Chapter 14

He was right, Cortin thought. They should all know her reactions--and he felt far too good, growing and stiffening inside her, for her to want him to leave. "Mmm," she agreed, yielding. Last night had been a feast, she'd loved it and intended to repeat it whenever she had the time and interested partners--but it would be nice if she could snack, too, not have to gorge all the time.

"That's my little fox," Pritchett said indulgently. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He was at his full size now, solid and delightful, his gentle movements arousing her more slowly than she'd have believed possible after her recent experiences. "And you feel so good . . ."

"Slow and easy this time, hmm? I think so, too." Pritchett smiled, kissing her, caressing her breasts. His little fox--their Joanie--was something special, all right. Even if other women had shared her new endowments, he didn't know of any who'd have been either willing or able to delight a group of men the way she had two nights running. It was too bad she didn't love her Enforcement partners the way they did her--she must think they came to her only for the sex, which was laughable. That you could get anywhere, with the right money. But she was still willing--hell, eager!--to have them.

Their lovemaking was unhurried and thorough, different from any she'd had since her surgery, but Cortin enjoyed it just as much. When they were done, they bathed and dressed--to Cortin's amusement, Pritchett had a complete set of clothing in her room; she'd have to make sure the rest did, too--then they went to the common-room with Pritchett happily carrying the still-full sedative injector.

The only one there was Powell, who smiled when he saw the injector. "It went all right, then--great! The rest of us have all been to Mass and had breakfast, and they're getting settled in. What do you want me to do?"

Cortin didn't know enough about his conditioning to give a good answer, so she said, "You tell me. You need debriefed by an expert, of course, but since you joined us have you had any gear issued, or been paid, or taken care of personal matters?" She saw a puzzled expression, remembered, and added, "Oh, by the way--welcome to Team Azrael."

He looked dazed for a moment, then his expression cleared. "I was working for you the whole time, then--thank you! About the other, though--no, none of it."

"Um." She thought for a moment, then went to a phone and dialed Bradford's number.

"Colonel Bradford's office, Corporal Callahan speaking, sir."

"This is Colonel Cortin. I'd like to speak with Colonel Bradford, please, if he's available."

"Yes, ma'am--one moment, please."

Seconds later, Bradford was on the line. "What can I do for you, Colonel?"

"I'm not sure. Does being the High King's Inquisitor let me borrow you to debrief someone?"

"It lets you borrow anyone you need to do your job. Who do you need debriefed, and how soon?"

"My new team member, Lieutenant Powell. As soon as you can, please."

"Half an hour soon enough?"

"That'd be fine, thanks. I've already gotten some useful information from him, but I'm not good enough at the memory-enhancing techniques to do a really thorough job."

"He's the one who told you about the raid on the Blue Sisters' convent?"

"Yes."

"I'll be over as soon as I can. I'm in charge of the task force protecting them; I'll need all the good information I can get."

"I'll probably be saying Mass when you get here, then. You can talk to him in our quarters if you want, or you're welcome to use my public office on the main floor. Any idea how long it'll take?"

"That's hard to say exactly, but two hours is about average. And since you haven't said Mass yet, I'd appreciate it if you wait till I get there; I like to attend all my priests' services at least once."

"Of course." She couldn't refuse her Bishop, and since no one had commented on her bearing during Mass, her absorption was either normal or not noticeable, so it shouldn't be a problem. "Then this afternoon I can have someone help Powell get the Service formalities straightened out--payroll, uniforms, ID, all that sort of thing." She shook her head, even though he couldn't see the gesture. "Things are going too fast and working out too well, Brad. I'm living in luxury, doing valuable work I enjoy, having an incredible sex life--I ought to be overjoyed, but I'm not. It scares me."

