Dave
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MAIN STORY
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The Alembic Plot
St. Thomas, Thursday, 20 Feb 2572
The Royal Family, the King's Household and staff, and favored nobles
flew to Dragon's Lair; everyone else rode. So when Team Azrael and its
prisoner left Middletown for the deliberately-isolated Royal retreat,
they were on horseback. Cortin, like most people, had learned to ride
almost as soon as she'd learned to walk, and was expert at it, but she
quickly found
hat riding was another thing she could no longer enjoy.
She was wearing the back brace Egan had given her for unavoidable
strenuous exercise and riding the smoothest-gaited horse in the Base
stables--a black Arab named Rainbow--complete with a lambswool saddle
pad, but within fifteen minutes she was thinking that maybe disability
retirement might not be such a bad idea after all. Without it she'd be
spending a lot of time in the saddle, hurting worse than usual. On the
other hand, if she got out she'd be spending even more time in the
saddle, unless she abandoned her crusade--and she had no intention of
doing that. So she just had to learn to endure this, too. At least,
she thought, if they had to ride they had a nice day for it. The
temperature was still comfortable in the morning sun, and by the time
it got too warm in the open, cultivated areas, they'd be in forest
shade. And the quiet was pleasant, only an occasional word or two and
the soft sounds of leather or hooves on dirt breaking the silence. She
could see landfolk out working their farms and ranches, but they were
far enough away she couldn't hear them--and they weren't likely to
approach a group of Enforcement troopers, especially one escorting a
prisoner.
Cortin smiled grimly at that thought. Prewar, even Terran, police,
from her reading, had gotten the same reaction: civilians tended to
stay away, unless they needed something. And civs were even less
interested in having anything to do with police carrying out the
enforcement part of their duties. Let one get close enough to see an
Inquisitor's badge, and lack of interest usually turned into active
avoidance of contact; the Harrisons' pleasure at her visits was
unusual. At one time, she'd disliked provoking that reaction; now she
was accustomed to it, and at times found it useful.
She heard a horse speed up slightly, until Lieutenant Bain was riding
beside her. "Is anything wrong, Captain?" he asked. "I've been
noticing you don't look exactly comfortable."
"Nothing that can be helped, thanks. It seems my back doesn't approve
of horses any longer, is all."
"How bad?"
"Late second stage, maybe early third. Nothing I can't handle for a
few hours if I have to--though I'll admit I'm already looking forward
to stopping for the night." She gestured to the rear, where Degas was
leading the unconscious prisoner's horse. "How far did you get on him
before Sis tapped him for surgery?"
"I didn't even start," Bain said, surprising her. "She and I were
looking for a blood type match, plus a couple of other factors she
thought might help; when we finally found one she thought would be
right, we put him straight under." He grinned. "Don't worry, though.
He'll have to stay out while Sis takes what you need--we don't want to
take any chances on damaging it--but once he wakes up, I'll make sure I
get anything interesting. Unless you'd rather I save him for you?"
Cortin returned the grin. "I shouldn't be greedy, and I do have
something else to look forward to from him; you go ahead."
"Thanks." Bain glanced at her, then obviously decided not to go on.
Cortin hid a sigh. Having civilians apprehensive about her was one
thing, but her men should feel free to ask or tell her anything.
"What's the problem, Dave?"
"It's not exactly a problem, ma'am . . . uh, Joan."
"What, then?"
Bain looked uncomfortable. "Uh . . . you're the first lady trooper
I've been around, and . . ."
"Oh." Yes, that explained his hesitation. "I've been the only woman
on a team most of my career. I'm neither a virgin nor a prude, though
I sometimes find it useful to pretend the latter around civilians. So
spill it."
Bain grinned in relief. "Right, Joan. Okay, then--Mike says that
before the Brothers messed you up, you enjoyed using our dispensation
whenever the opportunity offered. Nothing fancy, but not skimping
anyone, either."
"True," Cortin said, smiling. "I'm a firm believer in the basics, and
God was generous enough to let me enjoy them in abundance. If He's
merciful enough to let this work out, I'll do it again."
"Just let us know what you want, and how much; we'll do our best to
oblige." Bain grinned again. "Always a good idea to keep the CO
happy, you know."
Cortin couldn't help laughing, in spite of the pain. She knew that a
commanding officer taking part in a team's sexual activity tended to
have an extreme effect, one way or the other; it could tear the team
apart, or it could weld it into near-unity. From watching hers work
together, she was certain it would react positively, so she said, "And
from my experience with other teams, I doubt you'll find at least that
aspect overly disagreeable."
"Or at all difficult," Bain agreed. "I'm looking forward to it, in
fact." He gestured in a way that told her he was still unsure. "I've
been with a lot of civ women, paid or curious about an Inquisitor, but
they didn't--oh, hell!"
"You're not the first one to tell me that," Cortin said drily. "I was
lucky, always had enough willing troopers around I never had to go to a
civ man--but I always got more out of Special Ops men. The emotional
feel was better, even when physical things were the same."
"You do understand, then." Bain's look was full of relief and
something else she couldn't quite identify.
"Yes--and if this works, I want all of you to feel free to come to me.
Other duties permitting, I'll be more than happy to help keep up
morale." She grinned. "Rank doth have its responsibilities, a few of
them pleasant; a CO is expected to be available for counseling whenever
it's needed."
Bain chuckled. "'Counseling'--I like that. You may have the
best-counseled team in the entire Service, here shortly."
