Chapter 9

The Royal Family, the King's Household and staff, and favored nobles flew to Dragon's Lair; everyone else rode. So when Team Azrael and its prisoner left Middletown for the deliberately-isolated Royal retreat, they were on horseback. Cortin, like most people, had learned to ride almost as soon as she'd learned to walk, and was expert at it, but she quickly found that riding was another thing she could no longer enjoy. She was wearing the back brace Egan had given her for unavoidable strenuous exercise and riding the smoothest-gaited horse in the Base stables--a black Arab named Rainbow--complete with a lambswool saddle pad, but within fifteen minutes she was thinking that maybe disability retirement might not be such a bad idea after all. Without it she'd be spending a lot of time in the saddle, hurting worse than usual. On the other hand, if she got out she'd be spending even more time in the saddle, unless she abandoned her crusade--and she had no intention of doing that. So she just had to learn to endure this, too. At least, she thought, if they had to ride they had a nice day for it. The temperature was still comfortable in the morning sun, and by the time it got too warm in the open, cultivated areas, they'd be in forest shade. And the quiet was pleasant, only an occasional word or two and the soft sounds of leather or hooves on dirt breaking the silence. She could see landfolk out working their farms and ranches, but they were far enough away she couldn't hear them--and they weren't likely to approach a group of Enforcement troopers, especially one escorting a prisoner.

Cortin smiled grimly at that thought. Prewar, even Terran, police, from her reading, had gotten the same reaction: civilians tended to stay away, unless they needed something. And civs were even less interested in having anything to do with police carrying out the enforcement part of their duties. Let one get close enough to see an Inquisitor's badge, and lack of interest usually turned into active avoidance of contact; the Harrisons' pleasure at her visits was unusual. At one time, she'd disliked provoking that reaction; now she was accustomed to it, and at times found it useful.

She heard a horse speed up slightly, until Lieutenant Bain was riding beside her. "Is anything wrong, Captain?" he asked. "I've been noticing you don't look exactly comfortable."

"Nothing that can be helped, thanks. It seems my back doesn't approve of horses any longer, is all."

"How bad?"

"Late second stage, maybe early third. Nothing I can't handle for a few hours if I have to--though I'll admit I'm already looking forward to stopping for the night." She gestured to the rear, where Degas was leading the unconscious prisoner's horse. "How far did you get on him before Sis tapped him for surgery?"

"I didn't even start," Bain said, surprising her. "She and I were looking for a blood type match, plus a couple of other factors she thought might help; when we finally found one she thought would be right, we put him straight under." He grinned. "Don't worry, though. He'll have to stay out while Sis takes what you need--we don't want to take any chances on damaging it--but once he wakes up, I'll make sure I get anything interesting. Unless you'd rather I save him for you?"

Cortin returned the grin. "I shouldn't be greedy, and I do have something else to look forward to from him; you go ahead."

"Thanks." Bain glanced at her, then obviously decided not to go on.

Cortin hid a sigh. Having civilians apprehensive about her was one thing, but her men should feel free to ask or tell her anything. "What's the problem, Dave?"

"It's not exactly a problem, ma'am . . . uh, Joan."

"What, then?"

Bain looked uncomfortable. "Uh . . . you're the first lady trooper I've been around, and . . ."

"Oh." Yes, that explained his hesitation. "I've been the only woman on a team most of my career. I'm neither a virgin nor a prude, though I sometimes find it useful to pretend the latter around civilians. So spill it."

Bain grinned in relief. "Right, Joan. Okay, then--Mike says that before the Brothers messed you up, you enjoyed using our dispensation whenever the opportunity offered. Nothing fancy, but not skimping anyone, either."

"True," Cortin said, smiling. "I'm a firm believer in the basics, and God was generous enough to let me enjoy them in abundance. If He's merciful enough to let this work out, I'll do it again."

"Just let us know what you want, and how much; we'll do our best to oblige." Bain grinned again. "Always a good idea to keep the CO happy, you know."

