Arrival

: MAIN STORY
: The Alembic Plot

The Columbus left as soon as Medart's ship, the Empress Lindner,

entered orbit. Battle cruisers were far too large to land in a gravity

field as strong as St. Thomas', so he came down in one of the bus-sized

landers along with a single pilot/bodyguard. There was none of the



pomp or ceremony Cortin would have expected when royalty from one realm

visited another, but Colonel Bradford had decided to leave the Str ke

Force troops in place because of the Brotherhood, so she was able to

have a proper military formation, at least. The Ranger had asked for

informality, though, so she and Odeon were the only ones who approached

to greet him when he emerged from the lander, followed by his

bodyguard. They exchanged introductions, and Medart confirmed Cortin's

guess that the small, dark-skinned blond was indeed one of the

genetically engineered Sandeman warriors, Lieutenant Keith DarElwyn.



"I thought it might reassure you," Medart said, "if I brought along one

of the people we were able to make friends with thirty years ago. I've

got Traiti aboard as well, but I don't think you're quite ready for

them." Cortin, he thought, was more impressive in person than on

screen. She was medium height and build, with straight brown hair not

quite shoulder length, wearing a gray uniform with wide-brimmed

hat--but it was her eyes that struck him. They were a light brown,

with pupils that seemed blacker than space, making them seem to look

through you.



Even though he was familiar with Odeon from DeLayne's tapes, he found

the scar-faced man more impressive in person, as well. He was a good

twenty-five centis taller than his commander, strongly built without

looking like a weight-lifter--and the nasty-looking scar that cut

across his right cheek down across his mouth and into his chin seemed

more a distinction than a disfigurement. Both officers reminded Medart

irresistibly of predators, though he couldn't pinpoint the reason . . .

maybe that neither seemed to have any softness about @.



It had become almost a reflex for Medart to do a quick mental scan of

anyone he met, and under the circumstances, he would've scanned Cortin

and Odeon anyway. Mike Odeon was average, with no mind-screen or

perceptible Talent other than very minor telepathy, but Cortin was an

entirely different story. She had an incredible degree of Talent

latent, though it wasn't like any he'd felt before. Still, three and a

half years of experience didn't make him an expert in Talent

varieties--especially human ones, since that had been discovered only

the same three and a half years ago. Her mind-shield had a potential

strength even greater than a Sandeman warrior's, though she wasn't

using it. She also had a strong telepathic potential, of which she was

using a small, untrained portion--and there was another aspect, one he

hadn't encountered before, that it felt like she was using fully,

though unconsciously. It was a good thing, Medart thought, that he

seemed to be immune to that particular aspect. His focus had to remain

on the Empire as a whole; he couldn't afford--and had no desire--to

fall in love. He was less sure about Keith's immunity, though; even in

this brief a time, he could sense a sort of mellowing. He'd have to

keep an eye on that, he thought; if Cortin could affect a Sandeman,

even one of the rare unshielded warriors like Keith, it might be risky

letting her around too many Imperials. On the other hand . . . He

made a mental note to contact DeLayne when he was alone, and find out

what effect she'd had on the Columbus' captain and crew. Probably

none, since he hadn't said anything about it, but best to double-check.



Cortin nodded to the Sandeman. "It would be interesting to get his

reactions to the Empire first-hand."



Keith bowed. "I look forward to the opportunity, Excellency."



"Let's go inside, then, and I'll introduce you to the rest of my

Family. Did Captain DeLayne brief you about the satyr plague?"



Medart chuckled. "And the Strike Force's . . . ah . . . 'enthusiastic

use of their dispensation' was how he phrased it. We've both been

immunized, just in case."



"Yes. Well, one of the social changes it triggered, and I helped bring

about, was an expanded family structure to allow for the variety it

makes you want, while still providing stability for the family itself,

particularly the children. Family Cortin began as Strike Force Team

Azrael, and most of it still is, though we've added a civilian wife. I

understand Sandemans have a strong privacy drive?"



