"Good enough." Cortin left, thinking it would be useful if she could
help in the redirection. Mike, plus any of the other men on the team
and any Inquisitors who were interested, could handle the positive
aspects of Powell's reorientation, but it would be even better if a
woman could provide negative reorientation. She was incapable in one
way, Piety in another, and you couldn't ask a civilian--even a
paid-woman--to take part in something like this. There might be a few
female enlisted personnel willing to take part, but by the time one
could be found and brought here, it would be well after the Strike
Force teams had left. Too late, in other words; she'd just have to
hope the reorientation worked without that. She scowled, angry at
herself. If she'd realized, rather than just read, that even a
simulation of sexual function could be this important, she'd have
insisted on what little Dr. Egan had admitted to being able to do. Too
late for that as well, now, though; she'd talk to Sis later, see what
she could do when they had some time available. A synthetic vaginal
passage shouldn't be more than minor surgery, well within a medic's
abilities--and Sis would be able to understand why she wanted it, even
knowing its limitations.
* * * * *
The Powell project proved even more popular with her team and the
Inquisitors than Cortin had expected. And, after a night of
considerable thought, she'd reluctantly decided that she couldn't
direct it properly if she couldn't take part, so she'd turned direction
of the project over to Illyanov, who'd promised to handle it as well as
he could, as far as the subject was concerned acting under her
instructions. She made it a point to spend some time in the
observation center every morning, though, following Powell's progress.
The redecoration she'd ordered was in place the first morning; the
third-stage room of Interrogation Suite Delta now looked more like a
courtesan's room at the New Eden. Most of the equipment was still in
place, she knew, but the surgical table had been replaced by a wide
bed, the floor now had thick rugs covering tile, and draperies hid drug
and instrument cabinets, with others turning the harsh brilliance of
overhead fluorescent lighting into soft pastels. Powell was still
apprehensive despite the eroticine, looking as if he wanted to pull
away when the Inquisitor with him began to caress him, but unable to
resist the drug. Cortin disliked seeing a Brother display even the
little enjoyment Powell did, despite the fact his pleasure was
drug-enforced, but she was pleased that his tutor was obviously
enjoying himself.
The next day, Powell's apprehension had disappeared; when she entered
the observation room, he was absorbed in his tutor's instruction.
Cortin found it amusing that he took to his lessons so readily, and
that his instructors were so gentle and patient. It wouldn't surprise
her too much, she thought, if they decided they wanted to keep him; she
might even agree, for their sakes, if his testimony to his Brother
superiors weren't so important to her plans.
The day after that, Chang and an Inquisitor were coaching him on
relaxation techniques. By now, he seemed eager to learn, even more
eager to try what he was being taught, and Cortin found her hostility
to him diminishing. He seemed more like an innocent boy now than like
a Brother of Freedom, and she found herself hoping, when the Inquisitor
had him roll over for a practical demonstration, that he wouldn't find
it too distressing.
He didn't; when his instructor began penetration, his sounds and
movements were ones of unmistakable pleasure, increasing rapidly as the
Inquisitor rode and manipulated him. To Cortin's surprise, she was
pleased when Powell's enjoyment peaked at his climax. When she left
the observation room after telling one of the techs to have Chang
report to her when the session was over, she found herself thinking
Powell would be wasted on the Brothers--but told herself sternly that
he would do well, for both her plan and herself.
An hour later, Chang joined her in the Inquisitors' Lounge. "Good day,
Captain," she said. "A most interesting experiment, though perhaps a
bit too reminiscent of what was done to me for complete comfort."
"If you want out, all you have to do is say so," Cortin told her. "The
last thing I want to do is make things worse for you."
"I do not," the nun said with a brief smile. "While it is reminiscent,
the purpose is entirely different, and for a good cause. By God's
grace, that relieves the discomfort. And as I said, I enjoy watching
others enjoy themselves. So: is there anything more I can do to help?"
"Not with him, no. With others in the future, maybe." Cortin went on
to explain what she would have liked to do, and what she would like
from Chang whenever it was possible. "Can you do that?"
"Easily; as you say, it is minor surgery. However, it may--and I
stress may--not be necessary to settle for function without sensation."
"Nerves don't regenerate," Cortin said flatly. "Dr. Egan was quite
emphatic about that. And the necessary tissue is gone."
"The latter I can do nothing about," Chang conceded. "The first,
however, I am less sure of. With all respect to the good Dr. Egan, I
doubt she follows the doings of Inquisitors on St. Ignatius, while I
have heard rumors that one has had some success in regrowing removed
organs, with restoration of full function." She raised a cautioning
hand. "I believe that to be an exaggeration--such regrowth would, I
believe, require a saint rather than an Inquisitor or medic--but there
is a grain of fact behind any rumor. I would be most happy to
investigate, and, if his actual results warrant, apply his findings to
your problem."
Cortin took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled slowly. Getting her
hopes up, on the basis of some fact that might lie behind a rumor, was
stupid. She knew that, she'd resigned herself to her loss--but
apparently not as well as she'd thought, because she found she was
hoping. Regrowth and restoration of full function would mean the
chance, again, of children--though honesty compelled her to admit that
her failure to become pregnant in years of more than adequate
opportunity meant the chance was vanishingly small. Even the chance of
restored sensation would be worth a lot, though! "Please do,
Lieutenant. Let me know the results as soon as you have something
definite, then we'll base what we do on that."
Chang inclined her head respectfully. "I shall begin at once,
Captain." She left, and Cortin went on to her next subject.
Powell was released the Saturday before the Strike Force's Monday
reassignments, in an area known to be infested with terrorist
sympathizers. He was provided with fresh clothing, a month's supply of
eroticine, an authorization to get more from any medical supply center
he happened to be near--which she didn't expect him to need or use--and
a brief message that "The Bitch" was most definitely alive, and was
deeply interested in the Brothers' welfare.