/>
Apparently He agreed, Cortin thought as she felt her hands grow warm.

It was a peculiar sensation, as if she were absorbing energy through

every pore of her body, channeling it, and pushing it into Odeon. His

color improved and he grew visibly stronger, until he seemed to be in a

natural sleep rather than a coma. At that point the power-flow

stopped; as she removed her hands, he opened his eyes.



When he did, his expression frightened her almost as much as his

weakness had. Granted that no one could face Shayan and come out of it

unchanged, Odeon looked . . . haunted. "Dave told us about it," she

said softly. "So you don't need to talk about it unless you want to."



Odeon sat up, putting his arms around his knees, looking away from her.

"I don't want to--but you deserve to know that I may not be much good

to you any more. I . . . I don't think I could go through that

again--I don't see how you and Sis can even consider facing him."



Cortin sat beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder. She'd

suffered the most physical damage, but it was obvious from Sis' and

Mike's reactions that she'd been spared Shannon/Shayan's worst torment:

he'd kept out of her mind! There was therapy, good therapy, for

physical rape; she didn't know of any at all for mental rape. They'd

do what they could for him, that went without saying, but she could

only hope that'd be enough. "We'll help you, Mike, all of us. And the

Protector loaned me some of His power to bring you out of the shock he

sent you into. Just remember what you told me: God will test us to our

utmost limits, but not beyond them. I know words aren't a lot of help

right now, but maybe the Family will be--if you feel up to it, we're

gathered in the common-room. Ivan's here too; I thought he might have

some ideas how to help you, and he's the one who suggested I might be

able to borrow some of the Protector's power."



Odeon didn't really feel like seeing anyone, or even moving--what he

did want was to crawl in a hole, pull it shut, and forget what had been

done to him. But he couldn't betray Joanie that way, or the rest of

the team and Family; reluctantly, he straightened and got out of bed.

"Okay . . . I'll be out as soon as I get dressed."



"I'll stay; you're in no condition to be left alone." Cortin grimaced.

"I remember how it was when I woke up a couple of times on the flight

to New Denver. The medics did their best, but I'd have given anything

for a familiar, friendly face. At that point I couldn't have handled

anything else, and I don't suppose you can, either--but at least you've

got the faces."



"Yeah." Odeon went into the bathroom, took some refuge in the routine

of getting ready for a new day. Joanie was right about one thing, at

least; he didn't feel able to handle much of anything, especially

intimacy of any sort. He wasn't at all sure he could manage to get

through his responsibilities as Team-Second and heir to High Teton,

though he'd have to try. He couldn't simply shrug off his duties just

because he felt like he'd been torn into contaminated shreds, however

much he might prefer to. Joanie'd put him back together, at least

enough to go through the motions, and he could trust God to keep

providing the support he needed to carry out his priestly functions.

As Shayan had said, the priest's character--or, in his case, feelings

of contamination--had no effect on the validity of the Sacraments.



When he and Cortin got to the common-room, it took an effort to let

himself be embraced and kissed; it was impossible to return either more

than perfunctorily, and he couldn't bring himself to touch Illyanov's

offered hand. Their understanding and sympathy helped, but he felt

distanced, remote--as if Shayan had stolen something in the process of

breaking him. He looked around at them, shook his head. "Sorry,

people. God willing, I'll get over this soon--but right now the only

thing that seems to have any meaning at all is that I . . . don't feel

like I'm worthy of you. Nothing else matters."



"Which is foolishness," Chang said. "Natural, after what you have been

through, but foolishness nonetheless. You will indeed get over it, as

Joan and I have. Soon, as you say, if the Protector sees fit to aid

you further--which would not surprise me, since He chose you as one of

His first two priests."



"In the meantime," Illyanov said, "I am intrigued by this ability

Shayan has given you to dissolve his compulsions. Does it apply only

to those he imposed on Miss Blackfeather, I wonder, or can you dissolve

any of them?"



The change of subject was a relief for Odeon. "I don't know," he said

thoughtfully. "Either way makes sense. He wouldn't want me dissolving

any except hers, but he probably only used one technique for all of

them, since he didn't know--then--that he'd be giving anyone the

ability to eliminate his tampering. We'll have to find out, when we

have someone else who's been conditioned."