"Very strong," Medart agreed. "Why?"



"Because Family behavior on the private floors can best be described as

uninhibited, particularly in the evening," Cortin said. "If open

sexuality disturbs him--either of you, for that matter--I'm not sure

what to do. You want to learn about us by living with us, and that's

part of our life. I certainly can't put one of your rank in a field

shelter!"



Medart chuckled. "It doesn't disturb me, but Keith would probably be

seriously embarrassed." He enjoyed it, in fact, any time he was on one

of the worlds where open sexuality was the norm--particularly where

outsiders were allowed or encouraged to participate. That was a

preference, though, that Sandemans definitely didn't share. He turned

to Keith. "Would you prefer staying in a shelter or the lander,

Lieutenant? With this many troops around us, I don't think I need a

full-time bodyguard."



"I would, thank you, sir. The lander, by preference."



"You will still eat with us, won't you?" Cortin asked. "We don't

generally relax to a degree that should make you uncomfortable until

after supper, and the ground floor is always formal."



"I intend no disrespect, Excellency. I will be honored to eat and

visit with you."



"Good. Let's go introduce you to my Family, then." As they entered

the Lodge and went upstairs to the common-room, she said, "To spare you

some confusion about our names: we're all Cortin, since Mike and

Sis--the senior spouses--wanted me as head of the Family and named it

after me. So Mike's full name is Michael Patrick Cortin-Odeon, but

around the Lodge or people who know us well, he's Mike or Captain

Odeon, depending on circumstances. Since he's also a priest, you'll

sometimes hear adults calling him Father, too."



They were in the living room by then, where the rest of Family Cortin

was waiting; she introduced them to the visitors. "Medic-Lieutenant

Eleanor Chang, otherwise known as Piety or Sis, the Family's senior

wife; Elizabeth Bain, our only non-military adult;

Communications-Lieutenant Joseph Pritchett, generally called Tiny;

Armorer-Lieutenant Anthony Degas; Demolitions-Lieutenant David Bain,

who's also a priest like Mike and myself, and my backup Inquisitor;

Lieutenant Charles Powell, who doesn't have a rated specialty but acts

as my secretary; and our children--legally my grandchildren, though I

can't have children of my own--Luke, Kateri, and George."



The two Imperials bowed slightly, and Medart did the honors on that

side. "I appreciate your hospitality," he said then. "Before Colonel

Cortin and I can do any productive negotiating, we have to get to know

each other and each other's cultures. You got a bit of a head start

with Columbus' crew, but I'm deliberately starting from scratch, except

for the little Captain Odeon gave Captain DeLayne."



"With first names," Cortin said, "since you're guests in our home;

formality's for the ground floor and below. Unless that's considered

rude in the Empire, which I doubt from the time Gwen spent with us."



"In the Empire it'd be undue familiarity from anyone except my parents,

other Rangers and the Sovereign, or the captain of my ship. But this

isn't the Empire, so we go by your customs, not ours; I'm Jim."



Cortin smiled. "Joan--maybe Joanie, if you feel like joining our

Family pleasures some evening." She sobered. "Now--I agreed to let

you observe me, and I won't go back on that. But I do have to warn you

that, based on people's reactions here, you'll probably find my work

extremely unpleasant. I know Mike didn't go into detail about it with

Captain DeLayne, because I told him not to." She paused, using the

brief silence for emphasis. "I'm an Inquisitor, Jim. Normally, that

would mean I question prisoners, and turn them over to a judge for

sentencing if the evidence warrants it. But I'm the High King's

Inquisitor, which means I deal only with capital crimes of the worst

type; by the time a criminal gets to me, he's either proven too

stubborn for other Inquisitors, or he's under sentence of prolonged

death. So far, only one of the prisoners remanded to me has left

Harmony Lodge alive, though with your help there may be a second."



"That," Medart said with considerable aversion, "sounds like you

torture people to death."



