Chapter 31

Medart shook his head. "Not necessarily. Most of us are Omnist or agnostic, that's true. Once in a while, though, there's a deeply religious one, and there's nothing prohibiting a priest." He grinned. "If you want to get technical, I'm a priest myself, and so are a couple of the others--but since that's true of all adult Omnists, nobody pays much attention to it. They'll pay attention to you, since you're the first non-Omnist priest, but that attention in itself doesn't violate the doctrine. As long as you don't try to impose your beliefs on others, or imply that the Empire in any way favors one religion over another, your beliefs and devotions are between you and your God or gods."

"I can handle that, I think, if it won't prohibit me from exercising my priestly functions for Catholics who need them."

"It won't, though it'd be best if you do any of that in private. It may never happen, either; I'll warn you right now that Catholics are a tiny minority, the Traditional branch only one of half a decade or so."

"That's the impression I got from the studying I did on Columbus. I'm not thrilled about it, but it isn't unexpected." He paused. "Mind if I change the subject?"

"Go ahead."

"I had limited telepathy before, as a side effect of Shayan's mental contact. I'd like to try the Talent version, but mind-touching you might not tell me anything, since he spoke to you last night."

Medart chuckled. *The feel is totally different--see?*

*Yeah. I like this version a whole lot better.*

*So do I. Ready for me to introduce you to His Majesty, so he can name you one of us officially?*

*How-- Oh. Mentally, of course.* Odeon hesitated, shook his head. *Jim, what's happened to me? I couldn't have figured that out before--or at least not that fast.*

*I'd venture to guess it's the doubled intelligence,* Medart sent drily. *You're the first person to be given Ranger-level abilities, rather than growing up with them, so I can't be positive, but that's my best guess. Don't worry, you'll have time to get used to it; the trip to Terra will take us about three weeks, and even if you weren't very adaptable before, you are now.*

*Getting used to the way my mind works now may be the hardest part of this whole thing. But I've known everyone except Shayan that I've mind-touched before, and he initiated that one; how do I contact His Majesty?*

*You know me, and I know him, so you ride along, so to speak, when I contact him. Just let me know when you're ready.*

*Any time you are.*

*Okay, let's go.*

Odeon felt Medart's mind reaching out, and strengthened his contact so the illusory "movement" wouldn't lose him. Almost immediately he felt another mind-touch, similar in general feel to Medart's but different in detail, and Medart made the introductions: *His Majesty Emperor Charles Davis, Ranger-candidate Captain Michael Odeon.* Then he briefed Davis, in a series of rapid thoughts.

The Emperor sent a chuckle. *That's quite a background, Captain Odeon. A unique way of qualifying as a Ranger, but I have no doubt you are qualified, particularly with a Sandeman warrior making the necessary changes. Jim didn't describe what being a Ranger involves, other than being dangerous at times, so did that process inform you?*

*Yes, sire, it did. But it didn't intimidate me into changing my mind.*

*Glad to hear it. Welcome to Imperial service, then, Ranger Odeon.*

*Thank you, sir.* Odeon paused briefly, then continued. *I'm qualified, yes, but I was given only the most basic information about the Empire--not much more than I'd studied on my own. If I'm not needed for immediate assignment, I think I should spend some time learning about it.*

*We'll make that your first assignment, then. You can start on your way to Terra, then do as much more here as you can till a more urgent assignment comes up--which shouldn't take too long, there's never a shortage of work for Rangers. Normally I'd have you work with Jim for two or three years as OJT, but none of the others came from out-Empire, so your suggestion is the most sensible--and the reason for putting a Ranger on the job immediately is that most of the jobs you'll get are unique; there isn't usually any real preparation possible.*

*Both my studies and Jim made that perfectly clear, sir--but the Protector removed my allergy to teaching tapes, so I'll be able to cram in a lot more information than I would've been able to earlier.*

*Understood, but there's still a tremendous amount of information for you to absorb.* Davis sent another smile. *You know how much getting a new Ranger means, and I'd like to spend more time with you, but I'm getting ready for a Grand Audience I can't put off just to chat. So I'll talk to you later.*

*Yes, sir.*

With that, contact broke, and Odeon's consciousness returned to the common-room. "What now?" he asked Medart.

But it was Keith who answered, entering the room. "You change uniforms, Your Highness. Don't worry about the change in your sidearm; you know how to use a needler, and you're as accurate with it as I am--a lot more so than you were with your slugthrower."

With that, Odeon was wearing comfortable forest green, rather than the snug gray he was used to. "Thank you, Lord Protector. I don't care to wear a uniform I'm no longer entitled to."

Cortin followed Keith into the common-room, looking to Odeon like she'd been crying. "Mike--the Protector told me I should ask your advice, if you were willing to give it."

Medart swore to himself. This didn't sound like a promising start for his new colleague . . . *Mike, don't say yes unless you're willing to face the consequences. This is part of the Empire now, you don't have the option I gave you yesterday of answering as a private individual.*

Odeon's answering thought was grim. *I know, but I can't refuse her. I can give her the same warning, though.* "Make sure you want the advice, Joanie. As Jim told me last night when I asked him for some, most people don't ask Rangers questions because they won't like our answers."

