Dave

: MAIN STORY
: The Alembic Plot

St. Thomas, Thursday, 20 Feb 2572



The Royal Family, the King's Household and staff, and favored nobles

flew to Dragon's Lair; everyone else rode. So when Team Azrael and its

prisoner left Middletown for the deliberately-isolated Royal retreat,

they were on horseback. Cortin, like most people, had learned to ride

almost as soon as she'd learned to walk, and was expert at it, but she

quickly found
hat riding was another thing she could no longer enjoy.

She was wearing the back brace Egan had given her for unavoidable

strenuous exercise and riding the smoothest-gaited horse in the Base

stables--a black Arab named Rainbow--complete with a lambswool saddle

pad, but within fifteen minutes she was thinking that maybe disability

retirement might not be such a bad idea after all. Without it she'd be

spending a lot of time in the saddle, hurting worse than usual. On the

other hand, if she got out she'd be spending even more time in the

saddle, unless she abandoned her crusade--and she had no intention of

doing that. So she just had to learn to endure this, too. At least,

she thought, if they had to ride they had a nice day for it. The

temperature was still comfortable in the morning sun, and by the time

it got too warm in the open, cultivated areas, they'd be in forest

shade. And the quiet was pleasant, only an occasional word or two and

the soft sounds of leather or hooves on dirt breaking the silence. She

could see landfolk out working their farms and ranches, but they were

far enough away she couldn't hear them--and they weren't likely to

approach a group of Enforcement troopers, especially one escorting a

prisoner.



Cortin smiled grimly at that thought. Prewar, even Terran, police,

from her reading, had gotten the same reaction: civilians tended to

stay away, unless they needed something. And civs were even less

interested in having anything to do with police carrying out the

enforcement part of their duties. Let one get close enough to see an

Inquisitor's badge, and lack of interest usually turned into active

avoidance of contact; the Harrisons' pleasure at her visits was

unusual. At one time, she'd disliked provoking that reaction; now she

was accustomed to it, and at times found it useful.



She heard a horse speed up slightly, until Lieutenant Bain was riding

beside her. "Is anything wrong, Captain?" he asked. "I've been

noticing you don't look exactly comfortable."



"Nothing that can be helped, thanks. It seems my back doesn't approve

of horses any longer, is all."



"How bad?"



"Late second stage, maybe early third. Nothing I can't handle for a

few hours if I have to--though I'll admit I'm already looking forward

to stopping for the night." She gestured to the rear, where Degas was

leading the unconscious prisoner's horse. "How far did you get on him

before Sis tapped him for surgery?"



"I didn't even start," Bain said, surprising her. "She and I were

looking for a blood type match, plus a couple of other factors she

thought might help; when we finally found one she thought would be

right, we put him straight under." He grinned. "Don't worry, though.

He'll have to stay out while Sis takes what you need--we don't want to

take any chances on damaging it--but once he wakes up, I'll make sure I

get anything interesting. Unless you'd rather I save him for you?"



Cortin returned the grin. "I shouldn't be greedy, and I do have

something else to look forward to from him; you go ahead."



"Thanks." Bain glanced at her, then obviously decided not to go on.



Cortin hid a sigh. Having civilians apprehensive about her was one

thing, but her men should feel free to ask or tell her anything.

"What's the problem, Dave?"



"It's not exactly a problem, ma'am . . . uh, Joan."



"What, then?"



Bain looked uncomfortable. "Uh . . . you're the first lady trooper

I've been around, and . . ."



"Oh." Yes, that explained his hesitation. "I've been the only woman

on a team most of my career. I'm neither a virgin nor a prude, though

I sometimes find it useful to pretend the latter around civilians. So

spill it."



Bain grinned in relief. "Right, Joan. Okay, then--Mike says that

before the Brothers messed you up, you enjoyed using our dispensation

whenever the opportunity offered. Nothing fancy, but not skimping

anyone, either."



"True," Cortin said, smiling. "I'm a firm believer in the basics, and

God was generous enough to let me enjoy them in abundance. If He's

merciful enough to let this work out, I'll do it again."



"Just let us know what you want, and how much; we'll do our best to

oblige." Bain grinned again. "Always a good idea to keep the CO

happy, you know."



Cortin couldn't help laughing, in spite of the pain. She knew that a

commanding officer taking part in a team's sexual activity tended to

have an extreme effect, one way or the other; it could tear the team

apart, or it could weld it into near-unity. From watching hers work

together, she was certain it would react positively, so she said, "And

from my experience with other teams, I doubt you'll find at least that

aspect overly disagreeable."



"Or at all difficult," Bain agreed. "I'm looking forward to it, in

fact." He gestured in a way that told her he was still unsure. "I've

been with a lot of civ women, paid or curious about an Inquisitor, but

they didn't--oh, hell!"



"You're not the first one to tell me that," Cortin said drily. "I was

lucky, always had enough willing troopers around I never had to go to a

civ man--but I always got more out of Special Ops men. The emotional

feel was better, even when physical things were the same."



"You do understand, then." Bain's look was full of relief and

something else she couldn't quite identify.



"Yes--and if this works, I want all of you to feel free to come to me.

Other duties permitting, I'll be more than happy to help keep up

morale." She grinned. "Rank doth have its responsibilities, a few of

them pleasant; a CO is expected to be available for counseling whenever

it's needed."



Bain chuckled. "'Counseling'--I like that. You may have the

best-counseled team in the entire Service, here shortly."



