"Don't let 'em kick me out . . . while I can't fight back. I've gotta
. . . get the bastards who did this . . . Mike, promise . . ."
"I promise, Joanie. I'll do everything I can, you know that." He
waved the medics on, looking after them, then turned to his second.
"Find anything useful, Sergeant?"
"Afraid not, sir. They're too damn good at covering up. We won't have
a thing, unless Captain Cortin's able to give us some descriptions."
"All right. Call in a specialist squad from New Denver; they may be
able to find some kind of evidence. Fingerprints, footprints,
identifiable bullets--damn, but I wish we had what the prewars had!"
"Able to identify a culprit from a speck of blood or a hair?" Sergeant
Vincent laughed bitterly. "Hell, if we could do that, we'd have the
Brothers under control in six months."
"Yeah." Odeon tried to hide his frustrtion. "No use playing what-if,
though; we could do that forever. Let's get back to HQ."
Silently, respecting their leader's mood, the Special Operations team
returned to their command van for the copter-lift back to their
Middletown headquarters. It wasn't until they were landing that anyone
spoke. "Captain?"
"What is it, Boris?"
"I spoke with the physician, sir. Captain Cortin will be stabilized at
the local clinic, then sent to New Denver for surgery. You are due for
leave, are you not?"
"Yeah, and I intend to take advantage of it. Two years' worth of
accumulated leave ought to give me time to help her stay in."
* * * * *
Leave arrangements weren't difficult to make. Special Operations teams
tended to stay together, but casualties were high; anyone could be
replaced quickly. By mid-morning the next day Odeon had finished
briefing his temporary replacement, and by noon he'd used his Special
Ops identification to get aboard a plane to New Denver.
He'd only flown twice before, with the exception of command-van
copter-lifts, so he slept lightly when he did sleep, then took
advantage of a rest stop to work the kinks of too much sitting out
before the second leg. Back aboard, he listened to the engines and
tried to doze off again. The throbbing roar they made was monotonous
enough to be dulling, but too loud to be soothing . . .
Rather to his surprise, the second landing woke him up. He hadn't
realized he'd managed to sleep again, and he grinned at himself as he
exited the aircraft.
The air here smelled as fresh and clean as the newly-fallen snow, so
good it'd be a shame to waste it. Odeon waved away the SO car that
pulled up, walking to the terminal instead. By the time he'd made
arrangements for a room in Visiting Officers' Quarters, his luggage,
the single small bag that, with what a command van held, was enough for
an SO man for half a month, was waiting. He claimed it, made his way
through shift-change traffic to the VOQ, and checked in.
He went to his assigned room, intending to shower and get a few hours'
rest. Boris had said Joanie would be brought here once she was
stabilized; that could be today, if the doctors decided to fly her in,
or up to a week if they decided she could tolerate surface travel.
He'd just gotten the shower temperature right, though, when he heard
the four sharp knocks on his door that meant official business. With a
muttered "Damn," he turned the water off, wrapped a towel around his
waist, and went to the door. Couldn't a man even get a shower without
being interrupted? "What is it?" he asked the young man in Medical
Corps green when he opened the door.
The medtech looked at the clipboard he held. "Captain Michael Patrick
Odeon of Royal Enforcement Service Special Operations?"
"Serial 263819. Yes." Odeon swore to himself. Formal identification
meant the leave he'd planned to use helping Joanie was over, in favor
of some special duty.
The tech extended the clipboard. "Captain Cortin has asked that you be
the one to represent her interests while she is under treatment, sir.
Would you sign here, please?"
Chuckling, Odeon took the clipboard and scanned the form it held. He
should have expected this; trust Joanie to think of his leave time,
have him assigned to what he would be doing anyway. Then he frowned at
the length-of-assignment block: Indefinite. That was bad, tended to
indicate Boris' field diagnosis of spinal injury was right. He found
the signature block, wrote his name in the small precise script he was
continually kidded about. "Is there any word on her condition or when
she'll be here?"
