Chapter 15

Cortin returned to her subject, pleased to see his fear become more open when she entered the room. She wondered what he was seeing; he hadn't been visibly afraid of her only minutes ago, so it had to be something more than a woman in gray coveralls. As she approached him, he started to sweat, trembling, his eyes bulging as he fought to escape whatever he saw. "No--go away, please--leave me alone--don't touch me!"

She must be something impressive, Cortin thought. A demon such as the one the drug was named for, perhaps, to get such a strong reaction. "Why not?" she asked. "What do you think I am?"

"Lord Azrael," the man sobbed. "Go away--send the Inquisitor back! I'll tell her everything--just leave me alone!"

So he'd taken her code name and clothed her in that persona, Cortin thought. Fitting, that he should think he was dying at the hands of the real Angel of Death. "Tell me, mortal. Thy life is forfeit, but if thou shouldst speak quickly and truthfully, I will make thy passing easy. She will not be so merciful."

"You're burning me . . . not so close . . ."

True enough, his skin was reddening as if from sunburn. Cortin had read that something believed strongly enough could affect the body, but this was the first time she'd seen it. She wanted to go closer, test the phenomenon further, but getting information was more important than indulging her curiosity; she stepped back instead. "Speak to me, mortal. Quickly, before the Inquisitor returns and I must leave thee to the slow, terrible death she intends for thee." Cortin had used the "good cop/bad cop" tactic before, many times--it was, for all its age, astonishingly reliable--though this was the first time she'd played both parts for one prisoner.

The man sagged in his chains. "Better you than her, I guess . . . what do you want to know?"

His fear was still there; Cortin read the signs easily. But she could also see defeat, almost resignation. He believed the Angel of Death, where he'd had some hope, however small, under the Inquisitor. "Tell me first of the attack planned on the holy Sisters of Succor."

He confirmed what Powell had told her, adding that the time was set for the High Mass celebrating the Order's founding, and the force involved would be about fifty men. Yes, it was to be a massacre like the one at the convalescent hospital the previous year, but he didn't know why such attacks were carried out or what the Brotherhood's purpose was; he had joined because farm life was boring and he wanted adventure. He'd tried for Enforcement, but been refused because they thought him unstable. He was quite bitter about being called unstable by a bunch of oversexed killers in uniform, and liked taking part in raids just to get back at them for the insult.

No, he didn't know how many Lawrence Shannons there were; no one did, except the Raidmaster himself and maybe the Brotherhood's High Council. Ten or fifteen, he thought, but that was only a guess. He wasn't sure whether or not the real Shannon would lead the convent raid, but he didn't think so; he'd heard rumors of a major raid around Christmas in one of the other Systems, and the Raidmaster was supposed to be working on that one. No, he didn't know any more about it; it had been only a rumor. The lesser Raidmaster on the convent job might know, yes, though he didn't think it likely. No, he didn't know who'd been Raidmaster on the hospital job; he thought probably the real one, though. That was all he knew, honestly; now he would be grateful if Lord Azrael would let him see a priest before killing him.

Cortin swore silently. She wanted to send his soul to Hell, where she was sure it belonged--but it looked like his hallucination had thrown the fear of God into him, and he was about to make a deathbed repentance. At least she wouldn't have to officiate this time, she told herself; she couldn't be Azrael and Reverend Mother Cortin at the same time. "Thou hast that right," she conceded, beckoning Bradford to join them. Blast it, from now on she'd simply have to make it a point to have Mike or Dave nearby, in case it happened again!

When Bradford entered, Cortin left the room. She didn't care to even witness a Brother's repentance and forgiveness, though she admitted unhappily to herself that she would carry them out again if she had to; she simply wouldn't like doing it, any more than she had the first time.

She took advantage of the break to use the red phone and pass along the additional information she'd gotten--not to His Majesty directly this time; the one who answered didn't sound at all familiar, and promised to pass it along as soon as His Majesty was free. Then she waited, with growing impatience, for Bradford to finish with her subject.

