Chapter 4

Odeon whistled. "Neither have I, and I'd thought I'd heard just about everything." He'd known for a long time that Joan Cortin was something special, but Illyanov was right--this was unprecedented. "Joanie, any ideas?"

"Not exactly, though I can't help connecting this with the Inquisitor on the team that debriefed me. I'm positive he's more than a simple Lieutenant, and--" she chuckled ruefully, "from what I've learned since, I'm sure he picked up more from me than I told him verbally. Or wanted to tell him, for that matter."

"And what did this more-than-Lieutenant look like?" Illyanov asked, suddenly attentive.

"A bit over 180 centis, slender build, medium-brown hair receding slightly above the temples, green eyes, classical features that looked like he laughs a lot--" She broke off, seeing recognition in the others' faces. "You've both met him, then."

They nodded. "The . . . officer I spoke to at Personnel," Odeon said.

"Colonel David Bradford," Illyanov said with a slow smile, "of His Majesty's Own. Yes, that explains many of the rumors currently circulating."

After a few moments, Odeon asked, "Are you going to share that explanation?"

"Indeed, but not here. Captain Cortin and I must go to the Detention Center so she may choose her first subject. I will share my deduction on the way, if you care to join us."

"Try to keep me away!"

* * * * *

As soon as they were on the way to Detention, Cortin turned to her instructor. "All right--now why would someone like Colonel Bradford be taking such an interest in me?"

"Bear in mind that this is speculation based on rumor," Illyanov cautioned. "However, I have considerable experience putting together small pieces of information to form an accurate whole; I am confident of my evaluations."

"They've got to be better than the nothing I have now," Cortin said. "Go on, please."

"Very well. This first item I rate as virtual certainty." He paused. "The Monarchs' Council in New Rome this past December did remarkably little of significance, to outward seeming. Not true?"

"Very true," Cortin said. "I'd expected a lot more, after the Kunming raid."

"Most people did--and from observations I have made since, the expectations were accurate; the reality has simply not been revealed yet. I am convinced that Their Majesties, either at His Holiness' urging or with his full consent, are in the process of forming an inter-System--or perhaps all-System, the effect is the same--anti-Brotherhood elite."

"It's about time!" Odeon exclaimed.

"I agree. Especially since it appears the members of that force will be people who have little reason to be overly fond of the Brotherhood. All but one of the people I believe to be selectees or potential selectees are Special Operations personnel, and all have suffered some personal harm from the Brothers." He glanced at Joan, smiling. "From his interest in you, Captain, I think it highly likely that you are not in full uniform. You certainly have most of the other qualifications I have deduced: a personal grievance that would motivate you to accept extremely hazardous anti-Brotherhood missions, a clean service record, excellent to outstanding combat skills, regular attendance at church when possible--all except a specialty, which you are getting now. I would say that as soon as you receive your Warrant, you will be approached about joining that unit."

"It fits," Odeon said softly. "So well that's got to be it. But why did you say it might be at His Holiness' urging?"

"You do not remember the Kunming raid Captain Cortin referred to?"

"When it happened," Odeon said drily, "I was snowbound in the Northwest Territory, alone in a shelter halfway between Holy Cross and Laredo Junction. By the time I got out almost a month later, there wasn't much talk about it any longer--I don't remember hearing any details."

"It was quite similar to the raid in which Captain Cortin was attacked. The church was full of schoolchildren and their teachers; there were no survivors."

Odeon crossed himself, feeling sick. Schoolchildren in church, staff and patients in a convalescent hospital-- "What next?"

"Only the Brothers know," Illyanov said grimly. "But I would be extremely surprised if they plan to attack anyone who can defend themselves. Nor do they seem amenable to persuasion, which leaves no alternative: they must be eliminated."

"Now that I could enjoy," Cortin said consideringly. "I could enjoy it a lot."

"I am sure you will have the opportunity," Illyanov said. "Perhaps Captain Odeon will as well, if he is a specialist and has adequate personal grievance."

"I do. I'm a specialist, yes, a Tracker. The grievance I'd rather not talk about, except to say it gives me a good reason to go after Brothers. Any idea when this group will go public? Because I plan to apply for it as soon as I can."

Illyanov shrugged. It wasn't hard for an experienced Inquisitor to read Odeon's expression, and from that deduce his grievance; the question was whether Colonel Bradford would consider it sufficient. "The timing I can only guess at, Captain. I have heard no rumors on that subject."

"Living in the capital, though, you'd have a feel for it; what's your best guess?"

"Until recently, I would have said the next time the Brothers made a particularly abhorrent raid, but that would have been the hospital one. I still believe it will be tied to such a raid, though it now appears there is at least one additional criterion. The most likely is that the unit does not yet have sufficient personnel, but it could be any number of other possibilites; I simply do not know."

