Hospital

: MAIN STORY
: The Alembic Plot

St. Thomas, Thursday, 20 June 2571



Odeon was still perplexed by the previous afternoon's odd meeting when

he got to Joanie's room the morning after her surgery. The door was

open, but he tapped on it and called her name anyway.



"Mike!" Cortin hoped he could hear the welcome she tried to put in her

voice. "Come in, please!" She watched him approach, holding back

tears. Mike had b
en her ideal since the day she'd met him, and she'd

done her best to live up to his example of cool, impartial

professionalism. He was an outstanding officer, an exemplary son of

the Church; he certainly wouldn't come apart, so she had to conceal her

anguish. She couldn't forfeit his respect for her by collapsing, even

though the Brothers had maimed and perhaps crippled her.



He entered, smiling as he saw her. Her head and hands were bandaged,

along with most of one arm; her face had half a dozen cuts and bruises

not worth bandaging; and her ribs had undoubtedly been strapped tight

under her hospital gown, but-- "You're looking a lot better than you

were the last time I saw you. How do you feel?"



"Right now, I mostly don't. They've got me so heavily doped up it's a

miracle I'm awake and coherent. At least I hope I am. Coherent, that

is; I know I'm awake."



"You sound fine to me," Odeon assured her. He leaned over, kissed her

forehead. "Ready for my report?"



"Not until you do better than that," she said. "I know you can, and as

far as I can tell, my mouth is all right."



"As good as ever, but I don't hug people with broken ribs." He kissed

her as thoroughly as he thought possible without hurting her, then

pulled up a chair to sit beside the bed.



Her first question gave him an unpleasant shock. "Have you put me in

for Special Ops?"



"What?" he said, trying to stall. Dammit, she wasn't supposed to know

she was eligible yet!



Cortin sighed. "I don't need a doctor to know I've been spayed, Mike.

The incision in my belly, after what the Brothers did to me, makes it

obvious I'll never have a family. It was unlikely before; now it's

simply impossible. You can thank God I'm on sedatives right now, or

I'd probably be a raving maniac. So answer the question."



"I have, yes. I found out day before yesterday that you'd be eligible,

took the paperwork to Headquarters yesterday as soon as Doctor Egan

told me you'd made it through the surgery with a reasonably good

prognosis, and started to walk it through." He paused, frowning.



"And?"



"I don't know," Odeon said slowly. "Personnel didn't seem too

interested in doing anything about the waiver request at first, until I

raised my voice a bit." He chuckled briefly. "It seems office workers

are more than a little apprehensive about an upset Special Ops man. At

any rate, once I convinced them to do more than glance at the forms, I

was very politely escorted to a private office--which is where it gets

odd. Joanie, there was a colonel of His Majesty's Own there!"



"His Majesty's Own!" Cortin said, impressed. "So what happened?"



"Not much--which is what bothers me." Odeon frowned. "He took the

forms, read them, nodded once, and told me not to tell anyone including

you about the meeting. I asked what was going on, told him I had to

tell you something--but the only thing he'd say was that it was a

classified project, that you'd be given serious consideration, and that

he'd be in touch as soon as the decision was made. Typical bureaucrat

talk--but the oddest thing is that I believe him."



"Did he give you any idea of when?"



Odeon shook his head. "No--but I'd guess not more than a few days.

Full colonels don't work for long in bare-bones offices without even

carpeting."



"True, especially when they belong to His Majesty's Own. And I've got

a couple of months before I'm well enough I have to make a final

decision--I presume I am eligible for a disability discharge?"



"Yes, of course, at full pay. But I don't like what I think you're

getting at. Joanie, don't do anything you'll regret."



"I don't intend to," Cortin said quietly. "I know what I have to do,

though. If I can stay in and do it, that's best, of course. If I have

to get out, though, I'll do that instead. One way or another, Brother

Lawrence Shannon and the rest of them on that raiding party are

gone--and so are any Brothers who get in my way to them." She looked

at her bandaged hands for a long moment, then back up at him. "Which

I'm sure you guessed when Egan passed along the information that I was

keeping their marks."



Odeon nodded. "Partly--that you'd go after them. Not that you'd

consider going rogue to do it." Enforcement took superlative care of

its members and their families, if they had any . . . but when a

trooper went bad, all its resources went into hunting and then killing

him. Or her. Odeon had participated in three of those hunts, hating

the necessity but as grimly determined as any to rid the world of them.

Dammit, Enforcement troopers were sworn to protect the Kingdoms and

their citizens--when one went rogue, he had to be stopped! And yet

. . . the idea of taking part in such a hunt with Joanie as the target

upset him more than it should. Not that the alternative was any

better! "Joanie, please--don't do it."