What, in God's Most Holy Name, was going on in there? Surely it couldn't take this long to confess even a Brother's obviously-lengthy list of sins, then receive absolution and Extreme Unction!

When Bradford finally emerged, he was smiling. "He's all yours, Joan. Nice job you did, getting the information and saving a soul--that doesn't happen often. Of course, not many Inquisitors have the help of a blazing Angel of Death, either."

"Mike told him my code name; the demon drops and his own imagination did the rest." Cortin's mouth quirked. "I would've preferred a more conventional interrogation, but I have to admit he had good reason to be afraid of drugs. And I'll keep 'Azrael's' promise; he'll die as quickly and easily as I can manage, even though by rights he ought to suffer as much as his victims did."

"I think you can safely trust God to take care of that," Bradford said drily. "I can't tell you what he confessed, of course, but I can tell you I'm positive he'll be spending a long time in Purgatory."

Cortin grinned. "I'm sure he deserves every year of it." All that was left was killing him, so she got out of her coveralls, put her tunic back on, settled her gunbelt into place, and re-entered the third-stage room. Bradford had freed the prisoner; he was kneeling facing away from her, toward the room's crucifix, his attitude making it obvious he was praying. Cortin frowned, then nodded to herself, silently drawing her pistol. There were far worse ways to die than quickly, while speaking to God, and while he deserved one of those, she had promised otherwise. She took careful aim and shot him in the back of the head.

That, she thought immediately, had been far kinder to him than it had to her! She'd forgotten just how loud a heavy-caliber handgun could be in a confined area, and her ears were ringing painfully. It also made quite a mess at this close a range; blood and brains splattered most of the wall he'd been facing, including the crucifix. The clean-up crew could handle the wall and body, but she felt like taking care of the crucifix herself; careful to avoid getting the mess on her uniform, she took it into the bathroom to clean it.

As she did, she found herself thinking about the man the crucifix represented. Jeshua had become incarnate and sacrificed Himself to protect humanity from the results of sin, though protection from sin itself would have to wait for the promised Protector. In the meantime, Jeshua's sacrifice was on behalf of anyone willing to take advantage of it--and Ivan had told her often enough it was as much an Inquisitor's job to correct as to punish. Maybe, she thought, she was starting to get that through her thick head, because despite her personal distaste for the idea of a Brother's repenting, there was a sense of accomplishment at this one's. It also helped, of course, that Brad had complimented her on being able to manage both information and repentance!

She grinned at herself as she dried the crucifix and put it on the desk in the suite's office. If Shannon was Shayan, which since her vision looked more likely than not, turning Brothers from him to God would be an even better revenge on him than the traditional version would be on them . . . even though she still intended to take that kind on the ones who'd helped rape and maim her.

* * * * *

There was a message on her ground-floor office desk: His Majesty wanted to see her at her earliest convenience between interrogations. It didn't specify dress uniform, and this close to the Palace she didn't need bodyguards, so less than fifteen minutes later she found herself sitting--sitting!--beside His Majesty's desk, sipping a cup of the best ginger tea she could remember tasting and still shocked by the warmth of His Majesty's welcome. It was awesome enough meeting him, though really it was no odder than paying a routine courtesy call on one's new commanding officer; it just felt that way, having the High King himself as your direct superior. His Majesty was clearly familiar with such a reaction, because he was carrying the burden of the conversation until she had a chance to recover. When she began to settle down, he smiled. "Reports of your ability weren't exaggerated, Colonel. I'm quite pleased with the results you've gotten so far."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll keep doing my best."

"I'm certain you will. Is Harmony Lodge to your liking and adequately equipped?"

"More than adequately, Sire. I'm still overwhelmed by all of it."

