Chapter 6

"I'm not the only one," she said, uncomfortable with his intensity. "Colonel Bradford, uh . . ." She hesitated, realizing that the Bishop was the only other Priest-Inquisitor she knew of.

"His Excellency's other committments do not normally permit him to exercise his priestly functions on an individual basis, not true?"

"True." Most Bishops did have to be more concerned with administration than with a chaplain's duties . . . "Okay, I guess you're right. What can I do for you?"

"Hear our confessions, for one thing," a graying Captain said. "I messed up, oh--three or four months ago, but the chaplain we were assigned doesn't understand Inquisitors--he couldn't figure out why it bothers me." He paused, looking miserable. "Reverend Mother--please?"

Cortin looked around for a private place--she couldn't refuse such a plea--but it was Robbins who said, "If you'd like to use my office, Mother, I'd be honored."

"Thank you--where is it?"

"Through the curtains over there, second door on the right."

Cortin rose, feeling inadequate, but led the older officer--Captain Gregory Watkins, if she remembered correctly from the group introduction--through the curtains and into an office decorated with Enforcement Service pictures, awards, and certificates. She sat in the desk chair, putting on her stole; when Watkins knelt beside her and began his Confession, she understood why he would want a confessor who could understand the feelings of guilt that, deservedly or not, went with failure to get necessary information from a subject, then damaging him so badly, in an effort to correct the first problem, that no one else could get the information either. She hadn't done that badly yet--her clumsiness with her first subject had been due to inexperience, not lack of judgement--but she was certain she'd do it some day. When she did, she too would want a confessor who understood what she'd done, why it was wrong, and how to help her avoid it in the future.

She gave him absolution, with a penance of memorizing the third chapter of St. Jean Grillet's The Inquisitor's Call. It seemed harsh to her, but his expression said otherwise, and when he rose, he thanked her.

Breakfast was on the table when they got back, and she was hungry; as soon as grace was said, she started on a stack of hotcakes and honey. Illyanov was absolutely right, she decided immediately; the food was far better than she'd gotten in any Service dining hall. She grinned at Robbins, giving him the "first-class" hand signal, then continued eating and listening to the conversation.

That had settled rather quickly into shop talk, as it usually did when groups of specialists got together. She could understand how it might upset a nearby diner, but she'd been studying during meals for weeks now; she listened carefully, making mental notes of several useful-sounding--or just interesting--tips, though she didn't join in until her plate was empty and she was enjoying a glass of pear nectar. There was less resentment than she'd expected at Bradford's order that she get first choice of all non-critical prisoners, though she did take some teasing about being sure she left some for them, what with the Brothers still laying low. She promised, with a bit of return teasing that if things were all that slow this might be a good time to take some leave, then she had to make another promise that she'd hold Confession and Mass for them, in the base chapel if she could get permission, in their lounge at the Detention Center if she couldn't.

As she was getting ready to leave, a waiter approached and handed her a note; she read it, grinned, and handed it to Illyanov. She was summoned to the Base Theater for a meeting of prospective Team Leaders and team-seconds. The note didn't say what kind of teams they were to be Leaders and seconds of, naturally, but it didn't have to; she and Illyanov knew. "I'll see about arranging for the chapel," she told the group as she rose. "I'll post the results on the bulletin board, whichever way it works out, but I've got to go now. Thanks again."

5. Azrael

St. Thomas, Wednesday, 24 July 2571

Less than half an hour later, she was in the theater along with what she estimated at fifty others, all with Special Ops patches and specialty badges--even Odeon, when she spotted him, was wearing his Tracker's badge, something he didn't normally do. She would be willing to bet, now that the operational arms needed them, that a Priest's badge was being made and they'd both be wearing those as well, not long after the Strike Force was activated--and she'd also be willing to bet Mike would love wearing his. She made her way to him, exchanging introductions with several others on the way and realizing quickly that those in the group had more than insigne in common. There was an air to them, a feel of anticipation as of a wolfpack scenting its prey, and she shared it. "How did it go?" she asked Odeon.

"Not bad for someone who'd never done it before," he said with a smile. "How about yours?"

"Better than I would've believed," she said. "I ended up with a server and small congregation, thanks to Colonel Bradford--and I've already heard my first Confession. It's strange being on the receiving end, believe me!"

Odeon chuckled. "I do--not wasting any time, are you?"

"I couldn't just let him suffer, could I?" she protested. "But yes, things are coming at me pretty fast. It's almost like someone's pushing me to get qualified at everything right now. Not that I mind; I hope I am able to handle everything by the time the Brothers decide to break loose again." She rubbed the backs of her hands absently. "I want--"

"Ten-shun!" an amplified voice called.

