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.



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