Cortin couldn't help laughing, in spite of the pain. She knew that a commanding officer taking part in a team's sexual activity tended to have an extreme effect, one way or the other; it could tear the team apart, or it could weld it into near-unity. From watching hers work together, she was certain it would react positively, so she said, "And from my experience with other teams, I doubt you'll find at least that aspect overly disagreeable."

"Or at all difficult," Bain agreed. "I'm looking forward to it, in fact." He gestured in a way that told her he was still unsure. "I've been with a lot of civ women, paid or curious about an Inquisitor, but they didn't--oh, hell!"

"You're not the first one to tell me that," Cortin said drily. "I was lucky, always had enough willing troopers around I never had to go to a civ man--but I always got more out of Special Ops men. The emotional feel was better, even when physical things were the same."

"You do understand, then." Bain's look was full of relief and something else she couldn't quite identify.

"Yes--and if this works, I want all of you to feel free to come to me. Other duties permitting, I'll be more than happy to help keep up morale." She grinned. "Rank doth have its responsibilities, a few of them pleasant; a CO is expected to be available for counseling whenever it's needed."

Bain chuckled. "'Counseling'--I like that. You may have the best-counseled team in the entire Service, here shortly."

"Most counseled, anyway," Cortin said. "And while you're here, I've been meaning to ask--if you don't mind talking about it, I'd like to hear how you ended up in the Strike Force. Records are all very well, but there's no feel to them."

"I'd rather not," Bain said slowly. "Fair's fair, though; Mike told us all about how you got into this." He paused, clearly trying to organize what he wanted to say.

Cortin had suspected Mike might have given them the details of her background, probably because he'd thought it would somehow help her. He'd be right, too, if it helped her get insight into her people. She waited for Bain to speak.

"I come from a big family," he said at last. "Four sisters and a baby brother, with me the only sterile in the bunch. I enlisted in Enforcement, beccame a demolitions expert, got a recommendation to the Academy and graduated about the middle of my class, put in for SO and got it, made First about three years later. By that time, my baby brother was in the Service too, a top-notch medic." He paused, and Cortin saw tears in his eyes. "We weren't stationed together, but we were close enough we got to see each other regularly. He loved his work, would go out of his way to help anyone who needed it, wouldn't hurt a fly--wouldn't carry a gun, even on a remote patrol. He had a great family, wife and two kids with a third on the way, he and Betty both hoping for eight or ten . . . He couldn't understand why I wanted to be an Inquisitor, even though he knew someone had to do it--hell, he couldn't understand why I went into demolition!--but I was his big brother, so if I wanted it, he wanted it for me."

Bain paused. "I'm rambling--sorry. Anyway, about a week after I got my Warrant, my team got called out to help search for survivors of a terrorist ambush on a patrol. I heard the patrol that got hit was from Lancaster, but I didn't get scared until I heard the Team-Leader's name. It was Jeffrey's team . . . and on the ride out I heard other searchers had found seven bodies from the ten-man team. The medic wasn't one of them, and that scared me worse. Jeffy didn't have what it takes to escape an ambush, and you know what's likely to happen to an Enforcement trooper captured by terrorists."

"Nothing good," Cortin agreed.

"We were the first combat team to get to the ambush site, so after a quick briefing, the on-scene commander sent us after the ambush party--fifteen of them, his Tracker said. With that few, our Team-Leader decided we didn't need any backup, so we got on their trail. When we caught up a few hours later, they'd made camp and were working on Jeffy. I couldn't see them yet, but I knew his voice well enough to recognize it, even screaming and with the overtones algetin adds."

Cortin nodded. Screams, to a civilian and even to most Enforcement personnel, didn't tell much except that the screamer was feeling intense pleasure or pain. An Inquisitor learned not only to tell which, but also several other things; she wasn't at all surprised that Bain had been able to tell his brother had been dosed with the pain-enhancer.

"We took out the sentries, which eliminated five of the terrorists and gave us the advantage of numbers as well as skill, then we moved in on the camp." Bain paused. "Have you ever been in on a mass interrogation?"

"No, but I know the theory; pick the least likely to be useful and make a dramatic example of him, to save time with the rest."