Cortin turned, coming to precise attention when she faced the stage. It was Colonel Bradford at the microphone; as soon as he had the group's full attention, he said, "Please be seated, gentles." When that was done, he went on. "We have all met, but some of you know me only as an anonymous Lieutenant. In fact, I am Colonel David Bradford of His Majesty's Own. I am also, in this case as His Majesty's Personal Deputy, Commander of the St. Thomas Strike Force. You all know the basics of that, and are all under oaths of secrecy concerning it for the time being. Although some of you have made your wishes known privately, I must now ask you all, formally: Do you wish to be part of the Strike Force?"

Cortin's shout of assent was lost in the general clamor of enthusiasm that died only gradually as Bradford stood with both hands raised. When he could be heard again, he lowered his hands with a smile. "I was certain you'd all respond that way. You're the ones qualified as Leaders and seconds of Strike Force Teams--is there anyone here who doesn't want one of those positions?"

When the second clamor died, Bradford smiled again. "I thought not. In this case, I am to extend His Majesty's appreciation, and his regret that the secrecy of getting the Strike Force started prevents him from being here himself. We have kept together those of you who have proven you work well together; that gave us four Leader-second combinations. The rest have been paired on the basis of records and interviews. In either case, you will have the next week to confirm or rearrange these match-ups and choose your team names, though you can do either immediately if you prefer. If you'll look in the package you were given when you came in, you'll see our team-ups, and a few team names we hope will give you ideas. Take half an hour, get together with your suggested Leader or second, and tell me if you're ready to confirm now. Refreshments are available in the lobby."

"I finished a big breakfast less than an hour ago," Cortin said as most of the others rose. "We know we're paired, and I don't care which of us is Leader, so if you don't mind, I'll stay here and see what I can come up with for a team name."

"Suits," Odeon agreed. "I could stand some juice, but I'll be back shortly."

"Right." Cortin opened the briefing packet as he left, finding that they were paired, as promised, with her as Leader. Scanning the bios, she found that their teaming wasn't unusual except in them knowing each other so long; the pre-selected leadership teams had the one with the most personal grudge against the Brothers, rather than the senior in rank, named as Leader--though in some cases, like theirs, the two coincided; she'd gotten her captain's bars two days before Mike got his, so technically she did outrank him, if not by much.

Team names, now. She studied the short list of suggestions, seeing names of angels, predatory animals, military qualities. Quite a variety, she thought--and the list did give her an idea. She grinned, then decided not to take any chances on having someone else beat her to even such an unlikely name; she went into the lobby to find Mike and then Colonel Bradford.

She almost ran into Odeon when she opened the door; he greeted her with a grin and a salute. "I gather you've come up with a name, Team-Leader? So've I--I was just coming to see what you thought about it." He sobered. "Better make sure you like the one we settle on; I overheard Colonel Bradford say the team's name will be the Leader's code name until we go public, then it'll be the team's radio call sign."

She thought about that for a moment, then smiled. "I like the one I came up with well enough for that, definitely. What's yours?"

He murmured a word in her ear, and she chuckled. "Great minds, Mike--that's the same one I thought of. But if the two of us did, others may too; let's get to Colonel Bradford and have him confirm it."

"Right. Last time I saw him, he was over by the juice machine."

The two made their way in that direction. It was clear than several Leader-and-second pairs had already confirmed; those were the ones discussing either team names or possible personnel. Those who hadn't were getting acquainted; Cortin saw a couple she thought would confirm shortly, another couple she thought probably wouldn't at all. They found the Colonel still at the juice machine, approaching him with Cortin in the lead and Odeon a step behind and to her left. "By the Colonel's leave?" Cortin asked.

Bradford smiled. "I thought so--you'll make a good pair." He took out a notebook, made a checkmark. "Have you picked out a name?"

"Yes, sir. We are agreed on Azrael."

Bradford raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "That shouldn't surprise me--but I admit I'd expected you to choose something less openly descriptive."

"If you'd seen her in action, sir," Odeon said, "you'd know it fits."

"I have, Captain; I've been following her activities with considerable interest since I debriefed her, which has included watching films of her interrogations rather than just reading summaries; I certainly don't argue the appropriateness of her choice. My surprise is only that she's being so open about her intentions for the Brothers."

"It's deliberate, sir," Cortin said. "Major Illyanov told me early on that terror can be useful; naming my team after the Angel of Death is on the same order as taking my gloves off for the conclusion of a hunt or during an interrogation."

"I understand that--but it could also work against you, if they suicide rather than face interrogation."

Cortin smiled. "I think I can count on the 'can't-happen-to-me' syndrome, sir, at least in the great majority of cases. At worst, a few of them die quickly and with relative ease."

"True." Bradford made a note, put the pad back in his pocket. "Azrael it is, then."

