Tony

: MAIN STORY
: The Alembic Plot

St. Thomas, August 2571-February 2572



During the first week after Team Azrael reported to Middletown, Cortin

got her men assigned quarters and the personal vehicles they were

authorized, then made arrangements for them to have unlimited access to

the Elysian Gardens, the city's most exclusive--and equally

expensive--joy-house. The proprietor was reluctant--her ladies were

accustomed to New Pennsyl ania's nobles and gentry, not common

troopers--until Cortin, with considerable hidden amusement, paid

generously in advance, and promised bonuses if her men were pleased.



She also offered the Base Commander her services as priest and

Inquisitor. He preferred to retain the base's civilian chaplain, but

did accept her other offer, promising her all the work she could want.

With that done, Cortin discovered that time went by very slowly when

you were part of a group that had to conceal its mission, yet remain

independent and assert special privileges.



Her work helped ease the boredom for her, and she took advantage of

some of her spare time to ease more by practicing her driving. She'd

never been in a car before her trip to the Academy, hadn't driven one

until Strike Force training. It had been frightening at first, but

she'd come to like it, and Odeon encouraged her. Since she no longer

had the consolations of sex, he said, she really ought to make full use

of what she could enjoy--and after all, a tank of gasoline wasn't much

more expensive than an evening at the Elysian Gardens.



She was pleased when, midway through the second week, Degas asked to

join her on one of her after-work drives. She'd known from their first

meeting that something was bothering him; it was about time he got

whatever it was out of his system. He was silent as she drove them

through town and past the Ducal Palace, but when they got to open

country, he asked her to pull over. She did so as soon as she found a

shady spot, and turned to him. "What is it, Tony?"



Silently, slowly, he drew his pistol and held it to her, butt-first.

"You may want to use this."



Cortin accepted it, stunned. "In God's Most Holy Name, Tony! Why?"



"Something I've kept from everyone except the priest I confessed to."

Haunted eyes looked at her from that beautiful face. "I--Captain, for

almost a year I was a Brother of Freedom."



Cortin's finger tightened reflexively on the trigger, but somehow she

managed not to fire. "Why, Lieutenant?" she asked coldly. "And why

tell me, now?"



"My confessor said that when I found the person I really wanted to

follow, I'd have to tell, and accept her judgement."



"Go on."



"I was a kid, idealistic--I believed in what they said they stood for.

I still do, but what they say doesn't come anywhere close to what they

really stand for."



Cortin nodded, relaxing slightly. "I've never faulted the ideals they

claim, or their courage--just their methods and their real morals."



"I was slow--it took me a while to realize the two didn't match. Once

I did, and let people know I was sorry I'd joined, my superiors

arranged for me to meet Shannon, and that told me I had to get out."

Degas paused, looking sick. "He's an attractive man, handsome

and--from the effect he had on the people I was with--damn near

irresistible. I don't know how I was able to resist, but I've thanked

God every day since that I was." He shuddered. "Shannon's evil,

Captain! There's no other word to describe him. He may not be Shayan

himself, like Sis thinks--though I tend to agree with her--but if he's

not, he's not far off. A demon, or possessed by one. Most of the

Brothers, I think, are just deluded--but Shannon's evil, and as long as

they're under his spell, they'll act that way too."



"Did you commit any crimes while you were a Brother?"



Degas shook his head. "Not for lack of trying, I'm afraid. As I said,

I was a kid; I wanted to do everything I could. But my superiors

wouldn't let me, until I was older and knew more. So the only thing I

was guilty of was joining, which I've been forgiven for--and I think

I've paid any criminal debt I owed. I became a trooper because I was a

Brother."



A trooper with a good Academy record, fifteen of his twenty-one active

duty years in Special Ops--critically wounded several times, but living

that long at all in Special Ops qualified as a real miracle--with

numerous operations to his credit that he'd refused well-deserved

awards for, as he'd refused promotion beyond the one to First

Lieutenant he'd had to accept to remain in service. She'd wondered

about those refusals, but Odeon had said he'd claimed personal reasons.

Now that she knew, she respected him for it; that was his way of

atoning. "You've decided to follow me, so your confessor said you have

to accept my judgement--and he knew you'd decide to follow a woman.

That sounds peculiar--did he give you any reason?"



"Not exactly, ma'am. He just told me he knew, with absolute certainty,

that if I lived long enough I'd find the one I needed."



"Um." That statement made Cortin uncomfortable; she didn't like the

idea of something being predetermined, the way Tony made this sound.

Still, it had been his choice to join Team Azrael. "Why did you choose

me?"



