Azrael
:
MAIN STORY
:
The Alembic Plot
St. Thomas, Wednesday, 24 July 2571
Less than half an hour later, she was in the theater along with what
she estimated at fifty others, all with Special Ops patches and
specialty badges--even Odeon, when she spotted him, was wearing his
Tracker's badge, something he didn't normally do. She would be willing
to bet, now that the operational arms needed them, that a Priest's
badge was being made and
hey'd both be wearing those as well, not long
after the Strike Force was activated--and she'd also be willing to bet
Mike would love wearing his. She made her way to him, exchanging
introductions with several others on the way and realizing quickly that
those in the group had more than insigne in common. There was an air
to them, a feel of anticipation as of a wolfpack scenting its prey, and
she shared it. "How did it go?" she asked Odeon.
"Not bad for someone who'd never done it before," he said with a smile.
"How about yours?"
"Better than I would've believed," she said. "I ended up with a server
and small congregation, thanks to Colonel Bradford--and I've already
heard my first Confession. It's strange being on the receiving end,
believe me!"
Odeon chuckled. "I do--not wasting any time, are you?"
"I couldn't just let him suffer, could I?" she protested. "But yes,
things are coming at me pretty fast. It's almost like someone's
pushing me to get qualified at everything right now. Not that I mind;
I hope I am able to handle everything by the time the Brothers decide
to break loose again." She rubbed the backs of her hands absently. "I
want--"
"Ten-shun!" an amplified voice called.
Cortin turned, coming to precise attention when she faced the stage.
It was Colonel Bradford at the microphone; as soon as he had the
group's full attention, he said, "Please be seated, gentles." When
that was done, he went on. "We have all met, but some of you know me
only as an anonymous Lieutenant. In fact, I am Colonel David Bradford
of His Majesty's Own. I am also, in this case as His Majesty's
Personal Deputy, Commander of the St. Thomas Strike Force. You all
know the basics of that, and are all under oaths of secrecy concerning
it for the time being. Although some of you have made your wishes
known privately, I must now ask you all, formally: Do you wish to be
part of the Strike Force?"
Cortin's shout of assent was lost in the general clamor of enthusiasm
that died only gradually as Bradford stood with both hands raised.
When he could be heard again, he lowered his hands with a smile. "I
was certain you'd all respond that way. You're the ones qualified as
Leaders and seconds of Strike Force Teams--is there anyone here who
doesn't want one of those positions?"
When the second clamor died, Bradford smiled again. "I thought not.
In this case, I am to extend His Majesty's appreciation, and his regret
that the secrecy of getting the Strike Force started prevents him from
being here himself. We have kept together those of you who have proven
you work well together; that gave us four Leader-second combinations.
The rest have been paired on the basis of records and interviews. In
either case, you will have the next week to confirm or rearrange these
match-ups and choose your team names, though you can do either
immediately if you prefer. If you'll look in the package you were
given when you came in, you'll see our team-ups, and a few team names
we hope will give you ideas. Take half an hour, get together with your
suggested Leader or second, and tell me if you're ready to confirm now.
Refreshments are available in the lobby."
"I finished a big breakfast less than an hour ago," Cortin said as most
of the others rose. "We know we're paired, and I don't care which of
us is Leader, so if you don't mind, I'll stay here and see what I can
come up with for a team name."
"Suits," Odeon agreed. "I could stand some juice, but I'll be back
shortly."
"Right." Cortin opened the briefing packet as he left, finding that
they were paired, as promised, with her as Leader. Scanning the bios,
she found that their teaming wasn't unusual except in them knowing each
other so long; the pre-selected leadership teams had the one with the
most personal grudge against the Brothers, rather than the senior in
rank, named as Leader--though in some cases, like theirs, the two
coincided; she'd gotten her captain's bars two days before Mike got
his, so technically she did outrank him, if not by much.
Team names, now. She studied the short list of suggestions, seeing
names of angels, predatory animals, military qualities. Quite a
variety, she thought--and the list did give her an idea. She grinned,
then decided not to take any chances on having someone else beat her to
even such an unlikely name; she went into the lobby to find Mike and
then Colonel Bradford.