"And I'm intrigued by what he called mental speech," Bain said. "His

touch wasn't exactly what I'd expected--more awesome than repulsive,

until he started working on Mike. And can you imagine how much more

convenient it'd be if we could communicate that way? Especially in

action?"



"He said if I survived, that would be just the first taste of mental

speech," Odeon said. "I don't know if he meant just me, or the Family,

or the Protector's Sealed--I wonder. Dave, do you think his using it

with the two of us could've sensitized us enough we could use it

without him?"



*I don't know,* Bain replied silently, *but it's worth trying. Can you

hear me?*



"No need to shout," Odeon said. "I heard you fine." He looked around

at the rest. "Anybody else pick it up?"



Cortin shook her head. "Not me."



"I heard nothing either," Illyanov said. "That is unfortunate; it

could have been useful."



Cortin frowned. "It sure would. Sounds like it's something he does to

you by touching your mind, maybe sort of a side effect. What he did to

me was purely physical, but--Sis, he mind-touched you; did you hear

Dave?"



Chang nodded. "Quite clearly."



"I think I'm jealous--for the first time, I wish he'd mind-touched me."



"Never wish for that," Odeon said grimly. "It's a horrible sensation,

though the mind-speech itself isn't bad."



"The mind-speech is called telepathy," Illyanov said. "It is part of

what is called Talent, and some rare humans have enough to be trained

in its reliable use."



Cortin stared at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about--how do you

know that?"



Illyanov smiled. "Since our discussion something over a week ago, I

have spent my free time studying the Terran Empire. That particular

fact came to light approximately three years ago, when the first

non-human Ranger found Talent in one of her human colleagues."



"The Empire!" Cortin exclaimed. "Why in God's name would you study

them?"



"Because I had a dream that night. It may have been no more than a

normal dream, triggered by that discussion--but dreams, in this group,

have of late been highly significant. Treating this one as such can do

no harm, and may be of benefit, so I have been doing so."



That was an even better change of subject, and Odeon seized on it.

"What was the dream about?"



"The arrival of two Imperial ships, a small one followed by a large.

As I say, the dream may have been nothing more than a reaction to

Joan's and my discussion, but my personal feeling is that we should be

preparing for contact--perhaps soon."



Odeon frowned. "Before the Final Coming? Or are you saying they're

part of the Final Coming? I don't think I like that idea--it makes me

uncomfortable."



"I do not like it either, and it may not be the case. Some of the more

ambiguous prophecies of that time, however, can be interpreted in the

light of such contact without distortion. What, for instance, if the

Great King references were to the Emperor rather than the High King?

And what if the Protector's form, which 'none can predict', is not

human, or at least not fully so?"



Odeon winced. "Ouch, Ivan! That's even worse."



"I am not sure I find it so," Illyanov said thoughtfully. "As I told

Joan, I believe contact will be to our ultimate benefit, though it may

be difficult at first."



"Even if one of them turns out to be the Protector?"



"Perhaps especially then."



"Do you think Shayan would permit contact if that were the case?" Chang

asked.



Illyanov chuckled. "I doubt he will have any choice in the matter.

The Protector will manifest, that promise is definite; the questions

are only when, and in what form."



"Yeah." Odeon shook his head, rubbing the scar across his mouth, and

stood. "I'm sorry, Joanie, folks--I need to be alone for a bit."



"Go ahead, then." Cortin watched him leave, frowning. "Sis--is that a

good idea?"



"I believe so, for him. I would be happier if I could be sure he would

be doing something other than brooding over his mishandling--but I

think it likely he will be; Ivan's speculation could well be providing

him that distraction."



"I can distract him further," Illyanov said with a smile. "I received

word late yesterday that my resignation has been accepted; with Your

Grace's permission, I will ask Michael's help in setting up the High

Teton Enforcement Service. Although I do not as yet belong to it,

since it has not been officially established."



Startled, Cortin looked at him more closely. He was in uniform, but

now she saw he wasn't wearing any rank or territory insigne. "That can

be remedied easily enough. As of right now, there is a High Teton

Enforcement Service, commanded by Colonel Ivan Petrovich Illyanov.

You're out of uniform, Colonel--would somebody please get him an eagle

from my room?"



A grinning Powell left on that errand while Illyanov stared at her. "I

had not expected to be put in charge, Joan. To the best of my

knowledge, no Enforcement Service has ever been headed by an

Inquisitor, due to the public opinion of our profession."