"You are to let me know immediately if there's anything you need or want. We can't take major action against the Brotherhood without the information you provide, which makes you the most important single person in this operation."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Cortin took a sip of her tea, savoring the ginger tang. It was hard to believe she was all that important--she certainly didn't feel it--but her truthsense said His Majesty did believe it, so she had to. "If I may make a suggestion?"

"As one of my Household, that's both your privilege and your duty; go ahead."

"Then I'd say the attack on the convent would be a good time to activate the Strike Force. And with Your Majesty's permission, my men and I would like to participate in the convent's defense."

"That's three things," King Mark said. "Activating the strike force at the next terror attack is something I had already intended; it will be done. Your men may participate in the convent's defense if they wish and Colonel Bradford permits." He paused. "I am afraid, though, that I must forbid your participation in action against anyone except those you have a personal interest in. You're far too valuable to risk that way, and if I weren't afraid of losing you, I'd forbid you participating in action against even personal enemies. It would be best for the kingdom if you could resist doing so, but--" he paused, giving her a rueful smile, "while I pray for miracles for my people, I've learned not to expect them."

Cortin wanted to object, but reminded herself that she'd known about the restriction when she'd taken the job. "As Your Majesty commands--but it was worth a try."

The King chuckled. "And I can't fault you for making the effort; you wouldn't have joined the Strike Force if you hadn't wanted to see action. I'm afraid you'll see more than I want you to, at that. Now, if I may change the subject, the Royal Press Office has received a number of requests for interviews with you. Whether you give them or not is your choice."

"In that case, Sire, I'd rather not, at least until I finish settling in." She'd rather not do it even then; she'd given more than enough interviews at the Academy and after graduation. One reason she'd done so much field work was to get away from reporters. But she needed publicity--favorable publicity--to get support for her family changes, so she'd have to at least pretend to overcome that dislike.

"They'll have to content themselves with the official biography for the present, then," the King said. "The Press Office will need a current photo, though; you can go by sometime this week and provide it. You'll be safe from reporters as long as you're in the Palace compound or Harmony Lodge, but I can't guarantee the same outside; that will be up to your team."

"I don't really see any need to leave, except on missions," Cortin said. "Harmony Lodge alone has everything I need."

"As you wish," the King said. "I certainly won't insist on you being exposed to any unnecessary danger. But there will be an official reception tomorrow in your honor; you should come, unless you're in the middle of an interrogation."

Cortin was tempted to arrange it so she was, but as far as she was concerned, His Majesty saying she should come made it an order. "I'll do my best to be there, Sire. Full dress uniform?"

"Or formal civilan wear. Though that would mean being unarmed, so I don't expect it." The King raised an eyebrow. "You do realize you are the only person other than members of my personal guard who is allowed in the Royal Presence with a firearm?"

"What?" Cortin stared at him for an instant, then glanced at the pistol on her hip. "No, Sire--I hadn't even thought about it."

The King smiled, then stood. "We have no doubt of Your Excellency's loyalty, and We wish you a long and healthy life as Our Inquisitor."

The audience was over, obviously; Cortin rose and bowed, then began backing out of the office.

"Those who carry firearms in Our presence," the King said drily, "also have leave to turn their backs on Us."

Cortin bowed again, then turned. As she left, the King allowed himself a brief frown. He was certain of his Inquisitor's loyalty, or she wouldn't have the position--but he couldn't deny that she made him uncomfortable. Male Inquisitors were disturbing enough to be around; a woman who enjoyed the deliberate infliction of pain seemed worse, somehow. And one with Colonel Cortin's incredible talent at it was decidedly unnerving.

On the other hand, both Edward and Ursula were thoroughly taken with her, which was unusual for both of them, so Her Excellency must have qualities he couldn't see, even allowing for her scheme to let them have heirs. He touched the cartridge at his neck, frowning again. Unusual qualities, for these to be so popular with the troops that many insisted on having one before going out in the field and swore by their efficacy. Maybe he ought to have her bless a couple of cases of them, make them standard issue . . .