She almost ran into Odeon when she opened the door; he greeted her with
a grin and a salute. "I gather you've come up with a name,
Team-Leader? So've I--I was just coming to see what you thought about
it." He sobered. "Better make sure you like the one we settle on; I
overheard Colonel Bradford say the team's name will be the Leader's
code name until we go public, then it'll be the team's radio call sign."
She thought about that for a moment, then smiled. "I like the one I
came up with well enough for that, definitely. What's yours?"
He murmured a word in her ear, and she chuckled. "Great minds,
Mike--that's the same one I thought of. But if the two of us did,
others may too; let's get to Colonel Bradford and have him confirm it."
"Right. Last time I saw him, he was over by the juice machine."
The two made their way in that direction. It was clear than several
Leader-and-second pairs had already confirmed; those were the ones
discussing either team names or possible personnel. Those who hadn't
were getting acquainted; Cortin saw a couple she thought would confirm
shortly, another couple she thought probably wouldn't at all. They
found the Colonel still at the juice machine, approaching him with
Cortin in the lead and Odeon a step behind and to her left. "By the
Colonel's leave?" Cortin asked.
Bradford smiled. "I thought so--you'll make a good pair." He took out
a notebook, made a checkmark. "Have you picked out a name?"
"Yes, sir. We are agreed on Azrael."
Bradford raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "That shouldn't surprise
me--but I admit I'd expected you to choose something less openly
descriptive."
"If you'd seen her in action, sir," Odeon said, "you'd know it fits."
"I have, Captain; I've been following her activities with considerable
interest since I debriefed her, which has included watching films of
her interrogations rather than just reading summaries; I certainly
don't argue the appropriateness of her choice. My surprise is only
that she's being so open about her intentions for the Brothers."
"It's deliberate, sir," Cortin said. "Major Illyanov told me early on
that terror can be useful; naming my team after the Angel of Death is
on the same order as taking my gloves off for the conclusion of a hunt
or during an interrogation."
"I understand that--but it could also work against you, if they suicide
rather than face interrogation."
Cortin smiled. "I think I can count on the 'can't-happen-to-me'
syndrome, sir, at least in the great majority of cases. At worst, a
few of them die quickly and with relative ease."
"True." Bradford made a note, put the pad back in his pocket. "Azrael
it is, then."
When the break was over and everyone was back in the theater proper,
Bradford went on with the briefing. "We have nine confirmed
Leader-second pairs, five of which have chosen names: Wolf, Guardian,
Flame, Falcon, and Azrael. The rest of you, as I said earlier, have a
week to let me know your decisions.
"During that week, in addition to those decisions, you will start
selecting your team members. Eligible volunteers have been brought in
on TDY orders, the way most of you were, and are being quartered at the
Academy. You'll meet them tomorrow morning, and can begin interviews
then; their records will be made available to you as soon as we finish
here."
"In two weeks, you will have your teams together and ready, because you
deploy during the following week." He paused. "True, there may be no
need for such hurry--but we don't know, so we want you prepared and in
place as soon as humanly possible. Now--some details.
"To start with, you--and through you, your team members--will hold
Writs of Immunity good in every system in the Kingdoms. The scope on
these Writs is even broader than an Inquisitor's Warrant; as long as
you avoid regicide or treason, and what you do is aimed at suppressing
terrorist groups--primarily the Brothers of Freedom--your actions will
carry the license of both the Church and the various Kingdoms. You'll
be expected to follow normal procedures, as a rule; however, your
primary purpose is to eliminate terrorists, and if normal procedures
interfere, you are to disregard them. Questions?"
There was a murmur of astonishment both Cortin and Odeon joined. This
freedom of action was as unprecedented as the Brothers' horror attacks,
but Bradford's orders were clear; there was nothing to question.
