Demon Drops
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MAIN STORY
:
The Alembic Plot
"Good morning, my dear." Cortin greeted her subject cheerily as soon
as she entered the third-stage room. Yes, Mike had had it cleaned;
except for the misery and fatigue in her subject's attitude, there was
no evidence of what he'd been through the night before. "Are you ready
for today's session?"
The man licked his lips, then said, "That captain who was here before
called you Azrael. What's t
at mean--who are you? What're you gonna
do to me?"
"Your education has been sadly neglected if you do not know the Angel
of Death," Cortin said easily. "I will carry out the sentence you
earned when you joined the Brotherhood, eventually. Before that,
however, we will share some entertainment, and you will tell me
everything you know about the Brothers of Freedom."
"Like hell I will!" But the man's voice held no conviction, and Cortin
smiled.
"Oh, not without some resistance, of course." She turned to the
cabinets, began laying out instruments and drugs where the subject
could see them, taking her time to give him plenty of opportunity to
study each one. "I have restricted myself to field-level drugs and
instruments until now; I really should be experimenting with the more
advanced techniques, now that I have easy access to them. Some of
these do look interesting." She picked up several of the instruments
again, one at a time, looking thoughtfully from instrument to prisoner
and back, but there was no unusual reaction from him.
"The simple infliction of pain holds no particular terrors for you, I
see," she commented. "Good, then you can demonstrate some of the drugs
for me." That got a reaction, as she'd expected from the previous
night; he tried, with little success, to hold back a gasp. "Not
algetin, I am quite familiar with that, and you have already given me
an excellent demonstration of eroticine." She studied labels on
various little jars, again taking her time, stretching his anticipation
and fear. "We can also eliminate these, I think, as they are primarily
for medical purposes; my medic can handle them, if necessary. That
still leaves quite a selection, however. Hmm, this looks interesting."
She filled a syringe, turned to him. "Hallucinogens are not really too
useful as interrogation drugs, because of both their primary function
and their unpredictability. But I cannot resist one called 'demon
drops' and described as causing both hallucinations and rapid mood
changes--so you get to try it."
"Keep that hell-stuff away from me!"
"There is no point in fighting, you know," Cortin said as she
approached him. A light coming on caught her attention; she raised a
hand in greeting to whoever had entered the observation room, surprised
when she saw the clock at how long she'd been working. She dismissed
that, though, and made the injection in spite of her subject's
ineffectual struggles. As she'd told him, there was absolutely no
point in fighting when you were shackled by wrists and ankles, but she
had no real objection if one of her subjects wanted to; it merely
emphasized their relative positions. "There--now we will see what
happens."
"You go straight to Hell, Bitch!"
"Your colleagues tried to send me there once," Cortin reminded him with
a smile. "Now I return the favor, more successfully. Should that be
my destination, I have excellent reasons to believe you will be there
waiting for me." There was nothing more she could do until the drug
took effect, which according to the label should be quickly, but even a
brief time should be enough to see who the observer was.
Bradford greeted her as she entered the dimly-lit room with its large
window of one-way glass. "Lieutenant Powell didn't have very much
except what he already told you--that was one reason you got him to
practice on, after all--so I thought I'd come down and watch for a bit.
What'd you give him?"
"Demon drops." Cortin shrugged. "I know hallucinogens aren't
recommended--but I learned a long time ago to play my hunches, and I
think this'll break him."
"I was curious, not objecting," Bradford said mildly. "I've never had
any luck with it, but others have; I don't argue with what works."
"I hope this does," Cortin said, watching her subject closely. "If
it's what the prewars called a bad trip, and he remembers, it should."
"It doesn't look like it's going to be a good one," Bradford said,
chuckling.
"I think you're right," Cortin agreed. Her subject was showing signs
of fear, small as yet but promising. "And it looks like I ought to get
back to him. If you have any suggestions, I'll be glad to hear them."
"I don't expect to, but if I do, I'll let you know."