Looked at from her point of view, Bradford could understand that. But since he'd helped with much of the maneuvering that had gotten her into the first two situations--that the third had worked out so well had been by God's mercy, not human skill--he didn't share her apprehension. But he also couldn't reveal any more of that maneuvering than she already knew about, so he tried to reassure her instead. "I don't see anything to worry about, Joan. Think back--everything that's happened to you since the attack has been perfectly reasonable, given your talent as an Inquisitor and Their Majesties' determination to put down the terrorists. If you weren't High King's Inquisitor, someone else would be--someone less talented. As for the speed, well," he let his smile show in his voice, "from what I hear, you were the one in a hurry to qualify as an Inquisitor and get to work--and I know you didn't waste any time getting your team together."

"I can't argue that," Cortin said. She had pushed hard to learn, and learned faster than she'd expected even with that amount of work. "Motivation does work wonders--but it still bothers me."

"We'll talk about it more this afternoon, then, if you're not at a point in an interrogation where you can't take a break for an hour or so."

"I should be able to manage; the one I'm working on seemed to be coming along nicely when I left him last night, and I doubt it'll take me more than a couple of hours to finish him."

Bradford was both astonished and pleased. Except for Powell, he'd chosen these subjects himself, as being particularly resistant. Either he'd been wrong about one, or she had an even more accurate sense for individual weaknesses than he'd realized. "I'd have expected at least two days of concentrated effort for any one of them--what did you do?"

"Thought aloud for his benefit, then left him alone under a twelve-hour dose of eroticine. Not very original, but effective."

"That's what counts." Bradford shook his head, glad she couldn't see the chagrin on his face. "Sometimes simple methods are the most effective." And the hardest to spot special vulnerability to, he reminded himself. "I'll be at the chapel in about fifteen minutes--talk to you more this afternoon."

"Right." Cortin hung up, turned to the two waiting. "He mentioned a chapel--where is it?"

"On the main floor," Pritchett told her. "Dedicated to St. Eleanor, of course."

The patron saint of Enforcement, yes, since there were no Inquisitor saints. "Good--I'd hoped for a chapel, but I hadn't really expected one."

"I'll show you where it is." Pritchett grinned. "I go to Mass every day, when I can--glad I didn't miss it today."

"Can I go too?" Powell asked hesitantly. "I've been once, so I can't take Communion, but . . ."

"Certainly!" Cortin exclaimed. "Whenever you want, as long as it doesn't interfere with your duties. Shall we go, gentlemen?"

Not at all to her surprise, after seeing other parts of the Lodge, Cortin found the chapel to be exquisitely--and expensively!--equipped and decorated. She went into the vestry for some private meditation, then put on her stole and went out to say Mass.

Bradford was struck by the change in her when she went to the altar and began the preliminary prayers. She was still attractive, rather than beautiful, but there was an aura about her now that made her seem as beautiful as the ceremony itself. She was completely wrapped up in it, obviously unaware of those in the chapel with her except for the little time it took her to administer Communion. He couldn't be sure if she even needed her Missal, or if her references to it were simply as part of the ceremony; somehow, he believed it was the latter. He'd only seen this sort of absorption twice before, he thought in awe. He'd have to report it to his superior--and he'd definitely have to talk to her later. After talking to Odeon!

* * * * *

As soon as Mass was over, Bradford took advantage of Cortin's offer to borrow her main-floor office. He should have summoned Powell for questioning, but what he'd just seen wouldn't let him; it was Odeon he called for. And, as he'd half expected, Cortin's second in command was trying to conceal something, his cold pale eyes revealing to the Inquisitor what his impassive expression hid: he was afraid. Not for himself, though; for Cortin?

Bradford gestured Odeon to join him in the informal seating area. When he did, Bradford leaned forward. "Mike, I have no intention of doing anything to hurt Joanie. But it's pretty clear you and Sis are hiding something you've found out about her--something her Commanding Officer and Bishop ought to know about."

Odeon was silent. Bradford had a point, but was it a strong enough one to justify risking Joanie's life? No, he corrected himself, not her life--her mission. Their lives. It was true that Bradford could be helpful, as Bishop of the Strike Forces--but again, helpful enough to justify the risk? Well, he'd been promised support, so there should be a way to find out.