"Keith told me the same thing. I'm still asking."

"In that case, I'll answer. What's the question?"

"What's the best way to handle your . . . change? You're still senior spouse of Family Cortin and my heir, among other things."

Odeon thought about that briefly, then the answer was obvious--and as unpleasant as Medart had suggested it might be. "We both know that, even though I haven't changed much physically, I'm not the same person I was at breakfast. The fastest and most economical way to handle my change would be to have Captain Michael Patrick Cortin-Odeon declared legally dead, a declaration Ranger Odeon will not contest."

Cortin winced, then nodded. "It makes sense, Mike--too damned much sense. Okay, that's how I'll handle it . . . but in that case, it'd be best if you weren't around."

"I won't be, for long; the Emperor wants me to go to Terra, and I need to start learning a whole lot more about the Empire as soon as I can, so I'll be going up to Jim's ship, probably within an hour or so. It would probably be better if I don't come back to the Systems unless I have to on assignment."

"Yeah." Cortin started forward as if to embrace him, then dropped her arms and stepped back. "That wouldn't work, would it? Keith told me about your detachment . . ."

"No, it wouldn't. I won't forget any of you--but I don't feel anything beyond liking for you any longer, either. The kindest thing to do is break off now." Odeon studied her for a moment, then decided it would be best to make the break with no delay at all. He made the sign of the cross in the air between them. "God bless you and Family Cortin, Colonel."

She returned the gesture. "And you, Ranger Odeon. You will have our prayers."

Odeon bowed, then turned to his colleague. "I'm going up to the ship, Jim. See you later."

This continues in the novel Resurrection

[Preparer's note: This is the end of the main story. The material following this note is the supplementary material linked to from elsewhere in this file.]

1a. Raid Master

St. Thomas, Wednesday, 19 June 2571

"The goddamned Bitch is still alive, Raidmaster."

Lawrence Shannon looked up from the shabby table he was using as a desk, smiling as one of his doubles threw a newspaper down in front of him. "Yes, excellent. Thank you, James."

"Excellent!" the double snarled. "I said she's alive!"

"You weren't mumbling," Shannon assured him. "If I'd wanted to kill her then, I would have. I chose to let her live for now, maimed and crippled; that will make it all the more satisfying when I do decide to kill her." He smiled in a way that made his double flinch. "Isn't it better to have her alive and in pain than dead and free of it? Doing something of the sort to her was my purpose in leading that raid, after all."

"But I thought--"

"Yes, I know." Shannon raised his hand, silencing the other. "For you Brothers, the hospital was the target; for me, Cortin was. We both accomplished our objectives, without casualties and with bonuses. I also warned you from the beginning not to question my motives. I use my powers on your behalf because our desires generally coincide and your help is convenient, not because you are necessary to me."

"You've made that clear often enough," the double admitted. "If I had your powers, though, I'd wipe out the Church, the aristocracy, and Enforcement so we could rebuild from scratch."

"Which is precisely what you would be doing." Shannon chuckled at the man's turn of phrase. "But there's a much more artistically satisfying way of accomplishing the same end--one which will also increase their suffering many-fold. Would you deny me that little pleasure?"

"Not me, Raidmaster!" the double exclaimed hurriedly, his face paling. Shannon was normally a charming man, polite and undeniably attractive, his blue eyes and wide smile almost irresistible--but the double had seen what happened to a Brother who cut short Shannon's enjoyment of a priest's slow death, and the memory still sickened him.

"Good." Shannon read his subordinate's discomfort, and projected encouragement. "You really must learn to control your sympathy for the oppressors, James. Our work is difficult enough without that."

The Raidmaster smiled again, and this time his double relaxed. "Damn straight! It just seems so slow!"

"Anything worthwhile does take time," Shannon said, "and you have to expect setbacks. The raid was a success, the whoring Bitch can't any more, and she bears the marks of those who brought her justice on her hands. Not a bad accomplishment, all in all, don't you think?"

"Not bad at all, Raidmaster. What's next?"

"I haven't decided," Shannon said thoughtfully. "Any raid will be far more hazardous now that Special Operations is going to be responding to all of them, and for at least a couple of months we can count on them being after revenge for the Bitch as well as doing their jobs. So we'll have to pick our targets carefully." He tapped one of the papers he'd been working on. "Until we get them out of our hair, we can't do anything constructive. And we haven't enough people or resources yet to strike their strong points, so while they're on an increased state of alert, it might be interesting to attack their recreational facilities."

The double smiled. "I like your thinking, Raidmaster. Such as the whorehouses they frequent?"

"Exactly," Shannon agreed. "Pass the word along to your colleagues, please. And I'd say you've had enough theoretical training; unless you need specific help, I'll expect you to plan and carry out your operations with as little inter-group communication as possible. Keep me informed, of course--but as far as others are concerned . . . well, what they don't know, an Inquisitor can't force them to tell."

The double grimaced. "True--but can't you protect us against them?"