Cortin returned to her subject, pleased to see his fear become more
open when she entered the room. She wondered what he was seeing; he
hadn't been visibly afraid of her only minutes ago, so it had to be
something more than a woman in gray coveralls. As she approached him,
he started to sweat, trembling, his eyes bulging as he fought to escape
whatever he saw. "No--go away, please--leave me alone--don't touch me!"
She must be something impressive, Cortin thought. A demon such as the
one the drug was named for, perhaps, to get such a strong reaction.
"Why not?" she asked. "What do you think I am?"
"Lord Azrael," the man sobbed. "Go away--send the Inquisitor back!
I'll tell her everything--just leave me alone!"
So he'd taken her code name and clothed her in that persona, Cortin
thought. Fitting, that he should think he was dying at the hands of
the real Angel of Death. "Tell me, mortal. Thy life is forfeit, but
if thou shouldst speak quickly and truthfully, I will make thy passing
easy. She will not be so merciful."
"You're burning me . . . not so close . . ."
True enough, his skin was reddening as if from sunburn. Cortin had
read that something believed strongly enough could affect the body, but
this was the first time she'd seen it. She wanted to go closer, test
the phenomenon further, but getting information was more important than
indulging her curiosity; she stepped back instead. "Speak to me,
mortal. Quickly, before the Inquisitor returns and I must leave thee
to the slow, terrible death she intends for thee." Cortin had used the
"good cop/bad cop" tactic before, many times--it was, for all its age,
astonishingly reliable--though this was the first time she'd played
both parts for one prisoner.
The man sagged in his chains. "Better you than her, I guess . . . what
do you want to know?"
His fear was still there; Cortin read the signs easily. But she could
also see defeat, almost resignation. He believed the Angel of Death,
where he'd had some hope, however small, under the Inquisitor. "Tell
me first of the attack planned on the holy Sisters of Succor."
He confirmed what Powell had told her, adding that the time was set for
the High Mass celebrating the Order's founding, and the force involved
would be about fifty men. Yes, it was to be a massacre like the one at
the convalescent hospital the previous year, but he didn't know why
such attacks were carried out or what the Brotherhood's purpose was; he
had joined because farm life was boring and he wanted adventure. He'd
tried for Enforcement, but been refused because they thought him
unstable. He was quite bitter about being called unstable by a bunch
of oversexed killers in uniform, and liked taking part in raids just to
get back at them for the insult.
No, he didn't know how many Lawrence Shannons there were; no one did,
except the Raidmaster himself and maybe the Brotherhood's High Council.
Ten or fifteen, he thought, but that was only a guess. He wasn't sure
whether or not the real Shannon would lead the convent raid, but he
didn't think so; he'd heard rumors of a major raid around Christmas in
one of the other Systems, and the Raidmaster was supposed to be working
on that one. No, he didn't know any more about it; it had been only a
rumor. The lesser Raidmaster on the convent job might know, yes,
though he didn't think it likely. No, he didn't know who'd been
Raidmaster on the hospital job; he thought probably the real one,
though. That was all he knew, honestly; now he would be grateful if
Lord Azrael would let him see a priest before killing him.
Cortin swore silently. She wanted to send his soul to Hell, where she
was sure it belonged--but it looked like his hallucination had thrown
the fear of God into him, and he was about to make a deathbed
repentance. At least she wouldn't have to officiate this time, she
told herself; she couldn't be Azrael and Reverend Mother Cortin at the
same time. "Thou hast that right," she conceded, beckoning Bradford to
join them. Blast it, from now on she'd simply have to make it a point
to have Mike or Dave nearby, in case it happened again!
When Bradford entered, Cortin left the room. She didn't care to even
witness a Brother's repentance and forgiveness, though she admitted
unhappily to herself that she would carry them out again if she had to;
she simply wouldn't like doing it, any more than she had the first time.
She took advantage of the break to use the red phone and pass along the
additional information she'd gotten--not to His Majesty directly this
time; the one who answered didn't sound at all familiar, and promised
to pass it along as soon as His Majesty was free. Then she waited,
with growing impatience, for Bradford to finish with her subject.