"You're the only qualified candidate," Cortin said, grinning. "High

Teton's not going to be a normal fief, Ivan; all of the top people are

going to be Sealed. And I think the public perception of a Sealed

Inquisitor is going to be different from that of a non-Sealed one. So

you're it."



"Yes, Your Grace." Illyanov managed a seated bow. "I will, of course,

do my best."



"Prince Edward's going to administer it for the present; get in touch

with him for what you need. And coordinate with Brad and his Strike

Force people." Cortin grinned again. "I don't think you'll have much

trouble finding recruits, in spite of the climate. Just make sure you

find a good-sized house for your Family, and let me know when the

wedding's to be."



"Of course. If you are free at the time, I would be honored to have

you perform the ceremony."



"I'll make a point of it," Cortin assured him. "Oh, thanks, Chuck."

She took the silver eagle from her aide and pinned it on Illyanov's

collar. "There, that's better. Not quite complete yet, but that'll

have to wait till you can have territorial insigne made. Go to it,

Colonel."



"As Your Grace commands." Illyanov rose, smiling. "If I may be

excused, I shall find Michael and discuss the details with him."



* * * * *



Odeon had gone to his room, made himself a cup of herb tea, and settled

into his seldom-used armchair to do some thinking. First Shayan's

torture, now Ivan studying the Empire and speculating that the

Protector might be one of them--maybe not even human!



He stared at the circled-triangle marks on the backs of his hands,

deeply disturbed. Maybe he shouldn't be--the idea of the Protector

coming from the Empire didn't seem to bother anyone else, though Joanie

seemed troubled by the prospect of contact itself. He couldn't

pinpoint why it bothered him, since the Protector was by definition

divine rather than human, loaning Joanie some of His or Her powers; why

should he be disturbed if the physical body was non-human as well?



After several minutes' thought, he still couldn't come up with a

reason; all he knew was that he didn't like it. He finished his tea

and was going over to the prie-dieu when there was a knock on his door.



He swore briefly under his breath--the last thing he wanted right now

was a visitor!--but went to answer it, grinning despite himself when he

saw Ivan's new collar insignia. "Come in, Colonel sir.

Congratulations."



Illyanov bowed, smiling. "Thank you, Michael. May I ask your

professional assistance?"



"Of course. What can I do for you?"



"Assist me in setting up the Enforcement Service Her Grace has just

established, with me as its head."



"Gladly. Want some tea?" Odeon put his problems out of his mind, more

than ready to exchange them for some practical work.



* * * * *



Friday, 20 March 2572



Cortin lay awake, seriously worried about Odeon. Physically there was

no longer anything wrong with him, but his emotional state was

frightening. He'd withdrawn further into himself over the past three

days, despite Ivan's efforts to draw him out, not speaking except when

it was necessary to carry out his duties, not smiling at all even

during the Protector's services--though he still seemed to take some

pleasure in those--and not touching anyone when it could possibly be

avoided.



There had to be something she and the rest could do to help, she kept

telling herself, but nothing they'd tried so far had had any effect.

She, Sis, and Betty had all tried to get him to make love, but he'd

rejected all of them with what seemed like near-panic, and she and Sis

were agreed on the reason: he was convinced Shayan had somehow

contaminated him, and was terrified of passing that contamination on to

them. That, as Sis had told him, was foolishness--but they couldn't

convince Mike.



Maybe that would change when Blackfeather arrived and he broke the

compulsions Shayan had put her under. If she was really suitable for

the Protector's staff, uncontaminated despite being the Hell-King's

mistress, then Mike surely couldn't keep believing a single contact had

fouled him too badly to touch.



On the other hand, Cortin admitted to herself, that sort of belief

didn't have to have logic behind it, and she wasn't the one who'd felt

Shayan's mind invading hers. How would she have felt if she'd had to

accept the invasion the way Mike had, without resistance, to save

someone else? She and Sis had been able to fight, at least, except for

Sis' compelled welcoming of Shayan's last embrace--and yes, that had

been the worst of the nun's memories, even knowing the welcome had been

compelled. So had Mike's, in a way . . . but his had been

self-compelled, by the knowledge that if he didn't allow the invasion,

he'd be condemning Blackfeather to Hell.



Cortin scowled at that. She'd changed her opinion of Hell, recently.