"Excellent. You'll be sent to bases or stations as close as possible
to where the Brothers you're particularly interested in appear to be
located. You'll use that as your headquarters, but you are subject to
no-notice assignment anywhere in this Kingdom and four-hour-notice
assignment to any other one, so keep your kits up to date and readily
available. You will also cooperate, as fully as possible without
neglecting your own missions, with other kingdoms' Strike Forces;
they'll do the same if you need to go to their systems. Any questions
on this part?"
Again, there were none; he went on. "You Team Leaders and seconds, I'm
afraid, will have to live on base or at the station, in separate
buildings where possible. Your teams should too, but if that would
cause too much hardship to either them or the personnel normally
stationed there, you can permit them to live up to five miles away."
He raised a hand, forestalling objections. "It's not as bad as it
sounds, gentles. You will all be issued personal radios, as well as
personal vehicles; those of you who can't drive or do basic vehicle
maintenance will be taught how. And you'll use those vehicles any time
you're in areas where they can be supplied and maintained. You'll use
horses only where there are no facilities for vehicles. Any questions?"
"I have one, sir." A tall Major with a missing ear stood. "Vehicle
fuel and service aren't cheap; they're certainly beyond my pay grade.
How do we pay for them? And more importantly, how do our people pay
for them?"
"Until we go public," Bradford said, "you'll be given an allowance for
such things, and you'll pass it along to your people. After that,
you'll use your Strike Force ID, and the Kingdoms will reimburse the
dealers. The same thing goes for all non-personal expenses." He
grinned. "As for personal expenses, you'll be interested to know that
Strike Force personnel get a 50% hazardous-duty bonus. Which, believe
me, you'll earn!"
There was a mixture of laughter and good-natured complaining, in which
Cortin and Odeon joined. Yes, they all knew they'd earn any hazard
bonuses; you didn't go into something called Special Operations, much
less into a Strike Force, for the safety of it. On the other hand,
Cortin thought, they got the chance to go after Brothers with almost no
limitations; that seemed fair enough to her, and it sounded like the
rest agreed.
"That's about it for now, then, though of course you'll get daily
updates on anthing we find out about the Brothers," Bradford said.
"This is my primary duty, so I'll be in the area most of the time; if
you have questions, or just want to talk, I'll be available."
* * * * *
Cortin was uncertain what to do after the briefing. Part of her said
to read the records and start picking her troops; the other part said
to find herself another Brother to question. After some internal
debate, she went with the first alternative; her fellow Inquisitors had
told her they'd get any information she might be interested in to her,
as soon as possible after they'd gotten it, so she could start picking
her team without worrying that she'd miss something she should know.
With that decided, she and Mike went to the Academy area that had been
set up for such record study and interviews. She groaned when she saw
the masses of personnel folders she'd be expected to go
through--paperwork had never been her strong point--but she grabbed a
handful, sighing. "You, too, Mike," she said. "We may not be able to
tell who we do want from these, but we ought to be able to pick the
ones we don't."
"Right." Odeon didn't like paperwork any better than she did, but he
did know as well as she how inevitable it was. "Anything in
particular, or just someone we could both work with?"
"I think it'll be good enough if we get someone we can work with,"
Cortin said. "Manage that, and we can go from there. Just look for
good strong motivations, because where we're likely to be going after
Brothers, we'll sure be earning our bonuses."
By the end of the afternoon, the two of them had gone through about a
third of the records, finding a medic and a communications specialist
they definitely wanted, as well as several that looked promising if an
interview showed they had no objection to working for an Inquisitor.
Quite a number of people objected to even working near an Inquisitor,
for which Cortin supposed she couldn't blame them--she'd been
apprehensive about Inquisitors herself, not all that long ago--but
since all the teams would have Inquisitors, it semed reasonable to
assume that those who couldn't work with them at all would have been
removed from consideration.
Her first interview was the following day with the medic, a nun
transferred from St. Ignatius to St. Thomas by her Order, at her
request. Cortin rose as the young woman in sky-blue slacks and
shirt--the Blue Sisters' field habit--entered. Sister Mary Piety was
as attractive as her photo indicated, but there was an air of stress
that hadn't shown there. From her records, Cortin thought it was
probably the residue of her mistreatment by the Brothers--well, she'd
find out. She introduced herself and gestured the nun to a chair, then
took her own seat. "I know what's in your records, of course, Sister;
I just want to get to know you as a person, and let you know me well
enough to decide whether or not you can work for me. So relax; I only
hurt criminals."