Bradford watched, initial puzzlement quickly turning to awe as Odeon's eyes lost focus and he seemed to glow, despite the bright office lighting. Yes, there was definitely something highly unusual happening in and around Team Azrael!

When Odeon became aware of his surroundings again, he grinned. "You're in, Colonel. What's going on is hard to believe, but you'll get help." He sobered. "And you'll get help keeping it from all except the very few with a need to know--plus one who has a need not to know."

"Something else we have to keep from her for her own good?"

"Hers and the entire Systems'," Odeon said. "It's why she attracts people in spite of being an Inquisitor. Brad, she's the Herald and acting Protector--and she doesn't know it, can't afford to know it until we've gotten people ready to accept her changes. As long as she doesn't know her identity and powers, Shayan can't use his against her--in fact, he's afraid to use them at all, for fear of waking hers."

Bradford had gone pale. Hard as it was to believe, he couldn't disbelieve. "But she'd win!"

"There's no guarantee of that," Odeon said grimly. "I think she would--but the only limit I'm sure of on Shayan's power is his inability to create life. Joan's limited herself to restrain him and give us a chance." He grimaced. "That's how I understand it, anyway; I could be misinterpreting what I was shown. But I'm positive we can't afford to tell her who she really is. We've got to act normal as long as she does--with a few exceptions."

"Normal." Bradford shuddered. "Around the one who's supposed to judge us for eternity? Or, from what you said about being acting Protector, maybe not make the final judgement?"

"I can't be sure myself," Odeon said. "I have the feeling that anything she does in that capacity will be permanent, or there'd be no reason for an acting one, but it is just a feeling." He paused. "And acting normal around her's possible. Not easy, but possible, because Sis and I are doing it--and essential." He quirked an eyebrow, smiled. "Fun, too, at times. One thing she's doing is reclaiming the jurisdiction over sex that Shayan claimed in the Garden. If you've got any doubts on that score, just remember the shelter party."

Bradford did, his mind going back to her enthusiasm and the incredible pleasure she'd given her men and her guests. "That is going to be one of the hardest things to convince most people of," he said eventually. "Is that going to be the Seal of Life God said the Protector would bring?"

"No--though that's not a bad guess." Odeon told him about the early-hours visit by the man in the white Enforcement uniform, including himself and Sis drinking from the still-unconscious Cortin. "From that and everything else I've seen," he concluded, "the New Kingdom--for lack of my ability to imagine a better name--is going to be a lot more enjoyable, as well as a lot more challenging."

"A lot more sensual, at any rate," Bradford said drily. "Do you think that means all Her priests will be women?"

"I doubt it," Odeon said after a moment's thought "Even though Jeshua's were all men until not long before the War, which would only be fair. But we have a life fluid of our own, and knowing our Joanie, she'll want it used both ways." He paused, then grinned. "And it wouldn't surprise me if the normal arrangement was to celebrate this Sealing with a priest of the opposite sex."

"Normal--but not necessary?"

"No, or Sis wouldn't have been able to take it from Joanie." Odeon hesitated, then went on. "I wouldn't have been able to tell you all this unless it was highly probable you'd want to be on her team if you knew. If that's right and you do, either Sis or I can Seal you to her; if not, you'll have to wait till she goes public."

"I do," Bradford said without hesitation. "From you, since I agree that there's no time to waste."

"Good." Odeon rose as Bradford knelt in front of him. "Drink, then, the Seed of Life."

Bradford was hesitant at first, taking only what welled out--and that was enough for the union to form. Odeon felt the hesitancy dissolve, felt Bradford's awed pleasure as God's Presence filled and cleansed him, shared his fear that it would end--and then his joyous realization that it wouldn't, that he'd been accepted and was wholly God's now.

When it was over, Bradford shook his head, looking dazed. "I had no idea . . . and Mike, I don't feel like conducting even a Stage One after that. I need to come down, if you don't mind."

"Me too," Odeon said. "The repetitions, or whatever they end up being called, won't be that prolonged or intense, of course, but I'm beginning to think the Sealing itself always will be. And that we'll have to allow for a wind-down period--most likely sexual, the way I felt and felt you feel. Though Sis and I didn't, until after Joanie was on her feet."