"That's what they were doing with Jeffy. All three of our people were hanging spreadeagle, but Jeffy was the one their version of an Inquisitor was working on." Bain's voice caught, and it was a moment before he could continue. "I'd . . . rather not go into the details; just call it a standard demonstration. The plaguer was in the middle of gutting him when we attacked. I knee-shot him, then went to Jeffy." He stared at his saddle horn. "He . . . didn't recognize me at first, and . . . when he did, he begged for help." Bain looked at his commanding officer, his expression haunted. "Joan, he couldn't have lived if there'd been a hospital trauma center five feet away, and he knew it. I couldn't refuse him, make him live in that kind of agony until shock and blood loss killed him in spite of the drugs. So I gave him Last Rites--then I killed him, as quickly and painlessly as I could." He looked down again. "Dammit, I became an Inquisitor to help find the Kingdoms' enemies, not to kill people I love!"

"I understand." His Warrant made his action blameless under both civil and Church law, but that wouldn't have helped his feelings any. "It was the only help you could give, and both of us know it can be welcome. At worst, he's in Purgatory; I'll include him in my Mass intentions from now on."

"Thanks--I've been doing it since I was ordained, of course, but extra Masses never hurt, and it'll make his family feel better."

"How did they take it?"

"Betty understood; the kids are too young to know anything except that Daddy's gone and won't be back. She gets a pension, of course, and I'm 'acting Daddy' for the kids when I'm around. You'll have to come out for a visit sometime, since we're stationed in the area--I'm sure they'd love to meet you."

"I'll do that." She ought to find out if she could still relate to normal civilians, she supposed; except for visiting the Harrisons, she'd been in a strictly-military environment since the attack. And not even a normal military environment, between the hospital, her Inquisitor's training, and starting a Strike Force team. She knew she'd changed, for what would generally be considered the worse; what she didn't know was how much.

"Great! If you don't mind, I'll drop back now and pass your invitation along."

"Fine."

She rode alone the rest of the morning, glad when they got into the forest and out of the rapidly-warming sun. She was pleased to find she could still appreciate the sounds and smells of the forest, the squirrels and birds, the green-tinged light. Lunch was good, though she was restricted to broth and more grateful for the brief relief from jarring pain than for the unsatisfying pre-surgery meal.

8. Ambush

Back on the road, about an hour later, Cortin spotted a rider coming in their direction. He was apparently daydreaming, because it was a few seconds before he saw the group--and when he did, he reined around and galloped back the way he'd come.

Cortin stopped, frowning, and motioned Odeon to join her. Most people didn't like getting too close to prisoner escorts, no, but leaving at a gallop was a rather extreme reaction. Not necessarily a guilty reaction, and not one she would normally be justified in having him pursued or shot for . . . but it bothered her. When Odeon reined in beside her, she said, "I don't like the looks of that. It could mean nothing, but it could also mean trouble. Patrol formation, I think, with you at point; as Tracker, you've got the best chance of spotting trouble before it spots you."

"Right. And I'd recommend Tony as rear guard; he's the closest we have to a second Tracker."

"Agreed." As he rode ahead, Cortin dropped back to the main group, briefed them, and sent Degas to the rear. This wasn't good ambush country--the woods were open, with the road avoiding rough terrain wherever possible--and they'd be in secure territory when they got within an hour's ride of the retreat; even when the Royal Family was elsewhere, there were security and housekeeping staffs in residence.

When they moved out again, she stayed with the group, all of them alert for unusual movements or sounds. Cortin found herself half-hoping for action, though she also wanted to make it through without having any of her people hurt or killed.

Odeon moved forward cautiously. He agreed with Joanie: even though someone fleeing a prisoner escort didn't necessarily mean trouble, it was a good idea to take a few simple precautions. He studied the other's tracks when he got to them, but they told him nothing he didn't already know. The man had been riding at a walk, and had suddenly turned, galloping away. If it was because of normal apprehension, fine, and no real problem even if he was a wanted criminal; he'd cause them no trouble, and he'd be caught eventually if he kept reacting that way. The problem would arise if he were point man for a group of Brothers or other terrorists--not likely this close to a royal residence, but certainly a possibility.