"As I said, I don't intend to." Cortin took a deep breath. "You know

me too well to believe I'd do something like going rogue if I had any

choice in the matter. And I need time and resources a rogue wouldn't

get, to do what I have to--but I can't do it if I'm stuck behind a

desk, either." She frowned, still unable to make sense of the feeling

of absolute certainty that had come over her during the Brothers'

torture. "Mike, we both know I'm as practical and non-mystical as

anyone could be--but while the Brothers were working me over, I . . .

realized, or discovered, or something, that eliminating them is my job.

It helps that I have a personal reason for wanting to, but that's a

bonus. Whatever happens to me, whatever I have to do to accomplish it,

I don't have any choice about the fact. I have to get rid of the

Brothers--and I plan to enjoy it." She stared at her hands again.

"Then I may be able to get rid of these Hell-marks. Can you understand

that?"



"I think so--and God help me, I couldn't blame you if you did go after

them on your own. But I'd still have to help hunt you down." Odeon

was less positive of that than he made himself sound, though. He

wasn't at all certain he'd be able to, even if not doing it meant he'd

share her outlawry--if the thought of hunting her was upsetting, the

idea of actually harming her was revolting. Worse than revolting,

really--impossible was more like it.



The sudden awareness of that stunned him. He hadn't realized he felt

so strongly about her! He shouldn't; no one in Special Ops should have

any more than professional respect for another person. There most

emphatically should not be anything like that strong a feeling! It was

almost like--no. He was too professional to love anyone, especially a

fellow officer, however many times he might have shared a bed with him

or her.



On the other hand, what else could it be? He'd have no objection to

hunting down Wolf Corbett, say, if it were necessary--and Wolf had been

on his team the longest of any, almost a year now, and was the closest

friend other than Joanie that he had.



He sent up a quick prayer for guidance, and felt an immediate sense of

reassurance. He did love Joanie, and it was all right . . . but she

didn't love him yet, so there was no reason to burden her with the

knowledge of his feelings.



"Is something wrong, Mike?" Cortin's voice brought him back to the

present. "You look like you ate something that's disagreeing with you."



"No, I'm fine. It's your problems we should be worrying about now,

anyway." Odeon made himself smile. "Let's assume you make it into

this classified project, and that it's something that'll let you at the

Brothers."



"We might as well," Cortin said, shifting position slightly. "The

first thing is to get off these drugs. The sooner I learn to cope with

what's happened, the sooner I can get to work. I need to get my

strength back, hone up my hand-to-hand combat, and do some serious

study of interrogation techniques. I'm okay at first-stage, but

Brothers don't break that easily; I'm going to have to be more than

just good, at all three stages. Especially third. Will you help me?"



"Of course." That was his Joanie, all right, Odeon thought proudly.

No crying or self-pity for her; instead, a plan that would let her

accomplish what she intended. He took the clipboard from the foot of

her bed and studied it for a moment. "Dear God! They do have you in

deep, don't they? Do you want to make a cold break, or would you

rather taper off?"



"Cold break," Cortin said firmly. Even though it was probably a

decision she would regret, it was what she was certain he would have

done.



"Right." Odeon made the necessary notations, initialed each one, then

replaced the clipboard. "You can't do much about exercise or combat

training until you're out of bed, but you can read . . . mmm. I think

you should go for an Inquisitor's Warrant, even though you won't be

able to do the practical work right away. If you want to go that

route, I know an instructor at the Academy who'll give you classroom

credit for reading the course materials and passing a test, then let

you do the practical when you're back on your feet."



Cortin nodded. "I would--thanks." The Warrant wouldn't do her any

legal good if she did go rogue, but she'd have the skill, and letting

her subjects know she'd had a Warrant should make it easier to break

them. "How soon can I get the texts?"



"I should be able to have them for you by visiting hours tomorrow.

Anything else?"



"Newspapers, please--and a pair of gloves, for when the bandages come

off."



"No problem; Sergeant Vincent promised to send your gear along. I

figure it should be here tomorrow or the next day."



"Thanks--I should have thought to ask."



"You did have other things on your mind at the time," Odeon pointed

out. He hesitated, went on reluctantly. "Speaking of which, as soon

as you feel up to it, you should be debriefed."



Cortin would have preferred to keep the information for her own use,

but by the time she was able to do anything with it, it would be

obsolete, useless. Best to pass it on to the debriefers, then hope her

fellow Enforcement troops would keep the trail warm without taking the

quarry that was rightfully hers. "I'll be glad to talk to them any

time they want. And if the team includes an artist, I think I can

describe the ones I saw well enough for him to draw."



"That would help--I'll make sure it has one. And I'll try to get them

here before the painkillers wear off; I don't think you'd want them to

see you in pain."



"I don't, and I wouldn't be able to cooperate as well, either. As soon

as you can, then."



"I'll do that." Odeon turned to leave, then hesitated and turned back.