"Of course not," Bradford said. "I'd like sex--but what I need is talk. To help Joanie effectively, I've got to know exactly what she and we are trying to accomplish, and--if possible--why." He found a chair without looking, settled into it. When Odeon had followed suit, he went on. "Since you and Sis were chosen directly by Jeshua, you two are the obvious leaders of our group. If she's around, maybe she should join us."

"If she's awake, you mean," Odeon corrected, grinning. "When I saw her last night, she and Ivan were heading for her room, looking like they intended to make a night of it."

Bradford looked at him quizzically, then echoed the grin. "And a disciple of him, I'd be willing to bet."

"A bet you would win, Colonel." Chang stood just inside the door, her arm around the St. Dmitri Inquisitor's waist. "He, and the rest of Team Azrael--including Lieutenant Powell. Pardon the intrusion, but I felt we would be needed, and no one answered when we knocked." She smiled at Bradford. "It is good to have you in our group, Colonel."

"Thanks--I'm happy I could be. And we are off duty." Bradford gestured the newcomers to seats. "At least off Enforcement duty, and you and Mike outrank the rest of us in this field."

"As we heard you tell him, yes." Chang and Illyanov took seats. "However, it is we four, not two, who are her primary staff. Your responsibility will be liaison with the Church. Mike and I must guide her into her temporary role. Ivan is to show her that her dual role of judge and exalter is complementary rather than contradictory."

"That's going to be hardest, I think," Bradford said. "I know who she is, and I still have trouble with the Lifegiver as an Inquisitor."

Illyanov smiled. "Did your parents never punish you, then?"

"Yes, and I get the connection--punishment, and hopefully correction before it's too late to change. But the scale is so different!"

"And right now she's more interested in the punishment part than the correction one," Odeon said. "That's not surprising--but helping her change that emphasis has to be Sis' and my first priority."

"That will not keep her from carrying out her punishment and execution duties, will it?" Illyanov asked.

"How could it?" Chang countered. "She is Judge as well as Guardian--and even if it were not so, she could not deliberately fail to perform any legal duty she is sworn to. Even with her knowledge of her destiny deliberately hidden, she is Protector if only for a time, as well as being the true one's Herald, and therefore incapable of sin."

"Which doesn't mean she can't make mistakes," Odeon added. "Being human, she can--both has, and will."

Bradford frowned. "Any idea when she'll realize who she is?"

"Nothing firm, but logic says not until she has to--maybe as late as when she confronts Shannon, or the real Protector surfaces."

"Which gives us time to discuss this more later," Bradford said, glancing at the wall clock. "I did promise Joanie I'd question Powell for her, and . . ." He hesitated, then went on. "I . . . now that I know who she is, I feel I have to watch her work."

"Understandable." Odeon nodded, then gave the Bishop-Inquisitor a half-smile. "Does questioning Chuck have to be formal, or can you enjoy yourselves in the process?"

"Hmm?" Bradford frowned in puzzlement, then smiled. "Since he's already agreed to cooperate, I don't see any need for a formal interrogation. Why?"

"Let's go up to the common-room, and I'll show you."

When they got there, Powell was sprawled comfortably in front of the record player, listening to Melnyikov's "Musical Explorations" and caressing himself. Odeon grinned, at last able to fully appreciate the composer, and tempted to follow Powell's example. Melnyikov's previous works had hinted at eroticism; this one embraced and celebrated it. That made it a popular piece with Enforcement and much of the nobility, frowned on by the Church and most landfolk. Rumor had it that Melnyikov had used biological research--or Shayan's aid--to make "Explorations" so effective; after what he'd learned recently, Odeon suspected a different source. He glanced at Bradford, saw a speculative look, and raised a curious eyebrow.

"You were right to suggest an informal session," Bradford said appreciatively. "I'd almost forgotten his training--I'll probably get better results this way than by the more conventional methods."

"No doubt enjoying yourself in the process," Illyanov said.