"I understand, Captain." Chang studied the woman in Enforcement gray,
puzzled. There was something about Captain Cortin that reminded her of
the Raidmaster--but in Cortin, it wasn't frightening. It wasn't even
mildly disturbing, the way she usually felt around an Inquisitor; if
anything, it was reassuring, even comforting. "What do you wish to
know?"
"Well . . . it puzzles me that when you reported the attack on the
clinic, you always called Shannon 'the Raidmaster', never by name. I
admit he's frightening, but that much?"
"I was not aware then that he used that name," Chang said, hiding her
irritation. "Nor is it fear that keeps me silent. I tried to tell the
troopers, but I was unable to say his name--or to describe how I
discovered his identity."
"No offense intended," Cortin said mildly. "Your report said he'd
forbidden you to tell, yes--obviously with more than words."
"That is true, Captain," Chang said, mollified. "Though I have found
that almost as difficult to describe." She smiled tentatively. "It
may be as well I have such difficulty--were I able to identify him as I
know him, I would not be believed."
"If you ever feel able, I'll believe you. He qualified me for Special
Ops and the Strike Force, too." Cortin chuckled, though with little
real humor. "I don't even think I'd be too surprised if you identified
him as Shayan incarnate. Mind you, I don't think I'd believe it--"
She broke off at the nun's sudden expression of shock. "Did I say
something wrong?"
Chang sighed with the relief of Shannon's coercion dissolving. "That
is he. You have said what I could not, Captain Cortin. I am in your
debt."
Cortin didn't believe the identification, but her truthsense left no
doubt Chang did. And she had to admit it was a natural identification
to make, given the plaguer's actions. "Was there anything special to
identify him?"
"His power and evils are enough, but I believe he wished me to be
certain. Did he seem a normal man when he attacked you?"
"As normal as a terrorist ever is," Cortin said.
"That was not so in my case. His general body temperature was quite
high, well beyond a human's survival limits. His genitals, however,
were extremely cold--the classic description, as you know."
"Yes." That had to be hypnotism or drugs, Cortin thought, but beliefs
were hard for mere facts to alter; she wouldn't argue pointlessly with
someone who promised to be extremely good for the team. "Even with
that, you're willing to help hunt him?"
"We are all called to fight evil," Chang said calmly. "My call was
simply more unmistakable than many. Yes, I am willing."
She couldn't ask for more than that, Cortin decided. Excellent medical
qualifications, an "Expert" small-arms rating, plenty of courage--and
she sounded almost as devout as Mike. Cortin thought it odd that she'd
be concerned about devotion when she wasn't particularly devout
herself, but the fact remained: talking to Piety had made it clear that
it should be one of her considerations. "One stipulation, and you're
in," she said. "I don't want any auxiliaries on Team Azrael; you'll
have to trade that habit for a uniform. There's no proof you're
technically qualified for Special Ops, but since you've gotten a
waiver, that's no problem."
"As this branch of Enforcement now has priests, there is no reason it
should not also have a nun. I will make the trade."
"Good! Let me get my second and another witness, and I'll swear you
in."
Cortin was a little surprised that no one questioned her power to
administer a commissioning oath without prior authorization, but she'd
apparently been right in her guess that it was one of her rights as a
Strike Team leader; after all, it was neither treason nor regicide, and
it was in the interest of eliminating the terrorists. As a side
effect, one she hoped might reduce press attention to herself, it made
her no longer the only female Enforcement officer.
When the ceremony was over and Chang had accepted Odeon's offer to help
her get her ID and uniforms later, that afternoon--"Anything to get
away from stacks of personnel records," he admitted cheerfully--he and
the other witness left the two women alone. Cortin studied the nun for
a moment before speaking again.
"You're aware, of course, that your Enforcement oath takes precedence
over your vows--and that being Strike Force means you owe obedience
only to your Strike Force superiors, the High King, and His Holiness."