Shannon smiled briefly. "It's more economical to use them. Anyone incompetent enough to get captured deserves their attentions, and it saves me the bother of reprimands. Maintain reasonable security, and you should have no serious problems."

"Yes, Raidmaster." The double would have expected Shannon to prefer handling his own punishments, but he did have a good point about making use of the Inquisitors. "If that's all, I'll go pass along your orders."

"Thanks, James." Shannon sketched the Brothers' sign in the air. "Revenge for the oppressed."

"And death to the oppressors." His double returned the gesture and left.

Shannon looked after him for a moment, then stood and went to look out the window. He was putting a good face on it, he thought, but in truth he'd like nothing better than to have Cortin dead and in Hell, or at least lying bloody at his feet.

But that wasn't to be. Not yet, at any rate, and perhaps never. She was as vital a part of this damnable charade as he himself, so he could neither kill her nor cause her death, at least until after her role was played out. He couldn't even use many of his powers against or around her until she realized and began using those that would be hers for a time. He could do anything short of those, however--and he smiled at the delicious memory of torturing her.

Although he'd known it would cause her relatively little distress--far less than a normal woman, and certainly far less than being branded with the marks he'd suggested to the Brotherhood--he had particularly enjoyed raping her. It would have been even better if she'd been a virgin, but given what she was being primed to accomplish--whether she realized it yet or not--and the fact that she was an Enforcement trooper, he'd known better than to even hope for that. Still, it was the rape she'd get support and treatment for, when the marks were the real violation; he could take comfort in that.

He cursed the fate that was making him fight to preserve the prewar morality. It served his purposes, true, but having to live by it himself--having to set a God-loving example!--was going much too far. Celibacy was definitely not his style. At least his favorite sado-sexual activity was expected behavior from terrorists, even those calling themselves freedom fighters--but it was so hellishly long between opportunities, and when they did arrive, he usually had to restrain himself!

The Brotherhood of Freedom had, after all, started out as the champions of freedom, family and justice they still claimed to be. To lead it, he had had to seem the most conservative of them all--and much as it went against his personal inclinations, he reminded himself yet again that it did serve his purposes. The Adversary's as well, unfortunately, but the Adversary was willing to tolerate his existence; those who were going to invade this universe could and would destroy him as easily as any human. So he had no choice but to cooperate. He'd be living with these attitudes for some time yet, so he really should learn to tolerate them, at least in others.

That thought made him smile. In others, yes, as long as it was he who controlled their behavior--and really, he should only have to live by those old standards himself for a brief time. There was ample precedent for a charismatic leader like himself to be free of the constraints that bound his followers--and to be so with their full knowledge and consent, because of his "special needs and burdens". It wouldn't hurt, either, that they were already accustomed to the idea of special dispensations, such as the one Cortin had enjoyed until he took the ability away from her.

Cortin! Shannon fumed at that name. Maimed and crippled as he'd left her, he had no illusions that she was harmless. Not that she could be and still fulfill her role, he conceded grudgingly, and the other two currently alive would be worse yet, never mind the one who would be returning from his tomb. But they were all necessary to his continued existence, even though they would seriously reduce his influence. The living one yet to arrive in the Systems would provide no entertainment, but much of Cortin's and the other's development involved considerable stress and pain, for them and those around them--which he could and would enjoy.

Return to main storyline: 2. Hospital

2a. Musing

St. Thomas, June 2571

Within five days of Cortin's arrival at the New Denver hospital, Shannon had managed to get three Brothers working there, with orders to keep him informed of anything and everything she did. His agents' first report, the following day, told him that Cortin was under constant guard by a minimum of two troopers, and usually had Captain Michael Odeon with her during the day.

As the report continued he frowned, wondering if he shouldn't laugh instead. Odeon had brought her texts for the Academy's Inquisitor-specialist students, and that evening the course's ace instructor had spent several hours with her. Cortin, studying to become an Inquisitor? Not only didn't it seem her style, he wouldn't have thought her capable of the toughness or the deliberate violence it required.

He could be wrong, he acknowledged--he'd been wrong before, about her and other humans too--but it seemed impossible he could be that far wrong. In his harshest moment, he couldn't truthfully call her exactly soft . . . but on the other hand, he'd never respected her for her resolve. He'd be astonished if she turned out to have the necessary toughness now--but if she did, he certainly wouldn't hesitate to make use of it. Because if she were able to pass muster as an Inquisitor at all, the Bitch would be the Systems' best--a suitable punishment for any of his men who managed a particularly bad foulup.

As reports continued to come in, it became clear that she was not only excelling in her studies--Illyanov's evaluations said she was doing quite well, which for him was extravagant praise--she was apparently enjoying them, which Shannon found almost impossible to believe. This was only the theoretical work, though, he reminded himself. While he conceded that she could endure considerable pain, the question was whether she could deliberately administer it.

And that answer would have to wait. In the meantime, he had a campaign to plan.

* * * * *

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 Compassionate 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, relishing 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 shivered under him, her screams gradually subsiding to sobs, until she was close to passing 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 grassy 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?"