When the break was over and everyone was back in the theater proper, Bradford went on with the briefing. "We have nine confirmed Leader-second pairs, five of which have chosen names: Wolf, Guardian, Flame, Falcon, and Azrael. The rest of you, as I said earlier, have a week to let me know your decisions.

"During that week, in addition to those decisions, you will start selecting your team members. Eligible volunteers have been brought in on TDY orders, the way most of you were, and are being quartered at the Academy. You'll meet them tomorrow morning, and can begin interviews then; their records will be made available to you as soon as we finish here."

"In two weeks, you will have your teams together and ready, because you deploy during the following week." He paused. "True, there may be no need for such hurry--but we don't know, so we want you prepared and in place as soon as humanly possible. Now--some details.

"To start with, you--and through you, your team members--will hold Writs of Immunity good in every system in the Kingdoms. The scope on these Writs is even broader than an Inquisitor's Warrant; as long as you avoid regicide or treason, and what you do is aimed at suppressing terrorist groups--primarily the Brothers of Freedom--your actions will carry the license of both the Church and the various Kingdoms. You'll be expected to follow normal procedures, as a rule; however, your primary purpose is to eliminate terrorists, and if normal procedures interfere, you are to disregard them. Questions?"

There was a murmur of astonishment both Cortin and Odeon joined. This freedom of action was as unprecedented as the Brothers' horror attacks, but Bradford's orders were clear; there was nothing to question.

"Excellent. You'll be sent to bases or stations as close as possible to where the Brothers you're particularly interested in appear to be located. You'll use that as your headquarters, but you are subject to no-notice assignment anywhere in this Kingdom and four-hour-notice assignment to any other one, so keep your kits up to date and readily available. You will also cooperate, as fully as possible without neglecting your own missions, with other kingdoms' Strike Forces; they'll do the same if you need to go to their systems. Any questions on this part?"

Again, there were none; he went on. "You Team Leaders and seconds, I'm afraid, will have to live on base or at the station, in separate buildings where possible. Your teams should too, but if that would cause too much hardship to either them or the personnel normally stationed there, you can permit them to live up to five miles away." He raised a hand, forestalling objections. "It's not as bad as it sounds, gentles. You will all be issued personal radios, as well as personal vehicles; those of you who can't drive or do basic vehicle maintenance will be taught how. And you'll use those vehicles any time you're in areas where they can be supplied and maintained. You'll use horses only where there are no facilities for vehicles. Any questions?"

"I have one, sir." A tall Major with a missing ear stood. "Vehicle fuel and service aren't cheap; they're certainly beyond my pay grade. How do we pay for them? And more importantly, how do our people pay for them?"

"Until we go public," Bradford said, "you'll be given an allowance for such things, and you'll pass it along to your people. After that, you'll use your Strike Force ID, and the Kingdoms will reimburse the dealers. The same thing goes for all non-personal expenses." He grinned. "As for personal expenses, you'll be interested to know that Strike Force personnel get a 50% hazardous-duty bonus. Which, believe me, you'll earn!"

There was a mixture of laughter and good-natured complaining, in which Cortin and Odeon joined. Yes, they all knew they'd earn any hazard bonuses; you didn't go into something called Special Operations, much less into a Strike Force, for the safety of it. On the other hand, Cortin thought, they got the chance to go after Brothers with almost no limitations; that seemed fair enough to her, and it sounded like the rest agreed.

"That's about it for now, then, though of course you'll get daily updates on anthing we find out about the Brothers," Bradford said. "This is my primary duty, so I'll be in the area most of the time; if you have questions, or just want to talk, I'll be available."

* * * * *

Cortin was uncertain what to do after the briefing. Part of her said to read the records and start picking her troops; the other part said to find herself another Brother to question. After some internal debate, she went with the first alternative; her fellow Inquisitors had told her they'd get any information she might be interested in to her, as soon as possible after they'd gotten it, so she could start picking her team without worrying that she'd miss something she should know.

With that decided, she and Mike went to the Academy area that had been set up for such record study and interviews. She groaned when she saw the masses of personnel folders she'd be expected to go through--paperwork had never been her strong point--but she grabbed a handful, sighing. "You, too, Mike," she said. "We may not be able to tell who we do want from these, but we ought to be able to pick the ones we don't."

"Right." Odeon didn't like paperwork any better than she did, but he did know as well as she how inevitable it was. "Anything in particular, or just someone we could both work with?"

"I think it'll be good enough if we get someone we can work with," Cortin said. "Manage that, and we can go from there. Just look for good strong motivations, because where we're likely to be going after Brothers, we'll sure be earning our bonuses."

By the end of the afternoon, the two of them had gone through about a third of the records, finding a medic and a communications specialist they definitely wanted, as well as several that looked promising if an interview showed they had no objection to working for an Inquisitor. Quite a number of people objected to even working near an Inquisitor, for which Cortin supposed she couldn't blame them--she'd been apprehensive about Inquisitors herself, not all that long ago--but since all the teams would have Inquisitors, it semed reasonable to assume that those who couldn't work with them at all would have been removed from consideration.