What, in God's Most Holy Name, was going on in there? Surely it
couldn't take this long to confess even a Brother's obviously-lengthy
list of sins, then receive absolution and Extreme Unction!
When Bradford finally emerged, he was smiling. "He's all yours, Joan.
Nice job you did, getting the information and saving a soul--that
doesn't happen often. Of course, not many Inquisitors have the help of
a blazing Angel of Death, either."
"Mike told him my code name; the demon drops and his own imagination
did the rest." Cortin's mouth quirked. "I would've preferred a more
conventional interrogation, but I have to admit he had good reason to
be afraid of drugs. And I'll keep 'Azrael's' promise; he'll die as
quickly and easily as I can manage, even though by rights he ought to
suffer as much as his victims did."
"I think you can safely trust God to take care of that," Bradford said
drily. "I can't tell you what he confessed, of course, but I can tell
you I'm positive he'll be spending a long time in Purgatory."
Cortin grinned. "I'm sure he deserves every year of it." All that was
left was killing him, so she got out of her coveralls, put her tunic
back on, settled her gunbelt into place, and re-entered the third-stage
room. Bradford had freed the prisoner; he was kneeling facing away
from her, toward the room's crucifix, his attitude making it obvious he
was praying. Cortin frowned, then nodded to herself, silently drawing
her pistol. There were far worse ways to die than quickly, while
speaking to God, and while he deserved one of those, she had promised
otherwise. She took careful aim and shot him in the back of the head.
That, she thought immediately, had been far kinder to him than it had
to her! She'd forgotten just how loud a heavy-caliber handgun could be
in a confined area, and her ears were ringing painfully. It also made
quite a mess at this close a range; blood and brains splattered most of
the wall he'd been facing, including the crucifix. The clean-up crew
could handle the wall and body, but she felt like taking care of the
crucifix herself; careful to avoid getting the mess on her uniform, she
took it into the bathroom to clean it.
As she did, she found herself thinking about the man the crucifix
represented. Jeshua had become incarnate and sacrificed Himself to
protect humanity from the results of sin, though protection from sin
itself would have to wait for the promised Protector. In the meantime,
Jeshua's sacrifice was on behalf of anyone willing to take advantage of
it--and Ivan had told her often enough it was as much an Inquisitor's
job to correct as to punish. Maybe, she thought, she was starting to
get that through her thick head, because despite her personal distaste
for the idea of a Brother's repenting, there was a sense of
accomplishment at this one's. It also helped, of course, that Brad had
complimented her on being able to manage both information and
repentance!
She grinned at herself as she dried the crucifix and put it on the desk
in the suite's office. If Shannon was Shayan, which since her vision
looked more likely than not, turning Brothers from him to God would be
an even better revenge on him than the traditional version would be on
them . . . even though she still intended to take that kind on the ones
who'd helped rape and maim her.
* * * * *
There was a message on her ground-floor office desk: His Majesty wanted
to see her at her earliest convenience between interrogations. It
didn't specify dress uniform, and this close to the Palace she didn't
need bodyguards, so less than fifteen minutes later she found herself
sitting--sitting!--beside His Majesty's desk, sipping a cup of the best
ginger tea she could remember tasting and still shocked by the warmth
of His Majesty's welcome. It was awesome enough meeting him, though
really it was no odder than paying a routine courtesy call on one's new
commanding officer; it just felt that way, having the High King himself
as your direct superior. His Majesty was clearly familiar with such a
reaction, because he was carrying the burden of the conversation until
she had a chance to recover. When she began to settle down, he smiled.
"Reports of your ability weren't exaggerated, Colonel. I'm quite
pleased with the results you've gotten so far."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll keep doing my best."
"I'm certain you will. Is Harmony Lodge to your liking and adequately
equipped?"
"More than adequately, Sire. I'm still overwhelmed by all of it."