Cortin nodded. "If you restrict 'people' to 'heinous criminals',

you're absolutely right. I have never gone beyond first stage

interrogation--simple questioning--with an innocent, and truthsense

lets me be sure the ones I kill are guilty of the crimes they're sent

to me for." She smiled, grimly. "I don't even have to ask, since they

all protest their innocence."



"You said that if I help, a second prisoner may leave here alive. What

help do you need?"



"Your mind-probe, if it doesn't require the subject to answer

verbally." Cortin explained about her anomalous prisoner, then said,

"It's probably nothing significant, but I don't like it. I can't find

the Inquisitor who conducted the interrogation, and there are rumors

the judge who sent him here has ties to the Brotherhood. If he was

sent here under false pretenses, my prisoner should be freed and given

compensation, and the judge should take his place."



"The probe doesn't require verbal answers, no," Medart said. "And

since it may mean saving a life, I'll have a probe unit and operator

come down." He paused, considering. He could use telepathy to get the

answers she wanted, and her own--the small part she was calling

truthsense--would let her be sure he was reporting accurately. That

would be quicker than waiting for the probe; the question was whether

it would be wiser to reveal his Talent or not mention it at all.



Use it, he decided. Odeon had read about the White Order rebellion and

Corina's discovery of human Talent in Medart, then others; he might not

know the details, but he did know the basics, and it would be logical

to assume he'd passed the information along. "That'll take several

hours, though, and there's a faster way, if you want. I'm a fairly

powerful telepath; I can read his mind as well as a probe could, and

I'm already here."



It was Cortin's turn to hesitate. Mike had mentioned Talent, yes, and

had some telepathy himself, with anyone Shayan had mind-touched; the

idea wasn't that odd, really, and Medart's offer would save time.

Still--"Are you reading my mind?"



"No. I touched you briefly when we met, enough to learn you're not a

threat, though I did pick up a little other information. Otherwise I

seldom use it unless I'm invited or there's an emergency."



Her truthsense agreed, so Cortin nodded. "If an injustice is being

done, it should be corrected as soon as possible; I accept." She

turned to her people. "Mike, Dave--would you take that prisoner to my

first-stage room, please, while I give our guests a brief tour of the

dungeon?"



"Of course," Odeon replied. The two left, and Cortin turned back to

the Imperials.



"I was making an assumption perhaps I shouldn't," she said. "It's your

choice to accompany us or not, Lieutenant DarElwyn."



The Sandeman bowed. "I would be honored to do so, Excellency."



Something in his tone made Medart glance at him, then do a quick

surface scan. Cortin's unconscious Talent had done its job; the

warrior was thoroughly in love with the High King's Inquisitor. That,

Medart thought, was a complication he didn't need--but it was also one

he couldn't do anything about, so disregard it for now. Just make a

point of getting hold of DeLayne as soon as he could find a reasonable

excuse to be alone.



"Let's go, then." Cortin led them outside and to the rear of the

Lodge, where a cave-like entrance led underground. Above it was

carved, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."



"Dante's Inferno," Medart commented. "I take it, then, that this is

the prisoners' entrance?"



"Right," Cortin agreed. "It isn't really Hell, of course, but it is

the anteroom to it for most. A few escape that by repentance, but they

still have to pay the worldly penalty for their crimes. What happens

after that is between them and God; all I can do is administer the

Sacraments and finish my work. If it's an interrogation, though, I'll

kill one who repents as soon as he's given me any information he has."



"You don't even try to save them?" Medart asked.



"Their bodies, no," Cortin said, leading them down the stairs. "I told

you, I get the stubborn ones. By the time I break them, forcing them

to live longer than necessary would be a torment even Cortin the Bitch

doesn't care to inflict."