"Most counseled, anyway," Cortin said. "And while you're here, I've

been meaning to ask--if you don't mind talking about it, I'd like to

hear how you ended up in the Strike Force. Records are all very well,

but there's no feel to them."



"I'd rather not," Bain said slowly. "Fair's fair, though; Mike told us

all about how you got into this." He paused, clearly trying to

organize what he wanted to say.



Cortin had suspected Mike might have given them the details of her

background, probably because he'd thought it would somehow help her.

He'd be right, too, if it helped her get insight into her people. She

waited for Bain to speak.



"I come from a big family," he said at last. "Four sisters and a baby

brother, with me the only sterile in the bunch. I enlisted in

Enforcement, beccame a demolitions expert, got a recommendation to the

Academy and graduated about the middle of my class, put in for SO and

got it, made First about three years later. By that time, my baby

brother was in the Service too, a top-notch medic." He paused, and

Cortin saw tears in his eyes. "We weren't stationed together, but we

were close enough we got to see each other regularly. He loved his

work, would go out of his way to help anyone who needed it, wouldn't

hurt a fly--wouldn't carry a gun, even on a remote patrol. He had a

great family, wife and two kids with a third on the way, he and Betty

both hoping for eight or ten . . . He couldn't understand why I wanted

to be an Inquisitor, even though he knew someone had to do it--hell, he

couldn't understand why I went into demolition!--but I was his big

brother, so if I wanted it, he wanted it for me."



Bain paused. "I'm rambling--sorry. Anyway, about a week after I got

my Warrant, my team got called out to help search for survivors of a

terrorist ambush on a patrol. I heard the patrol that got hit was from

Lancaster, but I didn't get scared until I heard the Team-Leader's

name. It was Jeffrey's team . . . and on the ride out I heard other

searchers had found seven bodies from the ten-man team. The medic

wasn't one of them, and that scared me worse. Jeffy didn't have what

it takes to escape an ambush, and you know what's likely to happen to

an Enforcement trooper captured by terrorists."



"Nothing good," Cortin agreed.



"We were the first combat team to get to the ambush site, so after a

quick briefing, the on-scene commander sent us after the ambush

party--fifteen of them, his Tracker said. With that few, our

Team-Leader decided we didn't need any backup, so we got on their

trail. When we caught up a few hours later, they'd made camp and were

working on Jeffy. I couldn't see them yet, but I knew his voice well

enough to recognize it, even screaming and with the overtones algetin

adds."



Cortin nodded. Screams, to a civilian and even to most Enforcement

personnel, didn't tell much except that the screamer was feeling

intense pleasure or pain. An Inquisitor learned not only to tell

which, but also several other things; she wasn't at all surprised that

Bain had been able to tell his brother had been dosed with the

pain-enhancer.



"We took out the sentries, which eliminated five of the terrorists and

gave us the advantage of numbers as well as skill, then we moved in on

the camp." Bain paused. "Have you ever been in on a mass

interrogation?"



"No, but I know the theory; pick the least likely to be useful and make

a dramatic example of him, to save time with the rest."



"That's what they were doing with Jeffy. All three of our people were

hanging spreadeagle, but Jeffy was the one their version of an

Inquisitor was working on." Bain's voice caught, and it was a moment

before he could continue. "I'd . . . rather not go into the details;

just call it a standard demonstration. The plaguer was in the middle

of gutting him when we attacked. I knee-shot him, then went to Jeffy."

He stared at his saddle horn. "He . . . didn't recognize me at first,

and . . . when he did, he begged for help." Bain looked at his

commanding officer, his expression haunted. "Joan, he couldn't have

lived if there'd been a hospital trauma center five feet away, and he

knew it. I couldn't refuse him, make him live in that kind of agony

until shock and blood loss killed him in spite of the drugs. So I gave

him Last Rites--then I killed him, as quickly and painlessly as I

could." He looked down again. "Dammit, I became an Inquisitor to help

find the Kingdoms' enemies, not to kill people I love!"



"I understand." His Warrant made his action blameless under both civil

and Church law, but that wouldn't have helped his feelings any. "It

was the only help you could give, and both of us know it can be

welcome. At worst, he's in Purgatory; I'll include him in my Mass

intentions from now on."



"Thanks--I've been doing it since I was ordained, of course, but extra

Masses never hurt, and it'll make his family feel better."



"How did they take it?"



"Betty understood; the kids are too young to know anything except that

Daddy's gone and won't be back. She gets a pension, of course, and I'm

'acting Daddy' for the kids when I'm around. You'll have to come out

for a visit sometime, since we're stationed in the area--I'm sure

they'd love to meet you."



"I'll do that." She ought to find out if she could still relate to

normal civilians, she supposed; except for visiting the Harrisons,

she'd been in a strictly-military environment since the attack. And

not even a normal military environment, between the hospital, her

Inquisitor's training, and starting a Strike Force team. She knew

she'd changed, for what would generally be considered the worse; what

she didn't know was how much.



"Great! If you don't mind, I'll drop back now and pass your invitation

along."



"Fine."



She rode alone the rest of the morning, glad when they got into the

forest and out of the rapidly-warming sun. She was pleased to find she

could still appreciate the sounds and smells of the forest, the

squirrels and birds, the green-tinged light. Lunch was good, though

she was restricted to broth and more grateful for the brief relief from

jarring pain than for the unsatisfying pre-surgery meal.



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