Her first interview was the following day with the medic, a nun transferred from St. Ignatius to St. Thomas by her Order, at her request. Cortin rose as the young woman in sky-blue slacks and shirt--the Blue Sisters' field habit--entered. Sister Mary Piety was as attractive as her photo indicated, but there was an air of stress that hadn't shown there. From her records, Cortin thought it was probably the residue of her mistreatment by the Brothers--well, she'd find out. She introduced herself and gestured the nun to a chair, then took her own seat. "I know what's in your records, of course, Sister; I just want to get to know you as a person, and let you know me well enough to decide whether or not you can work for me. So relax; I only hurt criminals."

"I understand, Captain." Chang studied the woman in Enforcement gray, puzzled. There was something about Captain Cortin that reminded her of the Raidmaster--but in Cortin, it wasn't frightening. It wasn't even mildly disturbing, the way she usually felt around an Inquisitor; if anything, it was reassuring, even comforting. "What do you wish to know?"

"Well . . . it puzzles me that when you reported the attack on the clinic, you always called Shannon 'the Raidmaster', never by name. I admit he's frightening, but that much?"

"I was not aware then that he used that name," Chang said, hiding her irritation. "Nor is it fear that keeps me silent. I tried to tell the troopers, but I was unable to say his name--or to describe how I discovered his identity."

"No offense intended," Cortin said mildly. "Your report said he'd forbidden you to tell, yes--obviously with more than words."

"That is true, Captain," Chang said, mollified. "Though I have found that almost as difficult to describe." She smiled tentatively. "It may be as well I have such difficulty--were I able to identify him as I know him, I would not be believed."

"If you ever feel able, I'll believe you. He qualified me for Special Ops and the Strike Force, too." Cortin chuckled, though with little real humor. "I don't even think I'd be too surprised if you identified him as Shayan incarnate. Mind you, I don't think I'd believe it--" She broke off at the nun's sudden expression of shock. "Did I say something wrong?"

Chang sighed with the relief of Shannon's coercion dissolving. "That is he. You have said what I could not, Captain Cortin. I am in your debt."

Cortin didn't believe the identification, but her truthsense left no doubt Chang did. And she had to admit it was a natural identification to make, given the plaguer's actions. "Was there anything special to identify him?"

"His power and evils are enough, but I believe he wished me to be certain. Did he seem a normal man when he attacked you?"

"As normal as a terrorist ever is," Cortin said.

"That was not so in my case. His general body temperature was quite high, well beyond a human's survival limits. His genitals, however, were extremely cold--the classic description, as you know."

"Yes." That had to be hypnotism or drugs, Cortin thought, but beliefs were hard for mere facts to alter; she wouldn't argue pointlessly with someone who promised to be extremely good for the team. "Even with that, you're willing to help hunt him?"

"We are all called to fight evil," Chang said calmly. "My call was simply more unmistakable than many. Yes, I am willing."

She couldn't ask for more than that, Cortin decided. Excellent medical qualifications, an "Expert" small-arms rating, plenty of courage--and she sounded almost as devout as Mike. Cortin thought it odd that she'd be concerned about devotion when she wasn't particularly devout herself, but the fact remained: talking to Piety had made it clear that it should be one of her considerations. "One stipulation, and you're in," she said. "I don't want any auxiliaries on Team Azrael; you'll have to trade that habit for a uniform. There's no proof you're technically qualified for Special Ops, but since you've gotten a waiver, that's no problem."

"As this branch of Enforcement now has priests, there is no reason it should not also have a nun. I will make the trade."

"Good! Let me get my second and another witness, and I'll swear you in."

Cortin was a little surprised that no one questioned her power to administer a commissioning oath without prior authorization, but she'd apparently been right in her guess that it was one of her rights as a Strike Team leader; after all, it was neither treason nor regicide, and it was in the interest of eliminating the terrorists. As a side effect, one she hoped might reduce press attention to herself, it made her no longer the only female Enforcement officer.

When the ceremony was over and Chang had accepted Odeon's offer to help her get her ID and uniforms later, that afternoon--"Anything to get away from stacks of personnel records," he admitted cheerfully--he and the other witness left the two women alone. Cortin studied the nun for a moment before speaking again.

"You're aware, of course, that your Enforcement oath takes precedence over your vows--and that being Strike Force means you owe obedience only to your Strike Force superiors, the High King, and His Holiness."

"I am aware of all that." Which was true, Chang thought. She was no longer restricted by her vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience--or protected by them, illusory as that protection had proven when she had most needed it.

"And you're a field medic, so you know what tends to go on in a team's spare time. Will that bother you, now?"