"You are to let me know immediately if there's anything you need or
want. We can't take major action against the Brotherhood without the
information you provide, which makes you the most important single
person in this operation."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Cortin took a sip of her tea, savoring the ginger
tang. It was hard to believe she was all that important--she certainly
didn't feel it--but her truthsense said His Majesty did believe it, so
she had to. "If I may make a suggestion?"
"As one of my Household, that's both your privilege and your duty; go
ahead."
"Then I'd say the attack on the convent would be a good time to
activate the Strike Force. And with Your Majesty's permission, my men
and I would like to participate in the convent's defense."
"That's three things," King Mark said. "Activating the strike force at
the next terror attack is something I had already intended; it will be
done. Your men may participate in the convent's defense if they wish
and Colonel Bradford permits." He paused. "I am afraid, though, that
I must forbid your participation in action against anyone except those
you have a personal interest in. You're far too valuable to risk that
way, and if I weren't afraid of losing you, I'd forbid you
participating in action against even personal enemies. It would be
best for the kingdom if you could resist doing so, but--" he paused,
giving her a rueful smile, "while I pray for miracles for my people,
I've learned not to expect them."
Cortin wanted to object, but reminded herself that she'd known about
the restriction when she'd taken the job. "As Your Majesty
commands--but it was worth a try."
The King chuckled. "And I can't fault you for making the effort; you
wouldn't have joined the Strike Force if you hadn't wanted to see
action. I'm afraid you'll see more than I want you to, at that. Now,
if I may change the subject, the Royal Press Office has received a
number of requests for interviews with you. Whether you give them or
not is your choice."
"In that case, Sire, I'd rather not, at least until I finish settling
in." She'd rather not do it even then; she'd given more than enough
interviews at the Academy and after graduation. One reason she'd done
so much field work was to get away from reporters. But she needed
publicity--favorable publicity--to get support for her family changes,
so she'd have to at least pretend to overcome that dislike.
"They'll have to content themselves with the official biography for the
present, then," the King said. "The Press Office will need a current
photo, though; you can go by sometime this week and provide it. You'll
be safe from reporters as long as you're in the Palace compound or
Harmony Lodge, but I can't guarantee the same outside; that will be up
to your team."
"I don't really see any need to leave, except on missions," Cortin
said. "Harmony Lodge alone has everything I need."
"As you wish," the King said. "I certainly won't insist on you being
exposed to any unnecessary danger. But there will be an official
reception tomorrow in your honor; you should come, unless you're in the
middle of an interrogation."
Cortin was tempted to arrange it so she was, but as far as she was
concerned, His Majesty saying she should come made it an order. "I'll
do my best to be there, Sire. Full dress uniform?"
"Or formal civilan wear. Though that would mean being unarmed, so I
don't expect it." The King raised an eyebrow. "You do realize you are
the only person other than members of my personal guard who is allowed
in the Royal Presence with a firearm?"
"What?" Cortin stared at him for an instant, then glanced at the
pistol on her hip. "No, Sire--I hadn't even thought about it."
The King smiled, then stood. "We have no doubt of Your Excellency's
loyalty, and We wish you a long and healthy life as Our Inquisitor."
The audience was over, obviously; Cortin rose and bowed, then began
backing out of the office.
"Those who carry firearms in Our presence," the King said drily, "also
have leave to turn their backs on Us."
Cortin bowed again, then turned. As she left, the King allowed himself
a brief frown. He was certain of his Inquisitor's loyalty, or she
wouldn't have the position--but he couldn't deny that she made him
uncomfortable. Male Inquisitors were disturbing enough to be around; a
woman who enjoyed the deliberate infliction of pain seemed worse,
somehow. And one with Colonel Cortin's incredible talent at it was
decidedly unnerving.
On the other hand, both Edward and Ursula were thoroughly taken with
her, which was unusual for both of them, so Her Excellency must have
qualities he couldn't see, even allowing for her scheme to let them
have heirs. He touched the cartridge at his neck, frowning again.