Back to the subject, he thought, leaning back. The idea of polygamy had seemed obscene when Edward first mentioned it, but the longer he thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed to become. As a matter of morality, her argument that monogamy at this point was tantamount to racial suicide had a certain validity, and suicide was a sin. And her argument that marriage laws could be changed was also valid; the Modern Saints had been branded heretics not because of their polygamy but because they had claimed Shayan to be Jeshua's brother. And the theologians were still arguing about that . . .

Then there was his responsibility, as Sovereign, for his subjects' welfare, which tied in with his personal desire to leave his descendants a prosperous, expanding group of Systems . . . which he wouldn't be able to do without some fairly drastic action. If he didn't, in a few generations there would be no Kingdom Systems--a fact he'd known for some time, but had avoided thinking about because there seemed to be no solution.

Now, though, he'd been handed a chance, if he could arrange to implement it. Keep Cortin the focus of whatever happened as a result, of course; even the best Inquisitor was more expendable than royalty. From Edward's report on the airborne conference, Bishop-Colonel Bradford ought to be willing to help get Church approval for Enforcement to formalize the informal group marriages it was rumored they had in some of the more remote areas.

Remote areas? The High King smiled as an idea took form. He'd have to discuss it with his lesser monarchs, because of their agreement that all Royal Inquisitors hold the same rank--but it promised a place for Cortin to offer anyone who wanted a group marriage but didn't want the notoriety that would inevitbly accompany the first ones. It would also--a not inconsiderable benefit--silence My Lord of New Colorado's complaints about having to administer territories that cost his Dukedom more than the revenues they generated. Those complaints were justified, the King admitted--but he was incredibly tired of hearing them!

That would have to wait, though. The King switched on his intercom, spoke to his secretary. "Peter, get hold of Bishop-Colonel Bradford. I want to see him as soon as he can get here."

* * * * *

Cortin disliked the reception, leaving as soon as she thought it would be socially acceptable, intending to indulge herself with a new subject. Once she got back to the Lodge, though, she decided she was too tired to do a proper job of starting an interrogation, and Brady said most of the men had gone to the New Eden joyhouse. So she might as well make an early night of it; after a hot soaking bath, she went to bed and quickly fell asleep.

Fifteen years disappeared; it was the night after Graduation, and Mike was holding her close after their first lovemaking, smiling down at her. "Marry me, Joanie?"

"Of course, beloved." Cortin returned his smile, giving him a lingering kiss.

They were married soon after, and she found that married life agreed with her; she remained in the Service, but instead of going into the field as she'd planned, she took postgraduate work and became an Inquisitor. That let her spend time with her husband, when he wasn't out on a mission, and with the three children they had. The youngest was almost a year old when Mike came home with a pleased expression that told her he'd contracted the Satyr Plague.

They lay together in the dark warmth, savoring each other, not hurrying their caresses in spite of their desire. He wanted her to lie still, let him pleasure her with his new capacity--

Her bedroom door opened, bringing her awake with her gun in her hand. "Who's there?"

"Mike--I hadn't expected you to be asleep this early. I hope I didn't interrupt a good dream."

Cortin put the gun down. "Only the best I've had in years. Come on in, if you want; is there something wrong?"

"No, just thought you might like some normal company after that Palace to-do." He entered the room, the hallway light showing, to her pleasure, that he was already undressed. "What was the dream?"

"Graduation night, then the first time we got together after you managed to catch the satyr bug." She was not going to tell him about the impossible marriage and children . . . Letting amused irritation show in her voice, she went on, "Or would have, until you interrupted yourself. Interested in starting over?"

"Any time," Odeon said with a chuckle. "Especially since it seems this is one I owe myself!"

