Chapter 21

"I'll make a point of it," Cortin assured him. "Oh, thanks, Chuck." She took the silver eagle from her aide and pinned it on Illyanov's collar. "There, that's better. Not quite complete yet, but that'll have to wait till you can have territorial insigne made. Go to it, Colonel."

"As Your Grace commands." Illyanov rose, smiling. "If I may be excused, I shall find Michael and discuss the details with him."

* * * * *

Odeon had gone to his room, made himself a cup of herb tea, and settled into his seldom-used armchair to do some thinking. First Shayan's torture, now Ivan studying the Empire and speculating that the Protector might be one of them--maybe not even human!

He stared at the circled-triangle marks on the backs of his hands, deeply disturbed. Maybe he shouldn't be--the idea of the Protector coming from the Empire didn't seem to bother anyone else, though Joanie seemed troubled by the prospect of contact itself. He couldn't pinpoint why it bothered him, since the Protector was by definition divine rather than human, loaning Joanie some of His or Her powers; why should he be disturbed if the physical body was non-human as well?

After several minutes' thought, he still couldn't come up with a reason; all he knew was that he didn't like it. He finished his tea and was going over to the prie-dieu when there was a knock on his door.

He swore briefly under his breath--the last thing he wanted right now was a visitor!--but went to answer it, grinning despite himself when he saw Ivan's new collar insignia. "Come in, Colonel sir. Congratulations."

Illyanov bowed, smiling. "Thank you, Michael. May I ask your professional assistance?"

"Of course. What can I do for you?"

"Assist me in setting up the Enforcement Service Her Grace has just established, with me as its head."

"Gladly. Want some tea?" Odeon put his problems out of his mind, more than ready to exchange them for some practical work.

* * * * *

Friday, 20 March 2572

Cortin lay awake, seriously worried about Odeon. Physically there was no longer anything wrong with him, but his emotional state was frightening. He'd withdrawn further into himself over the past three days, despite Ivan's efforts to draw him out, not speaking except when it was necessary to carry out his duties, not smiling at all even during the Protector's services--though he still seemed to take some pleasure in those--and not touching anyone when it could possibly be avoided.

There had to be something she and the rest could do to help, she kept telling herself, but nothing they'd tried so far had had any effect. She, Sis, and Betty had all tried to get him to make love, but he'd rejected all of them with what seemed like near-panic, and she and Sis were agreed on the reason: he was convinced Shayan had somehow contaminated him, and was terrified of passing that contamination on to them. That, as Sis had told him, was foolishness--but they couldn't convince Mike.

Maybe that would change when Blackfeather arrived and he broke the compulsions Shayan had put her under. If she was really suitable for the Protector's staff, uncontaminated despite being the Hell-King's mistress, then Mike surely couldn't keep believing a single contact had fouled him too badly to touch.

On the other hand, Cortin admitted to herself, that sort of belief didn't have to have logic behind it, and she wasn't the one who'd felt Shayan's mind invading hers. How would she have felt if she'd had to accept the invasion the way Mike had, without resistance, to save someone else? She and Sis had been able to fight, at least, except for Sis' compelled welcoming of Shayan's last embrace--and yes, that had been the worst of the nun's memories, even knowing the welcome had been compelled. So had Mike's, in a way . . . but his had been self-compelled, by the knowledge that if he didn't allow the invasion, he'd be condemning Blackfeather to Hell.

Cortin scowled at that. She'd changed her opinion of Hell, recently. A place of eternal torment no longer seemed to square at all with the idea of a just and merciful God. Purgatory still didn't bother her; of course you'd have to pay for your sins before being admitted to Heaven, but even the longest and most painful stay there would end in triumph. Hell didn't end, and if what Mike was suffering was a fair sample, its torments went beyond any punishment a human could justly deserve. Even, she thought, the ones she'd sent there believing they did deserve it. If she had it to do over again, she would, of course; the sentences she'd carried out were legally mandated, and she'd carried them out, as required, when she'd satisfied herself she'd gotten all a subject's useful information. Terrorists were a cancer on society and had to be eliminated for its health--but maybe she could use her skill to persuade them to repent. She could manage a mortal approximation of Hell, and that, even if it meant some extra time under her hands, was surely better than an eternity of the real thing! She couldn't do away with Hell, but she could certainly see that Shayan got as few of her subjects as possible!