He wasn't kept in suspense long; within five minutes, he heard a group of riders ahead. They were making no effort to be silent, which didn't prove anything one way or the other; either they were innocent, or they were pretending to be innocent to get close to the Enforcement group. The woods were open enough there was no point in leaving the road to try to eavesdrop on them; if he were close enough to understand words, he'd be close enough to see. So, keeping his hand close to his pistol, he rode forward.

His appearance clearly startled them, enough to get an honest reaction; half of the fifteen or so went for their weapons. He drew and fired at the same time he was turning his horse and urging it to a gallop. Leaning low over the horse's withers, he continued to fire, and was both surprised and gratified to hear a cry of pain mixed with the return fire; it was damn near impossible to hit anything from the back of a running horse even if you tried to aim.

Cortin heard the shots, then rapidly-approaching hoofbeats. So did the rest, and there was no need to give orders; all had been in similar situations often enough to know precisely what to do. By the time Odeon came in sight, Chang and the prisoner were far enough off to the side to be out of the firefight, and the rest were behind good-sized trees. This wasn't exactly what Cortin had had in mind, wanting action--it was more like the kneeling-behind-a-barrier segment of a firing range exercise--but it would do.

When Odeon passed their positions, the team opened fire. Cortin hit two, someone else hit two more, and the terrorists turned into a milling, cursing mob whose return fire was sporadic and poorly aimed. Cortin smiled, continuing to aim and fire as coolly as if she were on the target range. She had no more hits, but others did; three more terrorists fell, and the rest fled, demoralized.

She stood, brushing off her trousers, then reloaded and holstered her pistol. "Anyone hurt?" she called.

"Nope."

"Fine here."

"Nicked by a chunk of flying bark, nothing serious."

"We are unhurt."

Hoofbeats from the rear brought them alert again, but it was Degas galloping up, his gun drawn. He holstered it as he pulled his horse to a stop, looking disappointed. "I missed all the fun, huh?"

"I'm afraid so," Cortin said, smiling. "Bad guys zero, good guys seven."

"Eight," Odeon said. "I hit one when they started chasing me. I don't know if he's dead or just wounded, though."

Chang had come up and started checking the casualties; now she reported. "Six dead, Captain, the other critically wounded."

"Can he be questioned?"

Chang frowned. "Perhaps, if you hurry. He is conscious, but will probably not survive more than a few minutes."

"I'll hurry--which one?"

"Over here." Chang led the way, kneeling beside the terrorist and doing what she could to keep him alive for Cortin's questions.

Cortin knelt on the man's other side, pulling her gloves off. "My medic says you only have a few minutes to live. If you've got any desire to make your peace with God, now's the time to do it." That didn't seem a very promising tactic, but it was obvious he wouldn't live long enough for her usual methods.

"You're . . . Cortin?" The man coughed, blood speckling his lips.

"Yes." Maybe her reputation would be a help--except that he didn't seem as much afraid as hopeful.

"Now I know . . . why th' Raidmaster's . . . afraid of you." The man seized her bare hand. "Protect me from him . . . you're a priest . . . I'll tell you all I can."

"You'll be as safe from him as you are from me, in a few minutes."

"No!" The man struggled to sit up, gasping in pain. "That's no help--I need . . . th' Sacraments."

Much as she wanted to, Cortin couldn't refuse; this was why Strike Force Inquisitors were required to be priests. She got her stole out of her pocket, calling for Odeon to bring her saddlebags, then kissed the stole and put it on. "I'm ready."

The man's Confession was hurried, missing details he must know he didn't have time for, but to Cortin's surprise it was an honest effort; he actually did regret what he'd done. Imminent-death repentance wasn't as good as trying to live a decent, useful life, but if God found it acceptable she had to. She gave him Absolution and Communion, less disturbed by that than she'd expected--though it still wasn't an experience she cared to repeat.