"I am aware of all that." Which was true, Chang thought. She was no
longer restricted by her vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience--or
protected by them, illusory as that protection had proven when she had
most needed it.
"And you're a field medic, so you know what tends to go on in a team's
spare time. Will that bother you, now?"
"No, Captain. I have been on missions since; shelter parties and the
like do not disturb me." Chang smiled momentarily. "In fact, my last
. . . experience . . . with His Infernal Majesty seems to have had a
side effect he did not anticipate and may not like. Forcing me to feel
sexual pleasure, even with him, has let me appreciate what willing
partners give each other. Since then, I have found it highly enjoyable
watching them, where earlier I had no particular reaction."
"As long as you don't have to participate, naturally." Which she most
certainly wouldn't; any attempt to compel sex, at least in Enforcement,
was dealt with harshly--and usually right then. "If you'd like, I'll
tell the men not to even ask you."
"I would appreciate that. Even though I am unable to accept their
offers, I would prefer not to hurt their feelings by refusing."
"I'll take care of it, then. Have you tried therapy, to get over what
happened?"
"And prayer," Chang agreed. "I shall increase my efforts at both now,
of course; it would be unfair to the rest of the team to do less."
That was true, Cortin thought. No one could be faulted for not taking
part, but that shouldn't be because of a correctable disability; it
should be either voluntary, or because of permanent disability like her
own. It seemed a cruel irony that Chang had the ability without the
desire, while she had the desire without the ability. At least she
could try to take comfort in the fact that one of them had a chance to
be fully functional again . . . "If there's any way I can help, just
let me know. And let the men know if you beat your problem."
"I will be certain to."
* * * * *
Shannon felt a brief surge of power, traced it--and hastily retreated,
swearing. That God-loving Cortin had dissolved the compulsion of
silence he'd put on Piety, without even knowing she was doing it! That
was a minor use of power, of course, but it was more than he'd thought
her capable of, even--or especially--unconsciously. If she could do
that, he'd have to stop even observing her--not just when she was idle,
but when she should have her full attention on her work. No more
watching her while he played with Victor, then, unfortunately--no more
watching her, period.
He could do without the entertainment she provided, but it would be
inconvenient doing without the information she let him eavesdrop on.
What really bothered him was the timing. It might simply be
coincidence that Cortin's first real use of her power took place the
first time she met Piety--but he didn't trust coincidence, especially
not when it involved someone with Cortin's latent power.
He should've killed the nun when he had her, amusing though it had been
to torment her further by letting her live. Well, that was one mistake
he could remedy! Sister-Lieutenant Eleanor Mary Piety Chang had just
made it to the top of the Brotherhood's wipe list.
There was more than a little risk to that, of course, especially if an
attempt was made on her when Cortin was in the area--it might trigger
the Bitch into using her powers instead of keeping her from them--but
he thought it a risk worth taking.
Wait a minute! Lieutenant? He'd barely brushed her mind before
jerking back, but the brief contact had been enough to tell him she
thought of herself differently. A Lieutenant of Enforcement, and a
member of the whatever-it-was--Strike Force?--the various Kingdoms had
gathered groups of their best to form.
Shannon scowled. A Strike Force or equivalent, able to attract people
like Piety, was extremely bad news--especially at a time when he was
forced to restrict his own powers.
* * * * *
Cortin's next interview, with the communications specialist, was rather
different. She'd known his size and race, from his records--but facing
a man over two meters tall and built like a weightlifter, with skin so
dark it was almost blue, was an experience she'd never had before. So
was his reaction, when he entered the interview office; his eyes lit
up, and he gave her a brilliant smile before saluting. "Lieutenant
Joseph Pritchett reporting to Team Leader Azrael as ordered, ma'am.
And thank you for considering me."
"Be seated, Lieutenant," Cortin said. As he obeyed, she went on.
"Your enthusiasm is flattering; may I ask why?"