Joanie went to church Sundays and holy days when she wasn't on duty,

though she wasn't what he'd call really devout. Still, it wouldn't

hurt to ask. "Would you like to see a priest?"



Not really, was her first reaction, but on the other hand, why not? As

usual, she didn't have anything to confess--part of her, with wry

humor, said it was because she hadn't the imagination to think of any

interesting sins, as well as not having any opportunities. Might be a

good idea to take advantage of this chance, though; if she were

accepted for Special Ops, she'd be given Exceptional Holy

Orders--empowered to carry out time-critical priestly functions, mostly

Last Rites--and she really ought to be sure of being ready for

ordination. "Maybe I should." She hesitated, then asked, "Mike--did

you give me Last Rites?"



Odeon shook his head. "By the time I got to you, Sergeant Vincent had

already taken care of it."



"If you get a chance, will you thank him for me?"



"My pleasure." Odeon bent to kiss her goodbye, then paused when

bandaged hands took and held his.



Cortin looked up at him, her throat tight. Maybe he wouldn't fault her

for one bit of weakness . . . "Mike, I know I'm not a real woman any

more, but . . . maybe I can still function like one. Will you help me

find out? Please?"



"As soon as the plumbing's out and you feel up to it," Odeon promised,

stricken by her uncharacteristic vulnerability. Blessed Mother of God,

he prayed silently, don't let them have robbed her of that, too! She's

lost the ability to have children; don't let her be condemned to the

constant danger we face without even this consolation! "Just let me

know when, Joanie. I'll be here for you." He kissed her again, and

left. Cortin watched him go, relieved. He'd been reassuring, not

scornful, and that was a big help in itself.



* * * * *



She was kept busy the rest of the day, first by the priest, then by

medical personnel, and then--over Dr. Egan's objections--by the

debriefing team, which included the artist she'd asked for. It also

included a lieutenant wearing the silver question-mark badge of one who

held an Inquisitor's Warrant, and who was treated with a degree of

respect that was highly unusual for a junior officer. Cortin made note

of that, then disregarded it; if she was under consideration for

something classified, she had to expect some non-standard attention.

And he was a good Inquisitor, whatever else he was, eliciting details

she didn't remember noticing, gaining her confidence even though she

was familiar with the techniques he was using, reading her face and

body language well enough that at times he seemed to be reading her

mind instead. No, she thought when the team left, he was more than a

simple lieutenant!



The drugs had worn off by early the next morning. When an orderly

brought her breakfast, Cortin was in physical pain and emotional shock,

but she forced herself to be as polite as possible to the orderly, and

then to eat in spite of her lack of appetite. Afterward, she endured

the medical attentions that brought more pain, telling herself she had

to go through that and the accompanying humiliation to reach her goal.

She was glad when it was over and she was left alone; the only person

she had any real desire to see was Mike.



He arrived moments after visiting hours began. She started to greet

him, but fell silent in shock when she saw his face. Mike had been

crying, and there were still tears in his eyes! Hesitantly, she held a

hand out to him. "Mike--?"



He took it, tears again starting to fall. "Joanie--oh, Joanie, I'm so

sorry!"



Her stomach churned with miserable certainty of his answer, but she

made herself ask, "What is it, Mike?"



"Dr. Egan said nurses had heard you talking in your sleep, that the bad

news would be easier coming from me, but not to tell you yet, not till

you were stronger . . ." He took a deep breath to steady his voice,

though the tears were running unchecked down his face. Dammit, there

was no kind way to tell her this! "She's a civilian, she doesn't

understand that we can't afford false hopes. Or how important this

is--she told me that except for your back, you'd have a complete

recovery!" He took another deep breath, trying with a little more

success to calm himself. "Joanie--I'll never share your bed again, and

neither will anyone else, unless all you want is company."



"I'm totally non-functional, then," Cortin said flatly.



Odeon nodded miserably. "I'm afraid so. The Brothers . . . damaged

you too badly. Egan's team was able to salvage the urinary tract and

make a usable opening for it in the skin graft--but I'm afraid the

other is gone, permanently."



Cortin clung to his hands, her mind numb. She wanted to scream, cry,

do something to protest this additional, gratuitous despoilment--dear

sweet Jeshua, they had been killing her, why do something so

pointless?--but she didn't seem to have the will.



Odeon took her in his arms, stroking her and speaking quietly,

reassuringly. She was taking it hard, of course--so was he,

dammit!--and it was no wonder. Most civilians didn't understand, so

they resented the civil and canonical laws that exempted Enforcement

personnel from the sexual restrictions everyone else was morally and

legally bound to observe--but, thanks to Saint Eleanor of the

Compassionate Mother, Church and civil authorities did understand that

people in almost constant danger of sudden, violent death needed more

of a distraction than books or cards or dances could provide. Not even

sex always helped--but most of the time it could take your mind off the

danger enough to relax for a few minutes, or an hour, or if the

Compassionate Mother was kind, an entire night. Joanie wouldn't have

that escape any more, which was grossly unfair.



