he'd learned to get the same excitement from her emotional upheavals; when he picked her up and they began to boil, he came to his full size almost immediately. "I'm afraid there won't be a show to entertain us this time, though. Your former companions and patients are beyond even my power to revive."

Not precisely true--it was more accurate to say he no longer thought them worth the effort--but it was close enough for her. "Still, the act itself should be entertaining enough."

He put her on the floor, and was starting to mount her when an intriguing idea occurred to him. He smiled slowly and stood, picking her up again, and carried her outside to a sweet-smelling gra.s.sy area surrounded by peonies. He put her down again and this time lay beside her, gently caressing, using his powers to soothe her.

There was still fear when she stared at him. "What . . . what are you doing?"

"Making sure, sweet Piety, that this time it's you who enjoys me." Yes, that revolted her very nicely. He stilled her beginning objection with a long kiss, then smiled down at her, continuing both his physical caresses and mental pressure. "I've kept you sane," he said softly.

"The refuge of insanity is one you can never take, now, and there's no point in hoping I can't do something else equally simple. You will remember this week clearly, and today will be by far the worst.

Because you are going to enjoy me, in the full knowledge that I'm compelling your pleasure as thoroughly, if not in the same way, as I compelled your pain and the others'." He smiled, running a hand down her belly to tease thick curls. "I'm sure you've heard I can be a skillful lover when I want, not so?"

"Yes." His compulsion was working; he could sense her starting to relax.

"Good. I had planned to leave in a few minutes, but a proper demonstration takes time; you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I . . . think so."

"You will, believe me."

She did, though it wasn't as easy as he'd told her or expected it would be. He'd felt her mental strength, but her tenacity and resilience still surprised him, finding any gap in the net of compulsion he imposed, which made it nearly half an hour, instead of a few minutes, before he was able to make her feel the pleasure he wanted. He paused then, thinking. While he respected her courage, her unexpected resistance at this late hour had irritated him, and he wanted to take it out on her. So should he make her cooperate with him, rather than simply remain pa.s.sive and enjoy whatever attentions he chose to give her?

He smiled slowly. Yes, that would certainly add spice, and it would make her memories all the more painful. With the groundwork laid, that took only a few moments, and she was eagerly returning his caresses.

He took his time with her, knowing that the thoroughness of her enjoyment now would determine how much she suffered later. He'd told her there would only be one more act of intercourse, so that was what it would be. He'd said nothing, however, about details, so he played with her, teasing her with repeated small o.r.g.a.s.ms by mouth and hand, letting her know silently that these were only preludes. He felt--and helped--her desire grow with each one, building into desperate need, until she was writhing against him, begging and frantically struggling to get him into her.

It was a temptation to reject her at this last moment, but he resisted in the interest of future pleasure. He obliged her, giving her the tremendous o.r.g.a.s.m he'd teased her with--starting with his entry, prolonging it through a coitus that would seem to her like hours, and peaking it when his own climax sent jets of icy fire into her.

He left her body first, smiling down at her. "You liked that, didn't you, sweet Piety?"

The nun sighed happily. "You know I did . . . does that really have to be the last time?"

"I'm afraid so." Shannon rose, still smiling. "I've enjoyed you a lot, but I have to get back to work, and it's time for you to report our little party to the nearest Enforcement post. You can tell them everything except my name and how you knew me; all they need to know on that subject is that I'm the Raidmaster. Not just a raidmaster, the Raidmaster. You'll be sure to point that out for me, won't you?"

"Of course."

"Very good." Shannon double-checked the barriers he'd raised to keep her from the refuge of insanity, then he released his other compulsions. She reacted beautifully, her expression turning from pleasure to revulsion as she retreated from him, turning to run but falling to her knees racked with convulsions of nausea.

Shannon's attention returned to his surroundings. He'd left St.

Ignatius then, thoroughly satisfied with the interlude, and memories of Sister Piety had cheered him several times since. It was an interlude he dared not repeat now, though. Cortin might sense something as simple as using his power to modify his physical attributes, and now that she was personally aware of him thanks to the attack, she'd have to sense his use of it on others.

Return to main storyline: 3. Center

4a. Shannon's Reaction

Shannon had decided to take advantage of Cortin's skill during the afternoon session. It had been some time since he'd combined his two preferences purely for pleasure instead of as an "object lesson"--since Piety, in fact--and he was overdue for some recreation. He'd told his aide he was tired and would be napping after lunch; Cortin would provide the violence, Victor the s.e.x. Victor was h.o.m.o, raised in a family that saw the Church's increased tolerance in the last two and a half centuries as abhorrent. But Victor couldn't deny his drives; the best he could do was conceal them, feeling guilt whenever they became strong enough to make him take action.

Shannon had picked him for that, perhaps more than for his administrative ability, then arranged for Victor to find him apparently asleep, naked. Since then he could count on the man sneaking into his room several times a week; it relieved some of the tension, and Victor's guilt not only added spice to the affair, it made him even more devoted to the one he thought he was victimizing. And, Shannon thought smugly, he couldn't possibly be faulted for being an innocent victim.

Stretched out, with only a sheet covering him, Shannon waited for Victor to decide he was asleep. In the meantime, he considered the two ordinations that had just taken place. He found them abhorrent, even though he was aware of their necessity. His continued existence could well depend on four humans who would, except for the approaching invaders, be major enemies--two here, one in the Terran Empire, and one currently dead. Three of the four, to his disgust, had to be priests of the Crucified One. That was galling enough, but the worst part was that he had to promote faith himself! Not necessarily in that particular deity, though it would benefit most, he thought bitterly.

There were times he was tempted to rebel again, tell the Adversary to do it all, instead of having to drive people toward that one, rather than urge them away as he preferred. Existence, though, wasn't something to be given up, even if maintaining it meant doing some things he found truly repugnant.

Cortin, of course, was his immediate concern, though Odeon would ultimately be the source of far more difficulty for him. Before then, though, the scar-faced man could be made to suffer--which would be a very enjoyable procedure indeed, after the problems that particular individual had caused him since their last encounter. And there was always the chance Odeon would make a bad decision--though considering the effect that would have on Shannon himself, he couldn't seriously wish for it.

To main storyline: 5. Azrael

4b. Mike Odeon's First Ma.s.s

Odeon smiled as he entered the Detention Center chapel's small sacristy to prepare for his First Ma.s.s. He'd gone to Ma.s.s every day it was physically possible since childhood, made Spiritual Communion otherwise, and he'd thought himself long since resigned to not being the celebrant. That resignation, he realized now, had been only superficial; the antic.i.p.ation he felt as he took out the stole Bradford had given him made it clear he'd never really given up hope of actually going to the altar.

He studied the stole, glanced from it to the vestments hanging up, and smiled again. He'd like to wear those, but it didn't seem too likely he would; except in very unusual circ.u.mstances, Bradford had told him, a Strike Force priest would remain in uniform, his only vestment the stole. Odeon kissed the piece of cloth, then murmured the proper vesting prayer as he put it around his neck.

The congregation and a server were waiting when he entered the main part of the chapel, so he contented himself with a brief introduction to the latter before turning to the altar. Since he hadn't had any formal liturgical training, he was a bit apprehensive about how well he'd be able to perform the ceremony, but his apprehension vanished as soon as he blessed himself for the opening prayers. He was filled with a sense of rightness and certainty, feeling himself absorbed in an awesome Presence that would give him flawless guidance. He gave a silent prayer of thanks, then lost himself in the glorious joy he'd always imagined saying Ma.s.s would be. Joy became exaltation at the Consecration, lasting until he finished giving Communion, then returning to the lesser joy until he finished the final prayers.