That, however, didn't solve the problem of how to help Mike. The best possibility, she was convinced, was the emotional unity sex now included, but his fear of touching made that possibility a remote one. Still, if she--or Sis, or Betty--could become one with him, show him that he wasn't fouled . . . but the only way she could think of to accomplish that was feeding him eroticine, which he wouldn't take voluntarily, and it wouldn't be right to trick him even to help him, would it?

Finally deciding that she wasn't going to be able to solve the problem by herself, she got out of bed and dressed. She'd accepted an invitation to say morning Mass at the Cathedral--probably extended out of curiosity about her stigmata, she thought, but still a chance to talk about the Protector's coming and offer the Communion of Promise to civilians. Lucius/Shayan hadn't forbidden it yet, to her considerable surprise; if he didn't after today's, she'd have to do some serious wondering why.

She'd decided to make it a Mass for Travelers, with Edward and Ursula, Bradford and Illyanov starting for High Teton's capital, Archangel, at noon, and she was pleased to see all of them at the Cathedral when she and her team arrived. There was no time to talk; traffic had been heavier than expected, and they were running late, so she and her concelebrants, Odeon and Bain, had to go straight to the sacristy to get ready.

Bradford had agreed with her about ruining a uniform or set of vestments every time she said Mass, and since the purpose of her stigmata was to show Jeshua's approval of her, she couldn't wear bandages, so he'd given her permission to wear just the alb, cincture, stole, and sandals. It looked odd to someone used to seeing mostly a chasuble, but no odder than her fellow priests in uniform and armed; it was being weaponless that bothered her most, though she didn't want to ruin a perfectly good gunbelt and holster, either.

The Cathedral was packed, highly unusual for a weekday and flattering, though it also made her nervous--until she got to the altar and began the ceremony. As always, she lost herself in it, unaware of her surroundings except while she was giving Communion. It was then she realized there were far more troopers here than their percentage of the population would have suggested, which pleased her.

It pleased her even more after Mass, when she explained the Protector's impending arrival and offered the Communion of Promise, that practically all of them came forward to accept it. Some civilians did so as well, though most held back, their expressions either uncertain or disapproving.

When that was over too and she'd gotten dressed, ready to leave, she discovered that the troopers had other plans. Their spokesman, Captain Watkins--she remembered him, the first person she'd administered Confession to--invited her and her team to a breakfast banquet at the Royal Hotel. She accepted gladly; much as she enjoyed being at Harmony Lodge, the idea of going out for breakfast was appealing. It wouldn't do Mike any harm, either, and she liked the idea of having Chuck seen as one of her team by people who might otherwise have trouble believing it.

And Chuck did seem to enjoy being at the head table. "Having fun?" she asked with a smile.

Powell returned the smile. "Sure am! Last time I saw some of these, I was a prisoner remanded to the High King's Inquisitor, thinking sure I'd be dead in a day or so--now I'm your private secretary, Sealed to the Protector, and happy as a puppy with a new kid. What more could anyone ask?"

"Put that way, nothing," Cortin replied, amused. "You also look better in uniform than you did in civvies, if that matters."

"I think so, too." Powell hesitated, then glanced briefly at Odeon and mouthed, "What about Mike?"

Cortin shrugged, wishing again that she and the rest of the team shared the telepathy Shayan had given Sis, Dave, and Mike. Even limited to themselves, unlike the telepathic Talent Ivan described, it would have been useful.

There was no point in fruitless wishing, though, so she turned her attention to the meal and her hosts. "This was very thoughtful of you and the rest, Captain Watkins--we all appreciate it. I, for one, have gotten more out of touch than I intended, that morning at the Eagle's Nest."

"You have had a lot to occupy you, Excellency." Watkins ventured a smile. "It's an honor to have you with us--but I must confess it's a little unnerving sitting next to the Protector's Herald."