Unusual qualities, for these to be so popular with the troops that many
insisted on having one before going out in the field and swore by their
efficacy. Maybe he ought to have her bless a couple of cases of them,
make them standard issue . . .
Back to the subject, he thought, leaning back. The idea of polygamy
had seemed obscene when Edward first mentioned it, but the longer he
thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed to become. As a matter
of morality, her argument that monogamy at this point was tantamount to
racial suicide had a certain validity, and suicide was a sin. And her
argument that marriage laws could be changed was also valid; the Modern
Saints had been branded heretics not because of their polygamy but
because they had claimed Shayan to be Jeshua's brother. And the
theologians were still arguing about that . . .
Then there was his responsibility, as Sovereign, for his subjects'
welfare, which tied in with his personal desire to leave his
descendants a prosperous, expanding group of Systems . . . which he
wouldn't be able to do without some fairly drastic action. If he
didn't, in a few generations there would be no Kingdom Systems--a fact
he'd known for some time, but had avoided thinking about because there
seemed to be no solution.
Now, though, he'd been handed a chance, if he could arrange to
implement it. Keep Cortin the focus of whatever happened as a result,
of course; even the best Inquisitor was more expendable than royalty.
From Edward's report on the airborne conference, Bishop-Colonel
Bradford ought to be willing to help get Church approval for
Enforcement to formalize the informal group marriages it was rumored
they had in some of the more remote areas.
Remote areas? The High King smiled as an idea took form. He'd have to
discuss it with his lesser monarchs, because of their agreement that
all Royal Inquisitors hold the same rank--but it promised a place for
Cortin to offer anyone who wanted a group marriage but didn't want the
notoriety that would inevitbly accompany the first ones. It would
also--a not inconsiderable benefit--silence My Lord of New Colorado's
complaints about having to administer territories that cost his Dukedom
more than the revenues they generated. Those complaints were
justified, the King admitted--but he was incredibly tired of hearing
them!
That would have to wait, though. The King switched on his intercom,
spoke to his secretary. "Peter, get hold of Bishop-Colonel Bradford.
I want to see him as soon as he can get here."
* * * * *
Cortin disliked the reception, leaving as soon as she thought it would
be socially acceptable, intending to indulge herself with a new
subject. Once she got back to the Lodge, though, she decided she was
too tired to do a proper job of starting an interrogation, and Brady
said most of the men had gone to the New Eden joyhouse. So she might
as well make an early night of it; after a hot soaking bath, she went
to bed and quickly fell asleep.
Fifteen years disappeared; it was the night after Graduation, and Mike
was holding her close after their first lovemaking, smiling down at
her. "Marry me, Joanie?"
"Of course, beloved." Cortin returned his smile, giving him a
lingering kiss.
They were married soon after, and she found that married life agreed
with her; she remained in the Service, but instead of going into the
field as she'd planned, she took postgraduate work and became an
Inquisitor. That let her spend time with her husband, when he wasn't
out on a mission, and with the three children they had. The youngest
was almost a year old when Mike came home with a pleased expression
that told her he'd contracted the Satyr Plague.
They lay together in the dark warmth, savoring each other, not hurrying
their caresses in spite of their desire. He wanted her to lie still,
let him pleasure her with his new capacity--
Her bedroom door opened, bringing her awake with her gun in her hand.
"Who's there?"
"Mike--I hadn't expected you to be asleep this early. I hope I didn't
interrupt a good dream."
Cortin put the gun down. "Only the best I've had in years. Come on
in, if you want; is there something wrong?"
"No, just thought you might like some normal company after that Palace
to-do." He entered the room, the hallway light showing, to her
pleasure, that he was already undressed. "What was the dream?"
"Graduation night, then the first time we got together after you
managed to catch the satyr bug." She was not going to tell him about
the impossible marriage and children . . . Letting amused irritation
show in her voice, she went on, "Or would have, until you interrupted
yourself. Interested in starting over?"
"Any time," Odeon said with a chuckle. "Especially since it seems this
is one I owe myself!"