When he'd swallowed the Host, the Brother sank back. "Thanks . . . didn't know how much I'd missed it . . . once you've taken the oath . . . he doesn't let you know." His eyes closed, and Cortin didn't need Chang's murmur to tell her he was almost gone. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a whisper. "He's right to be . . . afraid of you. So afraid . . . you're to be . . . left alone. It's the nun . . . Piety's top of the . . . wipe list . . . more ways than one . . ." He tried to laugh, choked instead. "You'll need 'em both . . . t' beat him." That was all he could manage; with a sigh, he died.

Cortin gave him a final blessing, then resumed her gloves, put away her stole, and wrote a note that this one required burial in holy ground. She pinned it to his shirt, then rose and looked around.

The Service horses were still there, obedient to their dropped reins, but only two of the others' had stayed--not enough to transport seven or eight bodies. "Check them for ID, then get them off the road and cover them. We can inform the residence's security people, and they can send someone out. We'll take the horses along, though; they're royal property now, and they need looked after."

"Right." Odeon took charge, helping pull bodies off the road and search them, while Cortin collected the horses and mounted. None of them expected terrorists to be carrying identification, so there was no disappointment when they didn't find any. Half an hour after the attack, they were ready to go again, but as Cortin was taking a final look at the blanket-covered bodies, she got an idea, reached back into her saddlebag for one of her spare gloves, then tossed it on one of the bodies. "Whoever finds these plaguers won't know what that means until later," she said, "but Team Azrael has claimed its first victory, and it won't be our last. They'll learn."

* * * * *

The repentant Brother hadn't told her much, Cortin thought as they rode, but the little he had said was disturbing. Shannon, so afraid of her--why?--that he'd put her off limits. That didn't make sense; logically, he should be doing his utmost to kill her. Instead, it was Piety--and what did that 'in more ways than one' mean?--at the top of their wipe list. Which also made no sense.

"Unless Shannon knows something we don't," Odeon said, riding up beside her.

"You reading minds now?"

"Hardly--but what else would you be thinking about, after what he said?"

"True." Cortin gave him a sidelong glance. "So what possible knowledge would have that effect? Put an Inquisitor off limits, and target a medic? The only thing she and I have in common is that we were both his victims."

"Surviving female victims," Odeon said. "Both associated with Enforcement, and now both, not just one, religious." He frowned. "If Shannon's who--or what--Sis thinks, and Tony won't dispute, God won't let him operate unopposed for long. Though it may seem like forever to us, depending on when he started. If it's recently, there won't be a whole lot we can accomplish, though of course we'll have to try to fight him--but if it's near the end of his allotted free time, it means the Protector's about to appear. With him afraid of you and targeting Sis, I'd say the latter's more likely, and with you two playing important parts. Maybe his heralds, maybe part of the staff the prophecies say he may have if Shayan's strong enough to make him need one, there's not enough information to say--but whichever, if I'm right, you and she are the two most important people in the Systems right now."

Cortin tried to laugh at that conceit, but she couldn't. Mike had an uncomfortable habit of being right, especially in this sort of thing. On the other hand--"That's one possibility, I suppose. You have to admit, though, it doesn't sound too plausible: that two women Shannon's already defeated should be much of a danger to him."

Odeon frowned. "I agree. Still, it's the least unreasonable thing I can think of, assuming he is Shayan."

"Which I doubt, in spite of Sis' conviction. But we do have to assume a worst-case scenario, which means we turn around right now and spread the alarm." Cortin started to rein her horse around.

"No!" Odeon exclaimed, shocking them both with the intensity of his refusal.

"Why not?" Cortin should have been angry at his insubordination; instead, she was curious. "You have a hunch about it?"

"Stronger than a hunch," Odeon said, frowning. "It feels like something vital now, not just a nice idea." He shook his head. "I don't have any hard evidence, Joanie, but I think Team Azrael's been chosen--maybe even designed--to take on Shannon. We've got things to do before we're ready, though. Things we've got to do alone, or with very few and very carefully chosen people to help. And this is one of those things."

"You make it sound like we're puppets."