"It's more than a little unnerving to be the Herald," Cortin said. "It might not be as bad if I had a decent idea what I was supposed to do, but I'm operating by guesswork. On the other hand, it'll give me a better chance of establishing the Families." She wished she could tell everyone here about her Family, and fief, and coming grandchild, but that would have to wait . . . "Do you have an understanding chaplain yet?"

"Not exactly, but Lieutenant Bain hears Confessions at the Center often enough that we're in a lot better shape than we were." This time, his smile wasn't tentative. "Having the Communion of Promise, and the Herald being an Inquisitor, helps even more. Civs still don't like us, but I've seen less hostility since you got the stigmata."

"That'll help," Cortin said. "I have a feeling we're supposed to be the leaders of the Protector's . . . guardians, I suppose, for lack of a better word. Not to guard Him, of course, He won't need it, but to guard His people from the ones who don't accept Him and aren't willing to let those who do live in peace. As I told Colonel Illyanov once, as long as humans have free will, Enforcement's still going to be necessary."

"Colonel Illyanov, yes." Watkins looked at her quizzically. "Four of the ones Sealed so far are Inquisitors, and two of them have gotten sudden promotions to the top rank; one other was already there. The rest of the Sealed are high ranking themselves or closely associated with rankers--not at all like Jeshua and His disciples."

Cortin shrugged. "That's how I'm told it's supposed to be, this time around. This is the Final Coming, and if the Protector defeats Shayan, He'll be reigning over at least the Kingdom Systems; His mortal staff will have to have some top-level experience to give Him proper support. I think you can expect to see more promotions and other changes in the fairly near future."

"God willing, He'll come into the open soon--promotions or not, I want to be Sealed myself."

"And he's not the only one," an intense-looking young Lieutenant said. "Don't get us wrong, Excellency, we sure wouldn't turn down any promotions, but over half the staff of the Center--maybe three-quarters of the Inquisitors--mostly want Sealed. Myself included."

Cortin's truthsense said they were understating the intensity of their desire for the Protector's chief benefit. Their yearning to be Sealed seemed to be every bit as strong as her desire to avoid the confrontation with Shayan she was sure would cost her her life--and if, she thought grimly, the Hell-King could manage it, with pain even greater than Mike's. She forced that thought back; the confrontation would happen, and a Strike Force member's job description practically guaranteed death in the line of duty--the questions were when and how, not if.

It didn't surprise her particularly that it was the Inquisitors who most wanted to take advantage of the Sealing. Their work, done properly, was a constant strain, with the accompanying urge to take out their frustrations on a subject--or not do what was needed to get vital information. The line between the Warrant-protected violence of their duties and the sin of giving in to personal weakness was a thin one, easy to rationalize crossing . . . "I'm praying for you and everyone else who wants His protection," Cortin said. "And I'm beginning to believe being Sealed is going to be necessary for Inquisitors in His Kingdom. We may never be loved, but having truthsense and being in a constant state of grace, we should at least be trusted, and only criminals will have any reason to be afraid of us."

Watkins smiled. "Theoretically that's true now--but in fact, I'd like to be able to walk down the street in uniform and not have half the sidewalk to myself."

Cortin chuckled. "That's a problem I haven't had lately, but I remember the feeling. I hope you get it soon."

Watkins frowned. "That doesn't sound like you expect to, Excellency."

Cortin looked at the red crossed daggers on her sleeve. "I'm Special Ops, Captain, and I've been told I'll be going face to face with Shayan. That has to mean it's my death that'll signal the Protector's arrival. So no, I don't expect to see His earthly Kingdom."

Watkins nodded. "I understand, Excellency. But I'll pray for it anyway."

"I'd appreciate that. Something else I was told was that piety was crucial--spread the word, would you?"

"Of course." Watkins hesitated. "What about--what you just said, that you'll have to face Shayan yourself?"

Cortin shrugged. "If it had to be kept secret, I wouldn't have been able to say anything about it. Say what you want." She took a deep breath. "I'd rather not think about it any more right now, though, so would you mind if we change the subject? This breakfast looks and smells too good to spoil with that sort of discussion."