"No doubt at all," Bradford agreed, removing his tunic and undershirt. "You're welcome to stay and participate, of course, either with him or setting an example."

"He is strongly attracted to Michael," Illyanov pointed out, "so if the two of you concentrate on him--"

"Ivan and I will set the example," Chang finished.

15. Demon Drops

"Good morning, my dear." Cortin greeted her subject cheerily as soon as she entered the third-stage room. Yes, Mike had had it cleaned; except for the misery and fatigue in her subject's attitude, there was no evidence of what he'd been through the night before. "Are you ready for today's session?"

The man licked his lips, then said, "That captain who was here before called you Azrael. What's that mean--who are you? What're you gonna do to me?"

"Your education has been sadly neglected if you do not know the Angel of Death," Cortin said easily. "I will carry out the sentence you earned when you joined the Brotherhood, eventually. Before that, however, we will share some entertainment, and you will tell me everything you know about the Brothers of Freedom."

"Like hell I will!" But the man's voice held no conviction, and Cortin smiled.

"Oh, not without some resistance, of course." She turned to the cabinets, began laying out instruments and drugs where the subject could see them, taking her time to give him plenty of opportunity to study each one. "I have restricted myself to field-level drugs and instruments until now; I really should be experimenting with the more advanced techniques, now that I have easy access to them. Some of these do look interesting." She picked up several of the instruments again, one at a time, looking thoughtfully from instrument to prisoner and back, but there was no unusual reaction from him.

"The simple infliction of pain holds no particular terrors for you, I see," she commented. "Good, then you can demonstrate some of the drugs for me." That got a reaction, as she'd expected from the previous night; he tried, with little success, to hold back a gasp. "Not algetin, I am quite familiar with that, and you have already given me an excellent demonstration of eroticine." She studied labels on various little jars, again taking her time, stretching his anticipation and fear. "We can also eliminate these, I think, as they are primarily for medical purposes; my medic can handle them, if necessary. That still leaves quite a selection, however. Hmm, this looks interesting." She filled a syringe, turned to him. "Hallucinogens are not really too useful as interrogation drugs, because of both their primary function and their unpredictability. But I cannot resist one called 'demon drops' and described as causing both hallucinations and rapid mood changes--so you get to try it."

"Keep that hell-stuff away from me!"

"There is no point in fighting, you know," Cortin said as she approached him. A light coming on caught her attention; she raised a hand in greeting to whoever had entered the observation room, surprised when she saw the clock at how long she'd been working. She dismissed that, though, and made the injection in spite of her subject's ineffectual struggles. As she'd told him, there was absolutely no point in fighting when you were shackled by wrists and ankles, but she had no real objection if one of her subjects wanted to; it merely emphasized their relative positions. "There--now we will see what happens."

"You go straight to Hell, Bitch!"

"Your colleagues tried to send me there once," Cortin reminded him with a smile. "Now I return the favor, more successfully. Should that be my destination, I have excellent reasons to believe you will be there waiting for me." There was nothing more she could do until the drug took effect, which according to the label should be quickly, but even a brief time should be enough to see who the observer was.

Bradford greeted her as she entered the dimly-lit room with its large window of one-way glass. "Lieutenant Powell didn't have very much except what he already told you--that was one reason you got him to practice on, after all--so I thought I'd come down and watch for a bit. What'd you give him?"

"Demon drops." Cortin shrugged. "I know hallucinogens aren't recommended--but I learned a long time ago to play my hunches, and I think this'll break him."

"I was curious, not objecting," Bradford said mildly. "I've never had any luck with it, but others have; I don't argue with what works."

"I hope this does," Cortin said, watching her subject closely. "If it's what the prewars called a bad trip, and he remembers, it should."

"It doesn't look like it's going to be a good one," Bradford said, chuckling.

"I think you're right," Cortin agreed. Her subject was showing signs of fear, small as yet but promising. "And it looks like I ought to get back to him. If you have any suggestions, I'll be glad to hear them."

"I don't expect to, but if I do, I'll let you know."