At the end of a short passage, she unlocked a massive door and gestured

them through, into a dimly-lit corridor with doors along both sides,

some with small lights turned on above them. "These are the holding

cells, under constant monitoring from the Detention Center and periodic

monitoring by my people. Troops from the Center take care of the

prisoners, then remove bodies when Lt. Bain and I are done. Or our

colleagues, who're free to use any suites we aren't, if they have an

overflow."



Halfway down the passage, she unlocked another door. The corridor this

one led to was wider and brightly lit, much like a hospital corridor;

she led them straight across, to a door marked "Interrogation Suite

Alpha", the "In Use" light above it lit. "This is the one I normally

use," she said, ushering them into the office area. "The layout's

standard, but it's bigger than usual, and I have quite a bit of

experimental material, both equipment and drugs. This section's

normally used for Stage One, which rarely happens here; today is

unusual." She nodded in the direction of her desk, and the chair in

front of it which held a prisoner, flanked by Odeon and Bain. "He's

all yours, Ranger. Do you need anything special?"



"A chair would help, so I'm not standing over him; otherwise, no."



Cortin nodded; Bain left, returning moments later with a folding chair

he handed to Medart.



Medart positioned himself facing the prisoner and introduced himself,

then said, "Colonel Cortin has some doubts about your guilt, but since

you can't talk, she can't question you very well. I can read minds, so

I don't have that problem. Do you understand?"



The man nodded, but his attention was obviously on Cortin, not the

Ranger, and when Medart mind-touched him, all he could read was fear.

He turned to the Inquisitor. "He's so terrified his fear's acting like

a mind-shield, Colonel. I could get through, but not without hurting

him; is there anything you can do to calm him down?"



"That might be difficult," Cortin said. "I generally want my subjects

afraid of me; this is the first time I've had to calm one." She turned

her attention to the prisoner. "Kenneth Shelton, isn't it?"



The man nodded.



"I'm sure you've heard the usual rumors of my methods; it should be at

least a little reassuring that you're dressed and in this suite's

office, rather than hanging naked in my third-stage room."



The man nodded, mouthing, "Why?"



"Because, as Ranger Medart said, I have several reasons to wonder about

your guilt." She detailed them, ending with, "In particular, the fact

that you were muted, apparently to keep you from talking to me--which

is the only way I can rely on my truthsense for more than basics.

Since I knew the Imperials were coming, and that they had a method--not

this one, though it should be equally effective--which would insure

truthful, if non-verbal, responses, I used my prerogatives as High

King's Inquisitor to postpone your execution, and if my suspicions

prove well-founded . . . we'll see. Does that help?"



Shelton nodded, with Medart agreeing. "The fear's going, Colonel; his

primary emotion now is gratitude. When that fades a bit, I'll be able

to read him."



"Gratitude," Cortin said, her expression grim. "He is innocent, then.

I owe you a personal debt, Ranger; I have never harmed, much less

executed, anyone who didn't deserve it. Thanks to your assistance,

this will be no exception."



"My pleasure," Medart told her. "I think he's settled down enough now

for me to get through without hurting him." He closed his eyes,

concentrating on the prisoner. The light touch needed for simple

communication wouldn't be enough, though he paused briefly at that

level to reassure the other. *Mind-reading is painless, Shelton, even

though I'm going to have to go deep enough for direct memory access. I

won't trigger the memories, so you won't have to relive them; I'll just

copy them to myself, so I can report accurately to Colonel Cortin.*



*I understand.* The man was nervous--naturally enough, Medart

thought--but there was a basic stability to him the Ranger liked. *Do

what you have to--and God bless you for helping.*



*Thank you.* With that Medart went deeper, scanning memories until he

found the relevant set. They were as nasty as he'd expected, and he

didn't like the idea of experiencing them, but to accomplish his

objective, he didn't have any choice. He "reached" for them.



Cortin watched with interest but no understanding as the Ranger closed

his eyes and sat silent for several seconds. Then he shuddered,

tensing, and she watched sweat stains appear and grow on his uniform.