"She will be on a special medevac flight from Middletown, sir, due in
at 1815. I was told nothing of her condition. By your leave, sir?"
"Dismissed, Tech." Odeon closed the door and went to finish his
interrupted shower. She wasn't due in for another ten hours; he had
time to clean up, nap, and eat before he went in to speak to her
doctors. By then, they'd know exactly what was wrong with her, and
have some idea of what could be done for her.
* * * * *
Two hours before the medevac plane was due to land, Odeon was in one of
New Denver Municipal Hospital's briefing rooms. There were half a
dozen nurses, twice that many technicians, and several doctors in
addition to the one behind the lectern.
By the time the briefing was over an hour later, the only things Odeon
was sure of were that he hadn't understood more than one word in three,
and that the doctor in charge of Joanie's case was as competent as she
was attractive. Bernette Egan, she'd introduced herself--a
neurosurgeon.
He went up to her as the others began leaving. "One moment please, Dr.
Egan, if I may."
She tilted her head to one side, crisp gray curls contrasting with skin
the color of rich chocolate as she looked up at him with a smile. "You
would like a summary in plain English, Captain. Correct?"
Odeon found himself returning her smile. "Yes, ma'am, if you wouldn't
mind. You'd tell Joanie--Captain Cortin--and she's made me her
advocate."
"Indefinitely, yes. I saw the form. Come to the coffee shop, where we
can be comfortable, and I'll be happy to tell you everything I can."
"As you wish, Doctor. I'm buying."
"As you wish, Captain." Egan smiled again, gestured him out of the
briefing room. "The coffee shop isn't far."
The short walk didn't give them time to talk, but Odeon had understood
one key item: Joanie had gotten treatment quickly enough that none of
her injuries now threatened her life. Some were serious, yes--maybe
damn serious, especially the spinal injury--but she would live!
Mike Odeon didn't understand why he felt so strongly about Joan Cortin
and her welfare; all he knew was that he did. He'd recruited her,
sure, but he'd recruited others; he'd slept with her, but he'd slept
with others; he'd led the team that rescued her, but he'd done that
before, too. Maybe it was because the other incidents had all involved
different people, maybe it was because none had reacted as positively
to him on first meeting . . . he didn't try to analyze it. He was in
Special Operations; analysis was for Intelligence. He simply accepted
facts as he found them.
Odeon let Egan choose pastries while he drew coffee and paid the
cashier. Once they found an empty table and settled themselves, he
said, "Okay, Doctor. Tell me."
"To begin with, most of her injuries are what I understand you
Enforcement people call minor. Fractured skull, three broken ribs,
assorted cuts, burns, and bruises." Egan frowned. "However, her
spinal injury is serious even by your standards, and . . . Captain,
did she plan to have children?"
'Did,' not 'does,' Odeon thought grimly. "Yes, Doctor." Until he'd
met Joanie, Odeon hadn't minded that the red crossed daggers of the SO
patch on his sleeve meant he was sterile; his parents had both had
plague-derivatives that made it inevitable, and it was a fate he shared
with almost a third of the Kingdom Systems' population. That patch
also meant he was one of those trusted to protect his Kingdom and the
Systems from their most dangerous enemies. No one able to have
children was allowed into SO since the average life expectancy was less
than a year . . . "As soon as she found a suitable--and fertile--man.
What was it, the rape?"
"Multiple rapes, and not all with . . . natural equipment." Egan
looked at the grim, scar-faced man across from her, uncomfortably aware
that he was both upset and a trained killer. That she knew he was a
devout man as well was little help; Church and state both 'overlooked'
acts from Enforcement people that they would condemn in anyone else.
It seemed reasonable to assume Odeon and Cortin had been lovers, that
if he'd been fertile he would have been the father of her children.
"Captain, it pains me to have to tell you this, but she was so badly
injured by them that the doctors in Middletown were forced to do an
emergency hysterectomy, simply to save her life."
"Does she know?" Odeon kept his voice level, but with effort.
"Not yet. She should be stronger before she is given any more shocks."