Odeon nodded. "Makes sense--but that could be months, at their current rate. If I see him before that, I'll try to apply then."

"There is one other item of interest," Illyanov said as they drove into the Detention Center compound and toward the gray, windowless main building. "That is that many of the new unit's members supposedly either have been or will be given full Holy Orders. I find this plausible, since such a force will of necessity spend much time in remote areas where priests are extremely rare." He paused, then said thoughtfully, "I think that a wise decision, if only for reasons of morale. A civilian priest would find it difficult if not impossible to survive under such conditions, yet people in mortal danger should not be deprived of the sacraments for prolonged periods; I know that I, for one, would not care to be placed in such a situation."

"Neither would I," Cortin said, then she turned to smile at Odeon. "It looks like you won't have to apply for a special exemption after all, Mike--just get into this new unit, and let them know you're interested in the priesthood."

"I plan to do exactly that," Odeon said. "In fact, unless you need me to help in the interrogation, I don't think I'll wait until I happen into him; I'll see if I can get hold of the good Colonel and put my bid in. Initiative never hurts, and he can't very well say much if I tell him I'm applying based on extrapolations from rumor."

Cortin glanced at Illyanov, who shook his head. "No, it doesn't look like we'll need you. Go for it, Mike--and put in my application while you're at it; I don't want to take any chances on getting overlooked. I should have enough practical experience to qualify as a specialist by the time the group is activated, especially if the Brothers maintain a several-month interval between horror raids."

"I'll do that." Odeon turned to Illyanov. "Is there a phone in there I could use for an hour or so?"

"Yes, in the Inquisitors' lounge. I will have you admitted there as my guest."

"Thanks."

When they got inside the building, Illyanov showed Odeon the lounge and introduced him to the three Inquisitors it held, then he and Cortin went to the Records Section. The clerk there was a young private, who looked to Cortin as though he might possibly be a full week out of boot camp; he was certainly still new enough to the job that he showed apprehension at the sight of an Inquisitor's badge. "Yes, Major?" he asked.

"I wish to see the records of all prisoners being held for third-stage interrogation."

"I'm sorry, sir," the young private said, obviously nervous. "As of the first of the week, all those not currently undergoing questioning are being saved for Inquisitor-Captain Cortin's evaluation."

Inquisitor-Captain, Illyanov noted, not Inquisitor-Trainee. Yes, things were being accelerated for her, indeed. But if Colonel Bradford thought it best that she be treated as fully qualified by Detention Center staffs, there had to be a reason; he would go along. "Captain Cortin and I are currently acting as partners," he said. "However, you must keep your records in order, must you not?" He turned to Cortin. "If you would identify yourself for this young man, Captain, we can proceed."

"Of course, Major." Cortin dug out her ID, the first time she'd used it since before going into the convalescent hospital, and had to hide her surprise as she showed it to the clerk. Besides the standard Enforcement Service card, the little folder held an Inquisitor's badge! Keeping her voice level, she said, "Now, may we see those records?"

"Yes, Captain--it'll only take me a moment." While he went to the files for them, Cortin gave Illyanov a curious look, got only a slight shrug in return, and took a closer look at her ID. It was the one she'd had since making captain, yes--there was where the pen had spluttered while she was signing it--but it had been altered. Very skillfully altered, by someone who knew precisely what he was doing, and according to it, Illyanov was right; she wasn't in full uniform. Or . . . was she? Surely she would have noticed an SO patch on her sleeve! She snuck a quick glance, and was relieved to see nothing there. At least it didn't look like she was going either blind or insane!

"Here you are, Captain," the clerk said, handing her a small stack of folders. "If you want to go through them here, you can use that desk by the west door."

"Thank you." Cortin took them, going to the desk and seating herself, then opening the first one--but her mind was on the additions to her ID. She took out the folder again, staring at the badge and the Special Operations stamp. "What's going on?" she asked Illyanov in a low voice. "Why do I get a badge while I'm still in training, and why sneak it all in on me like this?"

Illyanov thought for several moments, frowning. At last, keeping his voice as low as hers had been, he said, "Unless you wish to attribute it to Colonel Bradford's well-known and decidely peculiar sense of humor, which I consider likely, I do not know. The speed can perhaps be explained if he has information not generally available about an upcoming raid, though I would have expected that as your instructor I would have been informed when you were granted a Warrant--out of courtesy, if nothing else--but I can think of no logical reason for him not to inform you."

"Neither can I, so I guess you're right about it being his sense of humor." Cortin put the ID away and began studying the prisoner records. They seemed to be arranged in reverse order of capture, which made sense; the ones deemed to have critical information had already been removed, so the ones on top would be the ones who had been here longest, already softened up by the first stages of interrogation.