It was impossible for his complexion to get any darker, but she had the
impression he was flushing. "I've heard about Captain Cortin ever
since my freshman year at the Academy," he said. "I've always wanted
to work with you, but I was never in the right place at the right time,
and when I heard what the Brothers had done to you, I thought sure
you'd retire. I'm glad you didn't, and I'll finally get to work with
you--if you want me after this, of course. I hadn't heard you were an
Inquisitor, though."
"That's quite recent," Cortin said. "Would it bother you, working for
one?" She was flattered that he'd wanted to work with her that much,
and hoped it wouldn't.
"Not working for one, no, ma'am--but I've got to tell you right from
the start that I'd really rather not help with third-stage."
"I don't see any reason you should have to," Cortin assured him. "I'm
training my second, Captain Odeon, as my assistant, and I hope to find
someone with Inquisitor as a second specialty for the team. Any other
problems?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good. Welcome to Team Azrael, then. Two more items, before I turn
you over to Captain Odeon for a complete briefing and equipment issue.
Firstly, off duty and within the team, first names are proper; mine is
Joan. Do you prefer Joseph or Joe?"
"Either is fine, ma'am. I'm generally called Tiny, though."
Cortin chuckled. "Tiny it is, then. The other thing: I will expect
your sexual conduct to remain withing so-called 'normal' bounds while
we're within populated areas. I'll make sure you have adequate access
to decent, reputable courtesans, or you can find yourself an informal
wife; that's up to you. Otherwise--as long as you don't involve anyone
who isn't willing, of course--what you do is up to you."
"Couldn't ask for more than that," Pritchett said. "Ah--does that
freedom include yourself, ma'am? I've heard how much fun you are,
especially at a shelter party; I'd appreciate being allowed in, either
alone or with the rest of the team."
"And I'd enjoy having you, either way." She'd liked the pairing that,
even with Enforcement's dispensation, it was wisest to confine oneself
to in civilization--but she'd also liked, and taken full advantage of,
the opportunities offered by an entire team in one of the shelters the
Service put up for its people traveling in remote areas. She cut off
those memories sternly, before they could become too painful.
"Unfortunately, the attack left me incapable of that pleasure."
"Dear God!" Pritchett said, looking sick. "There must be something
that can be done!"
"Cosmetically, yes, my doctor says. Nothing . . . erotically useful."
Cortin grinned sourly. "Which I don't think upset her unduly. She's a
good doctor, but a typical civilian. I'm learning to live with that,
as well as the pain. I appreciate your concern, but if you'll excuse
me the Terran slang, what can't be cured must be endured; don't worry
about it." She stood, extending a hand. "Welcome again, Tiny."
* * * * *
It took two dozen more interviews over the next couple of days to find
the other two members she wanted for Team Azrael. Odeon had conducted
the interviews with both; she promised herself she'd have a private
talk with each of them later, when they were less pushed for time. One
was Lt. David Bain, demolitions expert and the backup Inquisitor she'd
hoped to find, a tall blue-eyed brunet with an easy grin; the other was
Lt. Anthony Degas, a quiet, self-contained small-arms expert who could
have been the model for Michelangelo's David. She could have had
more--some teams had over a dozen--but she and Odeon wanted to keep
Team Azrael small and mobile enough to respond quickly.
With the team complete, Cortin had them begin training together every
morning. She herself started the day with Mass for the Detention
Center Inquisitors and their guests, as she'd promised, losing herself
in the ceremony and coming back to mundane reality only when it was
over and she removed the stole. After breakfast was the team training,
then lunch, followed by individual work or study. For her, that meant
interrogations--and she decided quickly to allow Bain to do the
preliminary stages, concentrating her own attention on the stubborner
subjects. With a limited, if uncertain, time before they had to be
ready, she had to get Odeon past his squeamishness as quickly as
possible so she could start training him as her assistant.
It was Saturday before he managed to get through a session without
throwing up, and she didn't think it proper to conduct interrogations
on Sunday except in an emergency, so it was Monday when she started
teaching him. The subject was a young Brother that Bain evaluated as
having no useful information, but as being strong enough to survive up
to a week of teaching sessions. Cortin preferred to go after something
specific, make it a contest between her and her subject, even though it
was a contest she was almost certain to win. But teaching was as valid
a function as extracting information, and it would insure that the
Brother served at least one useful function in his life while paying
for his crimes against the Kingdoms.