Degas frowned. "I'm . . . not positive. Your record, of course, and

you've got the same sort of odd attraction Shannon does--except that

with him it's lethal, evil, and with you it's . . . I don't have the

words. 'Good' sounds soft, and that it certainly isn't . . . maybe

'creative'? And definitely not evil; after Shannon, I can feel evil."

He looked at her, his gaze steady. "Following you feels right, if

you'll still let me."



Membership in a terrorist organization normally carried sentences of

excommunication and death, but there were, on rare occasions,

mitigating circumstances. Degas had been young, that sin had been

forgiven, and he'd done more than enough to help the Kingdom to repay

any harm he might have done. Cortin reversed his gun, handing it back

to him. "You're still in, Tony. And I'd advise keeping this

conversation between the two of us."



"Gladly!" Degas' expression was one of pure relief.



"We won't mention it again, then." She started the car and pulled back

onto the dirt road. "I've got to stop at the Harrison ranch for a few

minutes, then we can finish our drive."



Cortin hadn't intended to let any of her team see the softer side of

her--it didn't seem fitting for an Enforcement officer, much less an

Inquisitor--but she'd thought Tony's willingness to talk too important

to miss. And she wasn't about to let anything stop her from visiting

the retired priest, his brother's family--and her family, the cat she'd

found in labor on the back seat of her car three days ago. She'd

always remember the expression on the good Father's face, when he

opened the door to find a desperate-looking Inquisitor with an armful

of very pregnant cat, trying to explain she'd gone into the woods for a

minute to answer a call of nature, and come back to find this, and was

there please any place Mama-Cat could have her kittens?



He'd been kind enough to let her in and find a large basket he lined

with towels. Mama-Cat had promptly settled in, making it clear Cortin

wasn't to leave while she gave birth. Not at all reluctant, Cortin had

stayed, getting acquainted with the Harrison family--who'd been

understandably alarmed to find an Enforcement Service car parked in

their front yard--while Mama had eight kittens Cortin assured her were

absolutely beautiful. Of course, as she'd told the Harrisons, she'd

always had a soft spot for animals, especially baby ones--but they were

delightful!



Father Harrison was waiting, as usual, when she pulled into the drive

and parked. If he was surprised to see another officer with her, he

hid it well, smiling as Cortin introduced Degas. "Welcome,

Lieutenant--and come in, both of you. Andrew's fixing supper; you'll

stay, of course?"



"We'd love to," Cortin said, "but--"



"And Margaret's baking pies, with last year's dried fruits. She'd like

to send your men some, but they won't be done for another hour . . ."



Cortin raised her hands, grinning. "You win, Father, you win! We'll

stay. Has Starfire foaled yet?"



"This morning, a healthy palomino colt. We've named him Lifestar, in

your honor--I hope you don't mind."



"On the contrary, I'm flattered--though I don't get the connection."



"In that case, just call it an old man's whimsy. I thought it might be

a little early."



Cortin was puzzled by that comment, but she didn't have long to wonder

at it; as soon as she and Degas followed the priest inside, she was

mobbed--at least that was what it felt like--by the Harrison children

and pets. Three children, four dogs, and a cat, she thought, were far

more formidable than it sounded like they should be--and she loved

being their target. When their greetings settled down a bit, she

picked up Mama-Cat and carried her back to her kittens, smiling

wistfully as the tiny beings mewed, hunting blindly for nipples, then

settling down as they found them and began nursing. She'd always

wanted a family of her own; if Mike hadn't been Special Ops, she'd have

married him as soon as her Service obligation was complete, and done

her best to have a dozen or so children. Now that that was impossible,

the wish for it seemed to be getting stronger.



She put that out of her mind, stroking Mama-Cat and, very gently, each

of the kittens before she rose to see a bemused expression on Degas'

face. "Doesn't quite fit my image, does it?"



"No, ma'am. But it makes me even more certain you're the one my

confessor meant."



Father Harrison looked from him to Cortin and back, then smiled slowly.

"I thought your voice was familiar, Lieutenant," he said. Then, to

Cortin's astonishment, the old priest blessed himself and murmured,

"Thank You, Lord."



Degas stared at him, nodded once, and duplicated the slow smile. "Same

here, Father. I'm glad we both lived to see it."



This time it was Cortin who looked from one to the other. "I do not

believe in coincidence," she said firmly, shaking her head.



"What coincidence?" Father Harrison asked, beaming at her. "This happy

meeting is simply the power of prayer in action. Needless to say, I'm

delighted to see the troubled boy I counseled has matured into a fine

officer and found the one I predicted would complete his healing."



