Hospital
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MAIN STORY
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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?"
To see more of Shannon: 2a. Musing