"As you say, Excellency." Watkins thought for a moment, then cocked his head. "I've heard Your Excellency is fond of animals?"

"Yes--why?"

"Because I have some six-week-old kittens I'm trying to find homes for. They aren't purebred, though."

"Neither am I," Cortin said. "Yes, I'd like one--two, if that isn't being greedy."

"Two is fine. Whenever you have time to come by and pick them out."

"How about as soon as we're done here?"

"My pleasure, Excellency."

* * * * *

For the first time since learning to drive, Cortin was glad that her rank meant she sat in back while someone else drove. She'd ended up with three of the kittens, and they were currently playing tag around her lap and shoulders, with occasional forays to Odeon. He didn't seem to object to their touch, and once he even seemed to smile for a second when the orange tiger-striped one purred in his ear. He hadn't worked up to stroking them yet, but she hoped that would only be a matter of time; animals were supposed to be good therapy, as well as being fun.

Even the kittens, it seemed, couldn't distract her completely from Mike's problem. He needed help too badly for her to ignore it long, especially when he was right there beside her! He'd helped her when she was hurting; why in God's Name wouldn't he let her help him? She hadn't planned on saying anything, but--"Mike, you must know I'm willing--eager!--to do anything in my power for you."

"I do know," he said. "Blast it, Joanie, you can't think I enjoy feeling this way--afraid of intimacy with any of you!"

"I don't think that at all," she said quietly. "I just wish I could convince you--you must know you can't contaminate us. You're Sealed, Shayan can't corrupt you! Sis and I both know it feels that way, but being victimized doesn't make you any less of a person."

He was silent so long she didn't think he was going to answer, but eventually he said, "Intellectually, I understand that. It's my feelings that're the problem."

"Yes, they are." Cortin paused. "Have you considered taking the advice you gave me once? Offer the hurt to God. You're Sealed to the Protector, His priest as well as Jeshua's; if you ask, I'm sure one or both Aspects will help you gladly."

"I've done that, of course. So far it hasn't worked." He glanced at her, then looked down at the kitten. "Joanie, it's not just what Shayan did to me. That's most of it, but . . ."

Cortin frowned. "What Ivan was saying about the Protector?"

"Yeah."

"I'm scared of the Empire myself--but if it does produce the Protector, I'd have to change my opinion." She sighed. "I'm not sure whether I like the idea or not, but if that's the way it works out, I'll have to accept the fact. So will you."

Odeon nodded grimly. She was acting Protector, so he couldn't argue that; if the true Protector came from the Empire, he would have to accept Him or Her, and by extension, His or Her place of origin. "Should I start studying the Empire, then, like Ivan did?"

Cortin cocked her head, thoughtful, then she nodded. "It might not be a bad idea at that. I don't have any cosmic hunches or anything, but if he's right, we should be prepared."

"Okay. It might actually be interesting."

Cortin smiled. "I'll settle for that. Between study and little Orange there, you may be combat-ready in time for the convent defense."

"I hope so. But she's Tangerine, not Orange." Odeon's lips twitched in a near-smile as he kept the kitten from crawling into the sleeve of his tunic. "I'll work it out, Joanie--just give me time."

"All I can, but we know there isn't much, and I will not have someone under my command going into combat in that condition. If you haven't straightened out by noon Tuesday, either you let me try unity or you're on the inactive list until you do recover."

"Permanently, you mean," Odeon said bleakly. "After Wednesday, if you remember, His Majesty has ordered me out of action."

"Of course I remember," Cortin said. "Mike, please believe I don't want to hold you back--but I won't let you go into action with almost no chance of survival unless there's absolutely no choice."

"I understand."

22. Sara

Saturday, 21 March 2572 CE

Blackfeather was still apprehensive when she arrived at Harmony Lodge. She'd been met at the airport by a staff car driven by a young man who introduced himself as Lieutenant Charles Powell, Colonel Cortin's aide, though he looked too young to drive, much less be an Enforcement officer. He'd helped with her luggage, then driven her silently but efficiently to the Palace Complex, gotten her through the formalities of a temporary pass, and brought her to the Lodge's main entrance, near the front of the estate.