Cortin couldn't argue the power of prayer--and the children weren't

about to let adult seriousness delay their fun any longer. They almost

pulled Cortin outside and to the corral behind the barn, to show her

Starfire and the newborn Lifestar. The colt was a palomino, all right,

in the classic--and rare--coin-gold, his mane and tail gleaming white

as he frolicked around his mother. If she were any judge, Cortin

thought, he'd be a prize-winner before too long. And he positively

glowed with vitality--if Father Harrison had seen that kind of

connection between her and the colt, she could only feel flattered.



She wasn't allowed much time to think about that, though. The children

wanted to show off their Young Farmer projects, so she spent the rest

of the time till Margaret called them in to supper happily admiring

them and giving any help the children asked for.



Once they were seated at the table and the children's father had said

grace, Degas turned to the priest. "If I'm out of line, Father, forget

I asked--but is there any reason you're all wearing cartridges on

neck-chains?"



Father Harrison glanced at Cortin with a smile. "We wanted souvenirs

of Captain Cortin's visit, once we got over the shock of her sudden

arrival, and cartridges were all she had extras of. She was kind

enough to bless them for us, asking special protection from terrorists.

I put them on neck-chains, and we've been wearing them ever since."



"Fortunately," Cortin said, "terrorists seldom show any interest in

farms or landfolk, so we'll probably never know how effective they are."



"On the other hand," Degas said, "we might--I'd like one, and I'll even

provide my own cartridge. I wouldn't be surprised if the rest of the

team felt the same way, too."



"Okay, as long as you don't expect miracles from them."



Father Harrison smiled. "But don't be surprised if you get them,

either." He turned to Cortin. "A number of the neighbors would like

them, too. I took the liberty of buying a box of cartridges and making

several up, hoping you wouldn't mind."



Cortin wasn't really sure whether she approved of that or not, but she

couldn't think of any real reason to object, and it would only take a

few minutes of her time. "All right, as soon as we finish supper."



* * * * *



Degas' prediction proved correct; the rest of the team did want

cartridges she'd blessed, and wore them on neck-chains--but attached so

they could be quickly removed if necessary and used as they'd

originally been intended, a precaution Cortin approved of. From the

team, the popularity of her blessed cartridges spread to the rest of

the base and beyond, gaining in reputation as field teams credited them

with the fact that casualties seemed to be fewer and less serious among

troopers who wore them.



As the team's stay in Middletown lengthened, all of them became

impatient with the sheer frustration of waiting for the Brothers to

make the first move. It was a frustration law enforcement personnel

learned to live with, since they almost always had to react to

lawbreakers, but that didn't make it any easier as winter became

spring, then early and mid-summer.



At least, Cortin thought, the Base Commander kept his promise. There

were fewer Brothers or other terrorists among her subjects than she

would have liked, but she was kept busy with other criminals. They

were less personally involving than the Brothers, though she discovered

as she worked with them that they provided just as much professional

satisfaction. Unlike terrorists, most of them survived her attentions;

her interest in murderers, thieves, and the like was restricted to

getting the necessary information from them, then turning them over to

judges for sentencing. As her skill grew to match her talent, that

became both easier and more satisfying, though it had a side effect she

hadn't really expected and didn't like as well. Her reputation also

grew, to the point where--as Illyanov had predicted--the threat of

being handed over to Inquisitor-Captain Cortin was enough, in many

cases, to elicit a full confession. Even that had its satisfactions,

though, after the first few times; the point, after all, was to get the

necessary information, and if she could do it by proxy, that only made

her more effective.



And, one late February evening, Chang and Odeon reported to their

commanding officer's quarters with the news that Chang's research had

at long last borne fruit. When Cortin invited them in, Chang bowed.

"I can report limited success, Captain--and our superior has taken an

interest." She handed her commanding officer an envelope. "He wished

me to maintain silence until a suitable donor was found, to prevent

undue anxiety on your part. Lieutenant Bain and I did so this

afternoon; if you agree to the procedure, Team Azrael will depart

tomorrow morning for a suitable surgical and recuperation area with its

prisoner."



Cortin waved them to seats and took one herself, then opened the

envelope. It held a single sheet of paper, directing her to place

herself under Medic-Lieutenant Chang's orders if she chose the

procedure, with a handwritten note at the bottom: "It sounds indecent,

but promising. If you decide to have it done, keep me in mind next

time you're in New Denver or I'm out East."



Cortin scowled at her subordinates, but couldn't maintain the

expression; it was too hard to keep from grinning, and she finally did.