By the time he opened his eyes again, almost half an hour later, he was

soaked and looked exhausted. She wanted to ask about her prisoner, but

instead said, "Are you all right?"



"I will be after a bath and nap," Medart replied. "Reading minds,

except for the simplest communication link, isn't like reading a book;

on any deeper level, you share the other person's thoughts--and

feelings. This is my third time at that level, and by far the worst."

He stood, moving around to ease the kinks. "He's committed no crimes,

Excellency, but he's damnsure been the victim of some. He's a small

farmer; he and his family were sitting down to supper one evening when

several men broke in. They restrained him while they killed his

family, making sure he knew they were making it look like he'd done it.

Then they changed to Enforcement Service uniforms and took him to an

Inquisitor. The Inquisitor already had his report written; all he did

was cut out Shelton's tongue and beat on him to make it look like he'd

resisted interrogation. When that was over, the phony troopers took

him to a judge, who sentenced him to you. The rest you know."



Cortin didn't even try to hide her cold anger. "I'll need more

details, of course, but that's enough to let me get started. Did you

happen to check on whether he was given the Sacraments?"



"Sorry, that didn't occur to me." Medart sent a quick thought. *Were

you?*



*By the Brotherhood?* Shelton's thought was bitter. *No, and I need

them--if you'll help me with Confession?*



"I'm Omnist, not Catholic," Medart cautioned aloud. "I'll relay if you

want, though, and anything you say will be treated as Empire Secret."



*Please.* Shelton's thought held a trace of wan humor. *You have some

of my memories; why should I mind you reporting some of my sins?*



Medart managed a chuckle. "Put that way, no reason."



* * * * *



"Ego te absolvo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."



"Amen," Medart relayed. "He'd like Communion, but without a tongue,

he's not sure he can manage." He paused, grinned. "We may be able to

help there, too, unless you've developed regrowth techniques."



"Spiritual Communion is as effective as physical," Cortin reminded the

penitent, "though I admit it doesn't feel the same." She turned to the

Ranger. "We don't have regrowth, no, but I do seem to remember hearing

something about it. Only as a rumor, though."



"It's quite real. We learned it from the Traiti, and the Lindner's

doctors are trained in the procedures. Initiating it will only take a

few hours, but the regrowth itself usually takes a couple of weeks."



"A couple of weeks shouldn't matter, and since it's possible, it should

be part of his restitution. What will such treatment cost?"



"No charge," Medart said. "Civilians can be treated at military

facilities if there's space and what they need isn't otherwise

available, both of which are true here." He turned to the Sandeman.

"Take him up to the ship when Colonel Cortin's done, please."



"Yes, sir."



"I'd suggest," Cortin said, "that you bring a few extra bodyguards when

you come back, Lieutenant. I learned from an earlier prisoner that

Imperials are at the top of the Brotherhood's wipe list, and after the

way he helped me today, Ranger Medart will be a particular target."



Medart frowned. "A Sandeman warrior's the only bodyguard I've had

since they joined the Empire. And that's more symbol than necessity."



"In the Empire, maybe so," Cortin said. "For a major Brotherhood

target, a bodyguard is a necessity. And it's a good idea to have

physically impressive ones. Despite their abilities, Sandemans are

impressive only to people who're familiar with them, which most in the

Kingdom Systems aren't."



"You're the expert here," Medart said. "Okay. Keith, ask Colonel

Williamson to detail me a standard team, the biggest people he's got.

You'll be in charge of them, of course. Oh, and you can stay aboard

overnight, if you'd like."



"Yes, thank you, sir." Keith smiled briefly, and Medart hid a grin.

If Cortin thought he should have physically impressive bodyguards, that

could be arranged--along with an evaluation of the Systems' attitude

toward non-humans, though if it weren't for her suggestion, he'd have

put that off for a while yet.



"Good," Cortin said. "Captain Odeon, would you show Ranger Medart to

his suite, please?"



"Of course, Colonel. If you'll come with me, sir?"