When she opened the last folder, she bit back a curse, then, at Illyanov's startled glance, said, "I think I just found out why the badge." She turned the folder so he could read it easily. The subject was a deserter, who had compounded his crime by joining the Brotherhood, but was so new to it that he was believed to have no significant information. "Bradford's making sure I don't do what this plaguer did. I told you he was reading more than I wanted to tell him--he had to know I'd never join the Brotherhood, but he also had to know I'd go after them, either legally or as a rogue. And that I'd much rather do it legally."

Illyanov nodded. "I read the same things, of course. I did not, however, realize that his desire to keep you in Enforcement was great enough he would have all practical training waived--even for one who had made perfect scores in all the theoretical material."

"You didn't tell me that!"

"I did not wish to make you over-confident. That, however, is no longer a consideration; if you are to function independently, with little or no notice and limited practical experience, you should be as certain as possible of your ability to do so." He smiled. "As I did tell you, you were most promising. Motivation and hard work have let you live up to that promise so far; I see no reason to doubt that you will continue to do so. But now, Inquisitor-Captain Cortin, you have an interrogation to conduct." He gestured at the folders. "Logic will tell you to choose one who has been through preliminary questioning, and your emotions will tell you to choose the rogue-turned-Brother. However, you have been an Enforcement officer long enough to have learned to trust certain feelings; do any of them indicate which of these will give you the most useful information?"

Cortin moved her hands across the folders as if she could get her information that way, wishing she really could. She had learned to trust her hunches--they had kept her alive more than once--but she was less certain of them in these circumstances. Finally, she picked two she thought ought to have more information than their records suggested: a thief suspected of exercising his skills for the Brotherhood and, though she admitted to herself it might be as much because of his betrayal of the Service as for any information, the rogue trooper. The thief had been through the preliminary stages; the rogue hadn't, formally, but the Special Ops men who had captured him had--justifiably, she thought--taken out some of their anger on him, so he'd been through a crude form of second stage as well.

"These two, I think," she said, handing Illyanov the folders. "The thief first; procedures on the renegade weren't exactly by the book, so I'd like to have a little experience before I start on him."

Illyanov nodded, gathering up the remaining folders. Cortin followed him back to the counter, glad that since he was the ranking officer, he'd be the one to give the orders; she didn't yet know what orders to give!

"Yes, sir?" the clerk asked.

"Have prisoner 829-A taken to Interrogation Suite Delta's third-stage room. Standard restraints, no special requirements."

"Yes, sir." The clerk relayed Illyanov's orders through an intercom, got an acknowledgement. "He will be waiting when you get there, sir. Ma'am."

"Thank you. Shall we go, Captain?"

On the way to the interrogation suite, Cortin removed her gloves and tucked them in the back of her belt, then rubbed the scars on the backs of her hands. In a few minutes she'd start getting the first installment of her revenge for those, and the other hurts they stood for--and it felt good. Illyanov read her gestures and smiled. Most trainees were nervous about their first practical work, especially their first third-stage work. It was understandable enough--he could remember his own apprehension--but it was those who went into it with anticipation, as Cortin was doing, who generally became the outstanding practitioners, those whose very names could be enough to persuade criminals to avoid their attentions by a full confession. It was a shame that if his speculations were accurate, she would be in the field much of the time, where she was likely to be killed, rather than at a Detention Center where she would be safe and her skills could be put to their best use. However, he chided himself, it would be better having her working within the law, anywhere, than it would be to have her outside it, not only useless but being hunted!

When they got to the suite and exchanged tunics for the coveralls that would protect their undershirts and trousers, Illyanov gave her a final caution. "Do not let your enthusiasm make you careless, Captain. Even a field interrogation requires both caution and precision."

"I'll be careful," Cortin assured him. "You've told me often enough that the line between persuasive pain and unconsciousness is a very fine one, and I don't intend to let him cross it."

"Very good." Illyanov smiled at her. "I will intervene only if you ask, or if you appear about to do something unfortunate. Shall we go?"

4. Ordination

St. Thomas, Tuesday, 23 July 2571

About mid-afternoon, Shannon was leaning back in his desk chair, planning the March raid that would supposedly mark the beginning of the Brotherhood's real push against the Kingdoms, when he sensed a use of power that had to be Cortin. It was weak, barely detectable, but undeniably there, and he swore viciously. Even the slightest deliberate use she made of her power might lead to more . . . did he dare check to see if it was deliberate?

That should be safe enough, he decided at last. It was far more difficult to detect a passive use such as observing than an active one such as coercion or physical alteration, and Cortin's use was weak enough it might well be unconscious.

Despite his decision that the risk was low, he was cautious in extending his sensitivity toward her. When he made contact, though, he felt a sense of relief. Her use was unconscious, which meant there was no immediate danger.