"For people who've been going behind their CO's back, you two look

remarkably unrepentant--not to mention smug. So tell me about this

'indecent but promising,' 'limited success' procedure . . . not that I

think I'll need much convincing."



"The team will be ready to go at 0500," Odeon said, doing his best to

look innocent.



Cortin gave him a dirty look, then shook her head in resignation. "I

must be getting too predictable. Go on, Sis, spill it."



"As the Captain says." Chang's face remained impassive, but her eyes

twinkled. "As I thought, the original rumor was exaggerated. The

Inquisitor was not regrowing tissue; he was merely reattaching items

that had been removed. And it was only external items; internal organs

are either too complicated or simply beyond his skill. However, full

function and sensation were restored in all cases, even when the

reattachment was to another subject, provided the blood type was the

same and the work was carefully done. And the recipient subject was

maintained on an adequate dosage of algetin."



Cortin winced. Algetin was a potent pain-enhancer, which made it

extremely useful for interrogations, but this was the first she'd heard

of it having any medical use. Still . . . "I gather this talk of

reattachments and algetin is not just theoretical, and is connected

with my problem?"



Chang nodded. "Inquisitors on St. Ignatius do tend to take more time

with their subjects than do those in other Kingdoms. This one

discovered that algetin, used in adequate quantity and for an adequate

period, promotes both healing and nerve growth. While, as I said,

reattachment was successful in all cases, that of genital tissue was

spectacularly so." She allowed herself a brief smile. "The Service's

favorite virus, I suspect, is involved there. So, while any skin

could, in theory, be used for the reconstruction you require, I have

chosen somewhat more specialized material. You are, of course, aware

of penile nerve density and sensitivity."



Cortin chuckled. Sis knew perfectly well she did, but she said, "Of

course," willing to play along. What the medic called a virus wasn't,

exactly; it was called that only because it wasn't exactly anything

else, either, except itself, the cause of the Satyr Plague. That was

the only "disease" she knew of that people hadn't tried very hard to

avoid, because of its effect: it enhanced sexuality, especially in men,

and gave them capability to match their increased drive--capability

that had been purest fantasy before the virus' appearance thirty years

ago. "Go on."



"The donor we have found is a Brother with your blood type; I believe

the appropriate skin and nerve layers, inverted and properly placed,

should serve your purpose nicely." She smiled again. "We are, of

course, assuming you wish to resume female function. If not, there is

nothing I can do. However, from our discussion some months ago and

what Captain Odeon has told me, I believe that assumption is warranted.

Am I correct?"



"You are," Cortin managed to say, staring at her medic. But it did

make sense--was even just, in an odd way. If it worked, a Brother

would be providing what several of them had ruined. "You are

absolutely correct. It sounds like fantasy, but if you think there's

any chance at all, I'm willing to try." She glared at Odeon, who was

trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. "What's the matter with

you? Don't you think it'll work?"



"If Sis's this optimistic, it'll work." Odeon grinned. "And I know

you, remember? You've had a long dry spell--I can hardly wait to help

you make up for that."



Cortin's eyebrows rose. "Longer than I ever have before, true--and I'm

as eager for the drought's end as you are. Maybe more so--and from

what you two are saying, that won't be long."



"Not long at all," Odeon said. "We'll be heading for Dragon's Lair

first thing tomorrow--no need to look so surprised! Bradford pointed

out that it'd have to be kept between him and us; what better place

than a well-secured Royal retreat? He may've told His Majesty, to get

us permission to use it, but can you imagine the reaction if the public

found out someone--even a Brother--had been maimed for the purpose of

allowing an Enforcement officer to have sex again?"



"I can imagine it would cause a bit of an uproar," Cortin said drily.

"Even if it's part of the punishment he deserves for his crimes."



"And I imagine that's putting it damn mildly," Odeon said. "It's

pretty obvious how you feel, but to make it official?"



"I want it--even if it means being under algetin for however long."

That would be days at least, maybe a couple of weeks, of pure

agony . . . but it would be worth it. She hoped. "I'm at your orders,

Lieutenant Chang."



"The only one I have at the moment is that you are to eat no solid food

until after the operation," the medic said. "Let me reassure you about

the algetin, however. It will cause you no distress; those of my

profession have drugs to ease or eliminate even such extreme pain. I

can render you unconscious while the algetin is necessary."



"Good." Cortin had no desire to use drugs for normal pain, but algetin

enhancement was an entirely different situation. She turned to Odeon.

"You said we leave at 0500, which means getting up at 0300 if we're

going to say Mass and still have time for the rest of you to eat

breakfast. So I think you'd better have supper, and all of us should

get to bed early."