A place of eternal torment no longer seemed to square at all with the

idea of a just and merciful God. Purgatory still didn't bother her; of

course you'd have to pay for your sins before being admitted to Heaven,

but even the longest and most painful stay there would end in triumph.

Hell didn't end, and if what Mike was suffering was a fair sample, its

torments went beyond any punishment a human could justly deserve.

Even, she thought, the ones she'd sent there believing they did deserve

it. If she had it to do over again, she would, of course; the

sentences she'd carried out were legally mandated, and she'd carried

them out, as required, when she'd satisfied herself she'd gotten all a

subject's useful information. Terrorists were a cancer on society and

had to be eliminated for its health--but maybe she could use her skill

to persuade them to repent. She could manage a mortal approximation of

Hell, and that, even if it meant some extra time under her hands, was

surely better than an eternity of the real thing! She couldn't do away

with Hell, but she could certainly see that Shayan got as few of her

subjects as possible!



That, however, didn't solve the problem of how to help Mike. The best

possibility, she was convinced, was the emotional unity sex now

included, but his fear of touching made that possibility a remote one.

Still, if she--or Sis, or Betty--could become one with him, show him

that he wasn't fouled . . . but the only way she could think of to

accomplish that was feeding him eroticine, which he wouldn't take

voluntarily, and it wouldn't be right to trick him even to help him,

would it?



Finally deciding that she wasn't going to be able to solve the problem

by herself, she got out of bed and dressed. She'd accepted an

invitation to say morning Mass at the Cathedral--probably extended out

of curiosity about her stigmata, she thought, but still a chance to

talk about the Protector's coming and offer the Communion of Promise to

civilians. Lucius/Shayan hadn't forbidden it yet, to her considerable

surprise; if he didn't after today's, she'd have to do some serious

wondering why.



She'd decided to make it a Mass for Travelers, with Edward and Ursula,

Bradford and Illyanov starting for High Teton's capital, Archangel, at

noon, and she was pleased to see all of them at the Cathedral when she

and her team arrived. There was no time to talk; traffic had been

heavier than expected, and they were running late, so she and her

concelebrants, Odeon and Bain, had to go straight to the sacristy to

get ready.



Bradford had agreed with her about ruining a uniform or set of

vestments every time she said Mass, and since the purpose of her

stigmata was to show Jeshua's approval of her, she couldn't wear

bandages, so he'd given her permission to wear just the alb, cincture,

stole, and sandals. It looked odd to someone used to seeing mostly a

chasuble, but no odder than her fellow priests in uniform and armed; it

was being weaponless that bothered her most, though she didn't want to

ruin a perfectly good gunbelt and holster, either.



The Cathedral was packed, highly unusual for a weekday and flattering,

though it also made her nervous--until she got to the altar and began

the ceremony. As always, she lost herself in it, unaware of her

surroundings except while she was giving Communion. It was then she

realized there were far more troopers here than their percentage of the

population would have suggested, which pleased her.



It pleased her even more after Mass, when she explained the Protector's

impending arrival and offered the Communion of Promise, that

practically all of them came forward to accept it. Some civilians did

so as well, though most held back, their expressions either uncertain

or disapproving.



When that was over too and she'd gotten dressed, ready to leave, she

discovered that the troopers had other plans. Their spokesman, Captain

Watkins--she remembered him, the first person she'd administered

Confession to--invited her and her team to a breakfast banquet at the

Royal Hotel. She accepted gladly; much as she enjoyed being at Harmony

Lodge, the idea of going out for breakfast was appealing. It wouldn't

do Mike any harm, either, and she liked the idea of having Chuck seen

as one of her team by people who might otherwise have trouble believing

it.



And Chuck did seem to enjoy being at the head table. "Having fun?" she

asked with a smile.



Powell returned the smile. "Sure am! Last time I saw some of these, I

was a prisoner remanded to the High King's Inquisitor, thinking sure

I'd be dead in a day or so--now I'm your private secretary, Sealed to

the Protector, and happy as a puppy with a new kid. What more could

anyone ask?"



"Put that way, nothing," Cortin replied, amused. "You also look better

in uniform than you did in civvies, if that matters."



"I think so, too." Powell hesitated, then glanced briefly at Odeon and

mouthed, "What about Mike?"