"Most counseled, anyway," Cortin said. "And while you're here, I've
been meaning to ask--if you don't mind talking about it, I'd like to
hear how you ended up in the Strike Force. Records are all very well,
but there's no feel to them."
"I'd rather not," Bain said slowly. "Fair's fair, though; Mike told us
all about how you got into this." He paused, clearly trying to
organize what he wanted to say.
Cortin had suspected Mike might have given them the details of her
background, probably because he'd thought it would somehow help her.
He'd be right, too, if it helped her get insight into her people. She
waited for Bain to speak.
"I come from a big family," he said at last. "Four sisters and a baby
brother, with me the only sterile in the bunch. I enlisted in
Enforcement, beccame a demolitions expert, got a recommendation to the
Academy and graduated about the middle of my class, put in for SO and
got it, made First about three years later. By that time, my baby
brother was in the Service too, a top-notch medic." He paused, and
Cortin saw tears in his eyes. "We weren't stationed together, but we
were close enough we got to see each other regularly. He loved his
work, would go out of his way to help anyone who needed it, wouldn't
hurt a fly--wouldn't carry a gun, even on a remote patrol. He had a
great family, wife and two kids with a third on the way, he and Betty
both hoping for eight or ten . . . He couldn't understand why I wanted
to be an Inquisitor, even though he knew someone had to do it--hell, he
couldn't understand why I went into demolition!--but I was his big
brother, so if I wanted it, he wanted it for me."
Bain paused. "I'm rambling--sorry. Anyway, about a week after I got
my Warrant, my team got called out to help search for survivors of a
terrorist ambush on a patrol. I heard the patrol that got hit was from
Lancaster, but I didn't get scared until I heard the Team-Leader's
name. It was Jeffrey's team . . . and on the ride out I heard other
searchers had found seven bodies from the ten-man team. The medic
wasn't one of them, and that scared me worse. Jeffy didn't have what
it takes to escape an ambush, and you know what's likely to happen to
an Enforcement trooper captured by terrorists."
"Nothing good," Cortin agreed.
"We were the first combat team to get to the ambush site, so after a
quick briefing, the on-scene commander sent us after the ambush
party--fifteen of them, his Tracker said. With that few, our
Team-Leader decided we didn't need any backup, so we got on their
trail. When we caught up a few hours later, they'd made camp and were
working on Jeffy. I couldn't see them yet, but I knew his voice well
enough to recognize it, even screaming and with the overtones algetin
adds."
Cortin nodded. Screams, to a civilian and even to most Enforcement
personnel, didn't tell much except that the screamer was feeling
intense pleasure or pain. An Inquisitor learned not only to tell
which, but also several other things; she wasn't at all surprised that
Bain had been able to tell his brother had been dosed with the
pain-enhancer.
"We took out the sentries, which eliminated five of the terrorists and
gave us the advantage of numbers as well as skill, then we moved in on
the camp." Bain paused. "Have you ever been in on a mass
interrogation?"
"No, but I know the theory; pick the least likely to be useful and make
a dramatic example of him, to save time with the rest."
"That's what they were doing with Jeffy. All three of our people were
hanging spreadeagle, but Jeffy was the one their version of an
Inquisitor was working on." Bain's voice caught, and it was a moment
before he could continue. "I'd . . . rather not go into the details;
just call it a standard demonstration. The plaguer was in the middle
of gutting him when we attacked. I knee-shot him, then went to Jeffy."
He stared at his saddle horn. "He . . . didn't recognize me at first,
and . . . when he did, he begged for help." Bain looked at his
commanding officer, his expression haunted. "Joan, he couldn't have
lived if there'd been a hospital trauma center five feet away, and he
knew it. I couldn't refuse him, make him live in that kind of agony
until shock and blood loss killed him in spite of the drugs. So I gave
him Last Rites--then I killed him, as quickly and painlessly as I
could." He looked down again. "Dammit, I became an Inquisitor to help
find the Kingdoms' enemies, not to kill people I love!"
"I understand." His Warrant made his action blameless under both civil
and Church law, but that wouldn't have helped his feelings any. "It
was the only help you could give, and both of us know it can be
welcome. At worst, he's in Purgatory; I'll include him in my Mass
intentions from now on."
"Thanks--I've been doing it since I was ordained, of course, but extra
Masses never hurt, and it'll make his family feel better."
"How did they take it?"
"Betty understood; the kids are too young to know anything except that
Daddy's gone and won't be back. She gets a pension, of course, and I'm
'acting Daddy' for the kids when I'm around. You'll have to come out
for a visit sometime, since we're stationed in the area--I'm sure
they'd love to meet you."
"I'll do that." She ought to find out if she could still relate to
normal civilians, she supposed; except for visiting the Harrisons,
she'd been in a strictly-military environment since the attack. And
not even a normal military environment, between the hospital, her
Inquisitor's training, and starting a Strike Force team. She knew
she'd changed, for what would generally be considered the worse; what
she didn't know was how much.
"Great! If you don't mind, I'll drop back now and pass your invitation
along."
"Fine."
She rode alone the rest of the morning, glad when they got into the
forest and out of the rapidly-warming sun. She was pleased to find she
could still appreciate the sounds and smells of the forest, the
squirrels and birds, the green-tinged light. Lunch was good, though
she was restricted to broth and more grateful for the brief relief from
jarring pain than for the unsatisfying pre-surgery meal.