The Mass had more of an effect on Cortin than she had expected it
to--more than it ever had, even when she was in a mood for religion.
For some reason it seemed more meaningful, more immediate, than it had
before. Maybe it was the pain that made her empathize with the
tortured image on the cross, maybe it was something else, she didn't
know. All she was sure of was that for the first time, it felt like
the "collective sacrifice" it was supposed to be, and when she went
forward for Communion reciting the "Domine, non sum dignus," she found
herself hoping the Host would actually heal the hurt in her soul.
It didn't, but when she returned to her pew she did feel less
despondent, and when the service was over, she found to her surprise
that she intended to return the next morning. As they walked to the
Officers' Club for breakfast, she turned to Odeon with an unforced
smile. "Thanks for getting me there, Mike. Mind if I go with you
again tomorrow?"
"Be glad to have you. It helped, then?"
"Yes. I don't know how, but it did."
"Good!" Odeon grinned down at her. "I thought it had, from your
expression. Just remember, He doesn't allow any of us to be tried
beyond our endurance--even though He may come right to the brink of it."
"I will." She started to ask him a question, but they were almost at
the Club; she waited until they had gotten their food and started to
eat, then she said, "You told me once you wanted to become a priest.
Why didn't you?"
"Because my primary calling was to law enforcement instead." He
shrugged. There were priests in Enforcement, true--even a few
bishops--but not in the operational sections, which was where his
calling lay. "I've never understood why the two couldn't still be
combined--the prewars sometimes had fighting priests and bishops--but
since I had to make the choice, I decided I'd rather be a good law
officer than a mediocre priest."
Cortin nodded. "That makes sense, though I'd bet a month's pay you'd
be an outstanding priest, not a mediocre one. As well as a great law
officer--have you ever thought of applying for an exception?"
"Quite a few times," Odeon admitted. "I think the reason I never did
was that I was afraid I'd get my hopes up, then be turned down."
"I can understand that," Cortin said, remembering. "I think you
should, though. Maybe if you point out that Enforcement troops,
especially Special Ops, go places regular priests don't get to in
years, it would help. His Holiness does seem to be willing to accept
that sort of innovation."
"Maybe I should, at that," Odeon agreed. There were always articles in
the various parish papers bemoaning the lack of vocations, especially
to serve remote areas . . . "In fact, maybe I should ask for a general
exception. I'm not the only one who'd like to do something more
positive than just administer Last Rites."
"It's worth a try," Cortin said. She speared a piece of ham-and-cheese
omelet, ate it, then said, "I can understand how you feel. It may
sound odd for an Enforcement officer, but I'd love holding a baby for
baptism--they're fun to cuddle."
"Cuddle a baby?" a voice said from behind her. "I hope that does not
mean you want to discontinue your training; I should deeply regret the
loss of such a promising student."
"Not at all, Major!" Cortin turned, gesturing to another chair at
their table. "You must've missed some of the conversation. Would you
care to join us?"
"With pleasure," Illyanov said, putting his tray down and seating
himself. "I am personally glad to hear you intend to continue; it
takes no more than fertility to bear children, and anyone with moderate
interest can become a fairly competent Inquisitor--but it takes both
talent and motivation to do truly well in our field." He smiled at
her. "Which I am convinced you will. It is good to see you out of the
hospital."
"It's good to be out!" Cortin said emphatically. "I'm still
technically in hospital status, and Doctor Egan has made it clear she'd
put me back in bed if I do anything too strenuous--but it's great being
out of there and back in uniform!"
"I am fully familiar with the feeling," Illyanov agreed. "There are
few things worse than enforced idleness, especially in such
surroundings." He raised a hand, smiling at her. "Not that I call
your studying idleness, not at all--I am, in fact, impressed by your
industry--but from your Academy and other records, I am sure you are
impatient to begin practical application of your theoretical work."
"I certainly am." She wasn't all that eager to practice the first two
stages, though, especially in the beginning when they were on Academy
cadets, with the additional purpose of training them to resist
interrogation. Her interest was in third-stage, with Brothers of
Freedom as her subjects--but she supposed it was all necessary, to
achieve her real end. "How soon can we start?"
"Such eagerness!" Illyanov laughed. "Nor are you the only one; I have
been relieved of my classes and given orders to expedite your training,
once you were out of the hospital. We are, if you choose, to
concentrate on Stage Three--and the one who gave me those orders said
it was highly likely you would so choose."
"He was right." Cortin thought back to the debriefing and that
mysterious Lieutenant, certain he was somehow involved--but that the
classified assignment probably was too, so it would be wiser not to ask
about either his identity or his involvement. She'd thank him for it
later, if she could do so without breaking security. For now, she
smiled at Illyanov. "So, when do we start?"
"I do love an enthusiastic student . . . shortly after we finish here,
if you are that impatient. Any Brothers of Freedom captured in this
area--except, for now, those probably having critical or time-sensitive
information--will either be sent here or held where they were captured
until you decide whether to question them yourself or turn them over to
another Inquisitor." He gave her a raised-eyebrow smile. "I confess to
being astonished at that, Captain. I have heard of prisoners being
reserved for a particularly skilled Inquisitor, yes, but never for a
student. Even one as promising as yourself."
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?"