He could have retreated then, but he was too intrigued; she was getting her first practical experience as an Inquisitor, and he couldn't resist the temptation to watch.

The subject was one of the Brotherhood's suppliers. Too cowardly to actually join the Brotherhood, but a skillful thief who could generally get what the Brothers wanted, and sold it to them at about half what he'd charge anyone else. It was a shame to lose him, but worth it to watch Cortin work on her first victim, whether she turned out to be the incomparable expert he expected if she had the nerve, or the total incompetent he expected if she didn't.

"Are you a Brother of Freedom?" she asked the prisoner.

"No."

Cortin nodded. "Then have you worked for them?"

"Not that, either."

"In that case, we can proceed. I don't suppose you'd care to answer my questions without unpleasantness?"

"I don't have anything to tell you."

"The choice is yours." Cortin picked up a scalpel, pausing at the expression on Illyanov's face. "Is something wrong, Major?"

"That is not the standard way of beginning an interrogation."

"It will be, for me," Cortin said. "I'll do whatever is needed to stop criminals, but I have no intention of hurting innocents."

"He denied everything."

"But he only told the truth the first time. He's worked for the Brothers, even though he isn't one himself, and he has some significant information."

"You never told me you had truthsense," Illyanov said quietly. "That is a most useful talent."

"The subject never came up--but I can't be lied to, never could even as a child. If a question has a yes-or-no answer, it doesn't matter if he tells the truth or not. I'll know."

"As I said, a most useful talent. Not every Inquisitor can tell truth from lies intended only to stop the pain, and most of us who do have that ability have developed it through long experience." He smiled at her in a way Shannon sensed was intended to express only approval, but hid a degree of affection the Raidmaster found both disgusting and amusing. "Go on, then."

Shannon watched critically as she began work. This would be a short interrogation--despite his bravado, the thief was a coward, and already terrified of the two Inquisitors--but it would tell him whether or not Cortin would make the grade.

The first few minutes left him with no doubt that she would. Oh, she had some problems--the determination not to hurt innocents, as if there were any such thing, was one. Another was giving her prisoner the chance to answer without persuasion, then not wanting to use any more than she had to, though neither surprised him particularly; she had always been overly scrupulous. Which was probably why her primary motive was to extract information rather than to enjoy herself.

It was ironic that she was enjoying herself, and thoroughly, even though it wasn't the same kind of pleasure he experienced in giving pain. For her, the only real passion involved here was for justice; criminals caused pain, so it was just to inflict it on them, either as punishment or in the interest of preventing further crime. It was simply more immediate this way than it had been in the past--and it gave her victims the unfortunate opportunity to repent. Even though right now Cortin was concerned with punishment rather than repentance.

* * * * *

Cortin removed the blood-spattered coverall, then went into the suite's small bathroom to wash her hands, feeling dissatisfied. She couldn't quite identify why, though; she had eventually persuaded the thief that she could tell when he was lying to her, and he had finally told them of his contacts within the Brotherhood, giving enough details that those two would be taken into custody next time they appeared in public. Neither theft nor contact with the Brotherhood were capital crimes, so once she'd made sure he knew nothing of Shannon or the horror raids, she'd called the guards and had him taken away for sentencing.

Major Illyanov had said she'd done well, she reminded herself as she put her tunic back on. So why should she feel otherwise? The answer, of course, was that she shouldn't--but the fact remained that she did. Well, she'd be trying again after lunch, on that trooper who'd gone rogue; maybe she'd do better with him.

Shortly afterward, she and Illyanov entered the Inquisitors' lounge. The only one there was Mike Odeon, slouched in an armchair with his feet up on a hassock and what she could only call a positively smug look on his face. It took no effort at all to realize that his phoning had been successful; she grinned, her mood lightening. "Is it still Captain," she asked, "or do I call you 'Father' now?"

"Depends on the circumstances," Odeon said, returning her grin lazily. "Until after the next horror raid, anyway." He stood, turning to Illyanov with a more sober expression. "Which you're not to talk about even as a rumor, sir. Colonel Bradford asked me whose deductions I was going by--I suppose he knows my records well enough to be sure they weren't mine--and I'm to tell you the whole thing is rated an all-Systems secret, until King Mark says otherwise."

"Understood--and I will of course comply." Illyanov bowed slightly. "But since I did deduce this much, will you be able to tell me how correct I was?"

"Now that I can do, along with a bit more," Odeon said, grinning again. "And our lunch is courtesy of Inquisitor-Colonel Bradford--it should be here any time. If you don't mind, I'd just as soon wait till then to go any further."

"As you wish."

Odeon's prediction was correct; their lunch arrived less than half a minute later, and not long afterward, they were eating a meal that might have come from the Royal Palace itself.

All three spent some time in silent enjoyment, then Cortin couldn't hold her curiosity any more. "How did you do it, Mike?"