Their subject was waiting when they entered the interrogation suite's
third-stage room, prepared as usual: naked, with some bruising,
spreadeagled between ceiling chains and floor eyebolts. Cortin
gestured at him, speaking to Odeon. "You've already noticed I keep our
methods simple, Captain; the reason is that almost all our work will be
done in the field, so I think it best to practice with equipment we can
either take or adapt there. This method of securing a subject is an
example; you can almost always find trees and ropes, while you'll
seldom if ever find a surgical table. The same principle goes for
drugs; we use ones like algetin or eroticine that are effective, simple
to administer, and can easily be replaced at a shelter or detention
center. Any questions so far?"
"No, ma'am." Odeon had been more concerned with keeping his stomach
under control than with evaluating her methods and techniques, but
thinking back, he realized she had kept them to the basics.
"Good." Cortin went to the prisoner. "The preliminary examination
seems simple, but it will give you both physical and psychological
information invaluable to the interrogation process itself." She ran
fingers over the subject's face and throat. "For instance, Lieutenant
Bain has convinced this one that arguing back is not a good idea,
although there is little damage visible; that tells me he is easily
intimidated, and would not normally require third-stage interrogation."
"Why, then?" the subject burst out. "I told--"
Cortin backhanded him across the throat. "Because I need a training
aid, and you were available. Now be silent." She paused, but saw no
sign of disobedience. "That's better."
She continued her examination and commentary to Odeon. "No particular
sensitivity around the ears . . . about average for the eyes . . . rest
of the face and throat the same . . . minor sensitivity at the nipples,
promising . . . ribs tender in spots . . . same over the kidneys, have
to be careful there if we want him to last; internal injuries should be
avoided in an extended interrogation." She paused, turning to Odeon.
"We are getting to a particularly interesting area now. There are a
few rare subjects who do not seem to mind being naked to an Inquisitor,
or having their buttocks and genitals handled--but in most cases, a
subject's sexuality is his most vulnerable area, in theory especially
so to a female Inquisitor. Physically, these areas are extremely rich
in nerves; psychologically, they are ego-centers. Both make them easy
targets, which is why I seldom exploit them early; if the subject
cooperates without that particular pressure, nothing is lost since you
can still use it as punishment if you feel it desirable. If the
subject does not cooperate, you can be almost positive he will when you
add that pressure to the rest. A perfect example is the first
interrogation you saw me conduct."
Where Illyanov had raped the subject while Joanie finished her skinning
of him with his genitals. "Yes, ma'am, I remember--though I'm afraid I
don't understand how the Major could have been . . . able . . . to do
his part."
Cortin grinned without humor. "You'll see, perhaps with this subject,
probably within another two or three. It's a reaction I'm no longer
capable of, but it's perfectly normal for pain--usually another's, but
sometimes your own--to provoke arousal. I'm told it's similar to the
pre-danger form we're all familiar with."
Odeon nodded slowly. Put that way, he thought he could understand, at
least a little.
"With this one, if you feel the urge, go ahead; in a serious
interrogation, I may need for you to wait till it's most useful."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good." Cortin turned back to her subject, probing between his
buttocks, pleased when he whimpered. "Brothers, in particular, express
a strong revulsion for what they choose to call 'unnatural' sex--but
you would be surprised how many of the older ones show evidence of
having participated in it repeatedly. I know I was." She probed
deeper, hearing truth in her subject's cries of horrified denial.
"This one, however, seems not to be party to such, ah, rarefied
pleasures. Yet." She moved to his front, stroking the underside of
his penis and smiling at his uncertain response. "Or to more usual
ones, it seems. Is it possible you are a virgin, Brother? I do find
that hard to believe."
"Yes . . ." the subject gasped.
"Intriguing . . . I will have to inform my colleagues. But you will
cooperate in anything Captain Odeon wants of you?"
"No, please!"