Servants approached as Powell opened the door for her and helped her out of the car. "They'll take your luggage to your room, Miss Blackfeather," he said. "Her Excellency and Captain Odeon are waiting in her office; I'm to escort you to them immediately."

"I would prefer to clean up first."

"Sorry, Miss Blackfeather," Powell said, not sounding at all regretful. "Her Excellency was most specific; if you will come this way, please."

Young or not, Blackfeather thought, he had the false-polite presumption of an Enforcement veteran. Still, what else could she expect from an Inquisitor's lackey? "Very well, Lieutenant, take me to Her Excellency."

Moments later, Powell showed her into a large office with Cortin seated behind the desk and a tall, grim-looking scar-faced man who had to be Captain Odeon standing to Cortin's left at a stiff parade-rest.

Cortin rose as the reporter entered. "Thank you for coming here first, Miss Blackfeather. While I'm sure you would have preferred to bathe and have a brief rest before meeting my team, we have a compelling reason to've asked you here. Captain Odeon assures me it will take only seconds, then Lieutenant Powell will show you to your room."

Despite her irritation, Blackfeather was intrigued. "What reason, Your Excellency?"

It was Odeon who answered. "Something your . . . patron . . . wanted me to do. You don't remember that you were there when he . . . made it possible for me, but you'll remember once it's done. It won't hurt at all, and it'll only take a few seconds, as Colonel Cortin said. It'd be easier on me if you make eye contact, but that isn't really necessary."

Although Blackfeather normally had no interest in making anything easy for an Enforcement killer, there was something in Odeon's expression that made her waver; she stared into his pale blue eyes.

The promised seconds later, she collapsed in shock, to be caught by strong arms. Larry was Shayan, and he'd had her under compulsions to do things she never would have dreamed of on her own, and he'd done things to her body that were horrible, and she'd enjoyed them and what he'd done with his changes, and oh dear God the horror he'd done to the man who'd helped her in spite of what had been done to him and-- "Sis!" she heard Cortin snap.

"I am here, Colonel," a soft voice said. "Miss Blackfeather?" A pause. "Miss Blackfeather?"

"Go 'way."

"I am a medic. With your permission, I can give you something for shock. Otherwise, I can treat you only with warmth and quiet."

Drugs were bad . . . but the horror of these sudden disclosures was worse. "Do what you think best," she managed.

An immediate needleprick startled her; the quick blackness that followed came as a distinct relief.

Cortin watched Pritchett carry the reporter out, Chang accompanying them, then she turned to Odeon. He looked tired and a little shaken, but nowhere near as bad as he had after Shayan's "lesson". "Are you all right, Mike?"

"I will be, after a nap." Odeon rubbed his temples. "He said the operation would be nothing compared to the lesson, and he was right--but it was rough enough. I don't have the kind of strength he does."

"You're a human, not a fallen angel," Cortin said drily. "I was thinking about emotionally, though--you don't look quite as wound up as you have been."

"Not quite," Odeon admitted. "I do feel a bit more human, now I've made some constructive use of what he put me through. My studies are helping, too, but . . ." He shook his head. "I'm not back to normal, no."

"Close enough for unity? I'm still convinced that's what you need."

Odeon thought for a moment, then shook his head again. "No, I don't think so. I'd like it, but I'm still afraid of touching you. Give me another day or two of Tangerine and studies, though, and I think I'll be okay."

Cortin looked at him curiously. "Really? A kitten and studying the place our ancestors fled from seem like odd therapy. On the other hand, I'm not about to argue with anything that works."

"Truth to tell, I'm surprised how much the studies, especially, do help." Odeon rubbed the scar across his lips, unsure of himself. "I'm just scratching the surface, of course--can't do much else with nothing but comm intercepts and what's left of the records the Founders kept--but even this early, I'm starting to develop respect for the Imperials. Maybe a little bit of liking, too."

Cortin's expression became quizzical. "That's pretty fast, isn't it? Especially for you?"