Still, there was a purpose behind everything God did, Odeon reminded

himself, whether a human could perceive it or not. He couldn't imagine

what purpose would condemn Joanie to constant pain, as well as all of

an Enforcement officer's normal stresses, with no chance of relief--but

he believed there was one, and if he were allowed to, he'd help her

achieve it.



After several minutes, Cortin pulled back, still dry-eyed. "If that's

the way it is, I guess I'll have to learn to live with it. Thanks for

giving it to me straight, Mike--you were right, I'd rather know the

truth than get my hopes up and then have them dashed."



"I'm glad. I thought you'd feel that way--but I was praying I wouldn't

just make things worse for you." He squeezed her hands, debating

whether or not he should kiss her, then decided against it until later.

If he was any judge, she was in no mood for affection at the moment,

especially the fraternal kind that would emphasize it was the only kind

she'd get from now on. "I have the books," he said, instead.

"Dalmaine's Practical Interrogation Techniques, Gray's Anatomy, and

Wu's An Inquisitor's Manual of Pharmacology. Major Illyanov sends his

regards, and asked me to tell you that his evenings are free if you

think some tutoring would help."



"I'll take him up on that, gladly." Anything to help keep her mind off

her pain and loss . . . "Though I'm surprised to find him so willing

to help."



"I think he's pleased that you're interested in his specialty," Odeon

said. There were no prohibitions against a woman becoming an

Inquisitor, any more than there were against them entering whatever

other field they chose--but the fact remained that very few women chose

Enforcement, and to the best of his knowledge there had never been a

female Inquisitor. "Want me to ask him to come over tonight?"



"Yes, please."



* * * * *



Cortin had started reading as soon as Mike left, not long after lunch,

and halfway through the first chapter of Dalmaine's book, she was

totally absorbed. He gave a brief overview of the basic first-stage

techniques taught at the Academy, then continued with the psychology of

willing witnesses and how to help them remember pertinent facts.

Cortin recognized several of the so-called lieutenant's techniques,

nodding as increasing knowledge let her appreciate his skill more

fully. The next chapter started to deal with reluctant cases, and

within ten pages Cortin had the other two books open and was referring

back and forth. Supper came; she ate it mechanically, with no idea

when she was finished of what she'd eaten, as she kept studying.



She jumped when a hand covered her page. "What--!"



"I apologize for interrupting such intense study, Captain Cortin, but I

have been trying to attract your attention for several minutes." The

tall, attractive man in Enforcement gray, with St. Dmitri collar

insignia and major's leaf, bowed. "Major Ivan Petrovich Illyanov.

Your instructor--and delighted to have such an attentive student. How

far have you gotten?"



When Cortin told him, he smiled. "Excellent progress. Now we see how

well you have absorbed what you have read." He began questioning

her--without any of the memory-enhancing techniques, Cortin

noted--nodding or frowning occasionally at her responses. He made her

work, and she did so enthusiastically, disappointed when he finally

called a halt.



"You cannot learn a year's course material in one night," he said

drily. "Though at this rate you may well do so in a month. The

classroom material, at any rate." He touched a bandaged hand. "May I

see?"



"Of course. Uh . . ."



"'Uh' what?" Illyanov asked, gently unwrapping the bandage.



"Mike--Captain Odeon--told you why I want to learn this?"



"He did indeed." Illyanov paused, smiled at her. "I doubt there is an

officer in any Enforcement service on this world of ours, perhaps

anywhere in the entire Systems, who does not know of Captain Joan

Cortin and her ordeal. It should please you to learn that

anti-Brotherhood operations are currently overwhelmed with volunteers

sworn to avenge you. Although that has driven the Brotherhood to

ground, so I fear I must tell you we are having no more real success

than before."



"I am pleased--and flattered," Cortin said. "It never occurred to me

that there'd be that much of a reaction."



"But you are also pleased there will be some left to hunt when you

recover." Illyanov finished undoing the bandage, nodded approvingly at

the burn. "A good move, keeping these. You did it on instinct?"



"Yes. They're obscene, disgusting--a worse violation than the rape, by

far--but it didn't seem right getting rid of them. Though I probably

will, eventually."



"You will not show them at all times, then?"



"No--I plan to wear gloves except when I'm on a hunt."



"Remove them also during an interrogation, I would suggest." Illyanov

smiled, replacing the bandage. "You have not yet reached that point in

your studies, so you cannot be expected to know the psychological

impact, but such touches can appreciably increase your odds of success.

Terror is often more persuasive than pain."



"I will, then. Thank you." But she'd still use the pain . . .



"The pleasure is mine." He stood, bowed again. "Until tomorrow, then?"





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