16. Marriage

Cortin lay awake, listening to Odeon's soft breathing and thinking. The dream had been almost pure wish fulfillment, a wish she'd both had and known was impossible since the day she'd met him. She'd never had the slightest interest in any of her schoolmates, or any marriage interest in the Enforcement men she'd met after Mike . . . but Special Ops men didn't marry, couldn't have children, so she'd settled for what they could have.

The dispensation helped, no doubt about that, but it wasn't enough! Even if they couldn't have children, they ought to be able to have some sort of stable relationship--and the only way she could see of giving it to them was to have her new family structure accepted. In fact, everything seemed to hinge on that, from maintaining social stability--although in a new form--to the continued existence of humanity in the Systems. Good as it would be for the parents and the Kingdoms as a whole, though, it would be best for the children--and for Special Ops troops, giving the trooper a real home and the family he married into a second father/husband--or in her case and Piety's, mother/wife--and provider. A mostly-male marriage might be a bit much at times for the wife or wives, though, unless it did include troopers . . .

Cortin felt briefly complacent at that; she could satisfy a shelter full of troopers without a bit of strain! Mike was right that God had been more than generous to her; even the attack had been only a prelude allowing her the increased pleasure men now gave her. It was too bad, in a way, that other women were limited to what she'd had before . . . but they couldn't know, any more than she had then, what they were missing. And they had something she no longer did: the hope, at least, of children. She couldn't help envying them that, the joys of home and family she'd never know. Still, she told herself sternly, she'd accepted that fact months ago, and without the consolations God had granted her since.

She thought about those consolations, frowning. There were a lot of troopers who'd been hurt as badly as she, some maimed far worse, without any corresponding compensations. Maybe Mike was right about that too, and God did have some kind of purpose for her--which was a frightening thought. If He had a purpose for anyone on Team Azrael, it should be Mike; he was the most devout, a natural priest, and he'd been raised by religious. Even though she was making a conscientious effort, at Mike's urging, to dedicate her entire life rather than just her pain to God, she didn't believe she could be called truly devout. Or, much as she enjoyed the exaltation of saying Mass, that she was a natural priest. Yes, Mike was far more suited to serving a divine purpose than she was.

And he was waking; this would be as good a time as any to bring up the part of her vision she was most frightened by. And maybe the part she'd liked best . . . When he started to sit up, she spoke. "I need to talk to you, Mike. Got a few minutes, or do you need to get up right away?"

"I've got all the time you want," Odeon said, settling back. "What's the problem?"

Cortin moved toward him. "I . . . didn't tell everything about what I saw when I was under. Part because it was too frightening, part because it was too . . . personal. I'm not even sure I can tell you."

Odeon took her in his arms. "Okay. The frightening part first."

"I . . . believe Sis now. Shannon is Shayan, or under his direct control." Cortin shivered. "I was in a prewar bio-lab--you know, the kind we've all seen pictures of?" When he nodded, she went on. "It was a Brothers of Freedom lab. I know that, somehow, even though there were no symbols and no one heard of the Brothers for another fifty years. Shannon was there, looking exactly like he does today, and he was engineering the worst of the plague strains. Working with his mind, the equipment was there just for show. And he was proud of himself; he'd just persuaded the ruler of one of those tiny asteroid colonies that if they used his plagues they could take over St. Monica without bloodshed. Mike, the Final War was no accident, or innocent mistake, or even a human horror--it was Shayan, turned loose!"

Odeon stroked her back, trying to comfort her. "The Bible does say he'd be set free for a hundred years before the Protector begins working against him." And that fit too; history said work on the plagues had started in 2464, and she'd graduated--begun work against him and his Brotherhood--in 2564. "So the Protector's here, and working--just not openly yet."

"But why not?"

Odeon shrugged. "I'm only human; you can't expect me to know why God does what He does. All we can do is trust Him, try to help in whatever ways we can."

"That's not terribly comforting." Cortin snuggled closer. "I'd feel a lot better if I knew who the Protector is, at least. Are you him?"