Cortin shrugged, wishing again that she and the rest of the team shared

the telepathy Shayan had given Sis, Dave, and Mike. Even limited to

themselves, unlike the telepathic Talent Ivan described, it would have

been useful.



There was no point in fruitless wishing, though, so she turned her

attention to the meal and her hosts. "This was very thoughtful of you

and the rest, Captain Watkins--we all appreciate it. I, for one, have

gotten more out of touch than I intended, that morning at the Eagle's

Nest."



"You have had a lot to occupy you, Excellency." Watkins ventured a

smile. "It's an honor to have you with us--but I must confess it's a

little unnerving sitting next to the Protector's Herald."



"It's more than a little unnerving to be the Herald," Cortin said. "It

might not be as bad if I had a decent idea what I was supposed to do,

but I'm operating by guesswork. On the other hand, it'll give me a

better chance of establishing the Families." She wished she could tell

everyone here about her Family, and fief, and coming grandchild, but

that would have to wait . . . "Do you have an understanding chaplain

yet?"



"Not exactly, but Lieutenant Bain hears Confessions at the Center often

enough that we're in a lot better shape than we were." This time, his

smile wasn't tentative. "Having the Communion of Promise, and the

Herald being an Inquisitor, helps even more. Civs still don't like us,

but I've seen less hostility since you got the stigmata."



"That'll help," Cortin said. "I have a feeling we're supposed to be

the leaders of the Protector's . . . guardians, I suppose, for lack of

a better word. Not to guard Him, of course, He won't need it, but to

guard His people from the ones who don't accept Him and aren't willing

to let those who do live in peace. As I told Colonel Illyanov once, as

long as humans have free will, Enforcement's still going to be

necessary."



"Colonel Illyanov, yes." Watkins looked at her quizzically. "Four of

the ones Sealed so far are Inquisitors, and two of them have gotten

sudden promotions to the top rank; one other was already there. The

rest of the Sealed are high ranking themselves or closely associated

with rankers--not at all like Jeshua and His disciples."



Cortin shrugged. "That's how I'm told it's supposed to be, this time

around. This is the Final Coming, and if the Protector defeats Shayan,

He'll be reigning over at least the Kingdom Systems; His mortal staff

will have to have some top-level experience to give Him proper support.

I think you can expect to see more promotions and other changes in the

fairly near future."



"God willing, He'll come into the open soon--promotions or not, I want

to be Sealed myself."



"And he's not the only one," an intense-looking young Lieutenant said.

"Don't get us wrong, Excellency, we sure wouldn't turn down any

promotions, but over half the staff of the Center--maybe three-quarters

of the Inquisitors--mostly want Sealed. Myself included."



Cortin's truthsense said they were understating the intensity of their

desire for the Protector's chief benefit. Their yearning to be Sealed

seemed to be every bit as strong as her desire to avoid the

confrontation with Shayan she was sure would cost her her life--and if,

she thought grimly, the Hell-King could manage it, with pain even

greater than Mike's. She forced that thought back; the confrontation

would happen, and a Strike Force member's job description practically

guaranteed death in the line of duty--the questions were when and how,

not if.



It didn't surprise her particularly that it was the Inquisitors who

most wanted to take advantage of the Sealing. Their work, done

properly, was a constant strain, with the accompanying urge to take out

their frustrations on a subject--or not do what was needed to get vital

information. The line between the Warrant-protected violence of their

duties and the sin of giving in to personal weakness was a thin one,

easy to rationalize crossing . . . "I'm praying for you and everyone

else who wants His protection," Cortin said. "And I'm beginning to

believe being Sealed is going to be necessary for Inquisitors in His

Kingdom. We may never be loved, but having truthsense and being in a

constant state of grace, we should at least be trusted, and only

criminals will have any reason to be afraid of us."



Watkins smiled. "Theoretically that's true now--but in fact, I'd like

to be able to walk down the street in uniform and not have half the

sidewalk to myself."



Cortin chuckled. "That's a problem I haven't had lately, but I

remember the feeling. I hope you get it soon."



Watkins frowned. "That doesn't sound like you expect to, Excellency."



Cortin looked at the red crossed daggers on her sleeve. "I'm Special

Ops, Captain, and I've been told I'll be going face to face with

Shayan. That has to mean it's my death that'll signal the Protector's

arrival. So no, I don't expect to see His earthly Kingdom."