"Don't bother begging; I am not inclined to show a Brother any more
mercy than they showed me. The primary difference is that I finish the
job."
The youth stared at her, then shook his head. "No, you can't be--the
Bitch is dead!"
Cortin started to hit him for his insolence, then paused. "Perhaps she
is," she said thoughtfully. "But if they killed the Bitch, they gave
birth to Azrael." She turned to Odeon. "I gather the Brothers don't
believe the news stories of my survival. That is unfortunate; for the
maximum psychological impact, they should." She turned back to the
subject, frowning as she studied him, her fists on her hips. "Is that
it, Brother?"
The young man shook his head, then nodded. "Sort of . . . the
Raidmaster says you're alive, and a few may believe him, but the others
in the raiding party say you can't be--an' since no one wants you to
be, well . . ."
"I see." Cortin's frown deepened as she thought. "I had not intended
to permit any Brother who came to me to live--but I begin to think I
should make an exception, use you as a messenger and advertisement."
"You can't just let him go!" Odeon exclaimed.
"No, of course not--that would give the wrong impression." Cortin
scowled as her subject licked dry lips. "He is a Brother, by
definition deserving of a painful death and eternal damnation.
Conventional punishment, however--especially mine--would leave him in
no shape for anything except intensive care or a disabled ward. If you
have any suggestions, I would appreciate them."
"Um." Odeon thought for several minutes, then said slowly, "I don't
know if it's possible, but what you said about sexual vulnerability
gives me an idea. He's a virgin, and he had a strong negative reaction
when you mentioned homosex, both of which his superiors must know about
him. He's also beautiful--so how about turning him into a catamite for
them?"
Cortin turned to him in surprise. She hadn't expected anything that
creative; it certainly wouldn't have occurred to her. "It should be
possible, given the appropriate drugs and experiences--I like it."
"What's a catamite?" the subject asked apprehensively.
"A young male prostitute, especially one for older men."
The subject looked sick. "No, please--it's not right!"
"It isn't as if homosexuality were still banned," Cortin said
reprovingly. Thanks to St. Eleanor and the Compassionate Mother,
sexual orientation had been recognized as something one was born with,
like blue eyes or black skin, and no more blameworthy; the Church even
recognized stable pairings as equivalent to common-law marriage, though
it still didn't grant them the sacrament of Holy Matrimony.
"Even if I were that, I'm no whore! I won't--you can't make me!"
"Wrong on both counts," Cortin said pleasantly. "We can, and on the
physical level, you will find it most enjoyable. How you feel about it
emotionally may be less pleasant, and I hope it is. It goes against my
grain to release a Brother, and you may assure the rest that you will
be the only one--but if I must let you live, even for my own purposes,
simple justice demands that you suffer." She turned to Odeon. "I can
handle the drugs and overall direction, but I obviously cannot
participate in the operation itself. We'll need more than you to
partner him, too, if we want him properly promiscuous; if you'll check
with the rest of the team, I'll check with my fellow Inquisitors." She
grinned. "I'm sure several of them will find this project interesting
enough to want to participate as their own projects permit." She
looked around, then chuckled. "These aren't appropriate surroundings,
though; I'll have to arrange for some redecoration." She turned to the
subject. "Under the circumstances, anonymity isn't appropriate either;
what's your name?"
"Charles Powell," he said sullenly.
"Very well, Charles." She went to the instrument table and loaded a
hypodermic, then returned to him. "This is eroticine, a potent
aphrodisiac. Under its influence, you will have no interest in
anything except sex, of whatever type your partner wants. And I assure
you, you will find it most pleasant."
Powell shivered as she made the injection, but said nothing.
"It will take effect in about five minutes." Cortin turned to Odeon.
"I'm going to make arrangements for the redecoration, and ask whoever's
around if they'd be interested in helping with his tutoring. You can
wait if you want, or release him and begin his lessons when you see the
eroticine taking effect. It'll definitely be noticeable--and as I told
him, he won't be interested in minor distractions like fighting."
Odeon nodded. "I'll do whatever looks best when he shows a reaction."
"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.