Watkins nodded. "I understand, Excellency. But I'll pray for it

anyway."



"I'd appreciate that. Something else I was told was that piety was

crucial--spread the word, would you?"



"Of course." Watkins hesitated. "What about--what you just said, that

you'll have to face Shayan yourself?"



Cortin shrugged. "If it had to be kept secret, I wouldn't have been

able to say anything about it. Say what you want." She took a deep

breath. "I'd rather not think about it any more right now, though, so

would you mind if we change the subject? This breakfast looks and

smells too good to spoil with that sort of discussion."



"As you say, Excellency." Watkins thought for a moment, then cocked

his head. "I've heard Your Excellency is fond of animals?"



"Yes--why?"



"Because I have some six-week-old kittens I'm trying to find homes for.

They aren't purebred, though."



"Neither am I," Cortin said. "Yes, I'd like one--two, if that isn't

being greedy."



"Two is fine. Whenever you have time to come by and pick them out."



"How about as soon as we're done here?"



"My pleasure, Excellency."



* * * * *



For the first time since learning to drive, Cortin was glad that her

rank meant she sat in back while someone else drove. She'd ended up

with three of the kittens, and they were currently playing tag around

her lap and shoulders, with occasional forays to Odeon. He didn't seem

to object to their touch, and once he even seemed to smile for a second

when the orange tiger-striped one purred in his ear. He hadn't worked

up to stroking them yet, but she hoped that would only be a matter of

time; animals were supposed to be good therapy, as well as being fun.



Even the kittens, it seemed, couldn't distract her completely from

Mike's problem. He needed help too badly for her to ignore it long,

especially when he was right there beside her! He'd helped her when

she was hurting; why in God's Name wouldn't he let her help him? She

hadn't planned on saying anything, but--"Mike, you must know I'm

willing--eager!--to do anything in my power for you."



"I do know," he said. "Blast it, Joanie, you can't think I enjoy

feeling this way--afraid of intimacy with any of you!"



"I don't think that at all," she said quietly. "I just wish I could

convince you--you must know you can't contaminate us. You're Sealed,

Shayan can't corrupt you! Sis and I both know it feels that way, but

being victimized doesn't make you any less of a person."



He was silent so long she didn't think he was going to answer, but

eventually he said, "Intellectually, I understand that. It's my

feelings that're the problem."



"Yes, they are." Cortin paused. "Have you considered taking the

advice you gave me once? Offer the hurt to God. You're Sealed to the

Protector, His priest as well as Jeshua's; if you ask, I'm sure one or

both Aspects will help you gladly."



"I've done that, of course. So far it hasn't worked." He glanced at

her, then looked down at the kitten. "Joanie, it's not just what

Shayan did to me. That's most of it, but . . ."



Cortin frowned. "What Ivan was saying about the Protector?"



"Yeah."



"I'm scared of the Empire myself--but if it does produce the Protector,

I'd have to change my opinion." She sighed. "I'm not sure whether I

like the idea or not, but if that's the way it works out, I'll have to

accept the fact. So will you."



Odeon nodded grimly. She was acting Protector, so he couldn't argue

that; if the true Protector came from the Empire, he would have to

accept Him or Her, and by extension, His or Her place of origin.

"Should I start studying the Empire, then, like Ivan did?"



Cortin cocked her head, thoughtful, then she nodded. "It might not be

a bad idea at that. I don't have any cosmic hunches or anything, but

if he's right, we should be prepared."



"Okay. It might actually be interesting."



Cortin smiled. "I'll settle for that. Between study and little Orange

there, you may be combat-ready in time for the convent defense."



"I hope so. But she's Tangerine, not Orange." Odeon's lips twitched

in a near-smile as he kept the kitten from crawling into the sleeve of

his tunic. "I'll work it out, Joanie--just give me time."



"All I can, but we know there isn't much, and I will not have someone

under my command going into combat in that condition. If you haven't

straightened out by noon Tuesday, either you let me try unity or you're

on the inactive list until you do recover."



"Permanently, you mean," Odeon said bleakly. "After Wednesday, if you

remember, His Majesty has ordered me out of action."



"Of course I remember," Cortin said. "Mike, please believe I don't

want to hold you back--but I won't let you go into action with almost

no chance of survival unless there's absolutely no choice."



"I understand."