11. Dinner
Supper was a festive affair. The meal was sent from the Manor, with Prince Edward's compliments, and Princess Ursula sent Cortin a silk-lined brocade evening robe with a note expressing the royal couple's pleasure at the Captain's recovery. The robe was nothing like the utilitarian one Cortin usually wore, but it was attractive, and proved more comfortable than she'd thought it could be. It had seemed too showy when she first saw it, but when the men appeared in full dress uniforms, it seemed entirely appropriate. Only the two from the capital appeared completely comfortable in their finery at first, since they were the only ones who wore dress uniforms regularly, but by the time the group sat down to eat, her team looked more relaxed.
When Bradford finished saying grace, Cortin looked at him, letting her curiosity show. "A catered dinner from the Crown Prince, a robe from Her Highness, and everyone in dress blacks—what's going on?"
"Attempted bribery," Bradford said cheerfully. "For which I can't be prosecuted, since I'm operating under His Majesty's orders."
Cortin stared at him, her mind momentarily blank. "What?"
"You may not realize it, but since until recently you were St. Thomas's only female Enforcement officer, His Majesty follows your career with considerable interest. Try your soup; it's much better hot."
Cortin obeyed. "It's delicious … I know I was, and I suppose that's reason enough for curiosity—God knows I've run into more of it than I like!—but why bribery? I took the same commissioning oath you did, to obey His Majesty's lawful orders." If she didn't like them, well, she could go rogue after all … "And why so suddenly? Before the operation, everything was strictly routine."
Bradford shrugged. "That's what I thought, until this morning. One thing you'll learn, if you take the bribe, is that His Majesty asks for information and advice, but he keeps his own counsel and makes his own decisions. He won't make this an order because I told him what you were likely to do if you were kept from your revenge."
She'd been certain he knew; she nodded. "And?"
"He's always been impressed by the loyalty you inspire in those who work with you, and he was also most impressed when he saw the films of your training interrogations." Bradford smiled. "Not as impressed by the films as Ivan and I were, but His Majesty isn't an Inquisitor; he couldn't see the subtleties that can make such a difference. Still, what he could see, combined with your truthsense, not to mention the reputation you've earned from your work at Middletown, have convinced him that you're the one he wants for a new position. It's a major part of the increased anti-terrorist campaign, and it won't require you to leave the Strike Force or give up your team. There'll be less field work, though—probably a lot less—and you'll be headquartered in a new building near the Palace compound. This is a small sample of the life you can lead there, one both His Majesty and I hope you'll find tempting."
"I do," Cortin admitted. It would be hard not to be tempted by the thought of living close to the Palace compound, eating this sort of food, and keeping her Strike Force status and team as well. "What's the position? And, with all due respect to you and His Majesty, what's the catch?"
"The position is High King's Inquisitor, which carries membership in the Royal Household as well as the rank of Colonel, to match your counterparts in other Kingdoms." Bradford grinned at her expression of disbelief. "I don't joke about His Majesty, Joan. Or about a prospective member of the Royal Household, who'll outrank mere members of the King's Own if she accepts the job, and might take offense."
Cortin swallowed, hard. How could she refuse such an offer, whether she believed it justified or not? She looked at Odeon, almost desperately, but saw no help there; he looked both smug and as pleased as she thought she ought to be, so she turned her attention back to Bradford. Worse, this fit in with what she'd experienced—and preferred not to think about—while she'd been under Sis' drugs. "The catch?"
"We're hoping you don't think there is one—or at least not one bad enough to stop you from accepting the position. As I said, there'll be less field work, but to balance that, you'll be able to flag any topic you want information on, and you'll be able to requisition any prisoner you want to question yourself. You'll also be asked to carry out the most difficult interrogations as well, and executions of the worst criminals. What do you say?"
"That it all sounds much too good to be true," Cortin replied. Jumping from Captain to Colonel, the highest Enforcement rank, plus joining the Royal Household, access to any information or prisoners she wanted … it was hard to believe she could be offered all that, even with the reputation she now took pride in. And the vision, or hallucination, or whatever it had been that said this was going to happen. She sipped at her drink, a freshly-pressed cider. She did have to admit it was hard to refuse, though. "What else?"
"The clincher, I hope," Bradford said. "A commander who can resist personal threats or promises is often vulnerable to the same pressures on his—or her, of course—people. So a reminder: your team will remain with you. If you're part of the Household, that means they'll be attached to it—members of the King's Own, reporting to you. Not as prestigious as being Household members, and it doesn't carry automatic promotion, but they'll also live near the Palace compound—in your Lodge, if they don't mind living in a building that also houses the High King's Inquisitor and a state-of-the-art interrogation suite."
Not as overwhelming an offer as the one to herself, but Cortin nodded. "You're right, Brad, that is the clincher. Even though you might not have needed it, if you'd given me time to think; I would've realized what the offer meant for them."
"You accept, then."
"Yes."
"Good." Bradford smiled. "On His Majesty's behalf, then, as well as from me: Congratulations, Colonel Cortin." He stood, raising his glass. "Gentles, I give you Her Excellency Colonel Joan Cortin, the High King's Inquisitor."
The others followed suit. Illyanov and Odeon exchanged glances, Odeon obviously trying to look solemn but spoiling the effect with a smile he couldn't hide. Illyanov raised an eyebrow, then nodded, and Odeon said, "To Your Excellency's continued health and happiness." The diners drank the formal toast, then sat back down, and Odeon dropped his attempt to look solemn. "High King's Inquisitor—Joanie, you couldn't've asked for a better place to hunt those plaguers from!"
"No, I don't think I could," Cortin agreed. "It's still hard to believe I'd get tapped for it, though—talent or not, I don't have that much experience." She paused long enough to eat some stuffed shrimp and take a drink of cider, then she went on. "If there'd been a position like this earlier, I'd've expected it to go to someone like Brad or Ivan, with experience."
"I do not know about Brad," Illyanov said with a smile, "but I am not qualified. I am immediately subject to Czar Nicholas, not to High King Mark. Since you express interest, however—I have been informed that I am under consideration for that position on St. Dmitri. I should like to teach you the advanced techniques we did not have time for earlier, but I should also like to return to my wife and children in New Moscow. Despite the climate."
"New Colorado's bad enough in the winter," Cortin agreed. "I'd like to go to your home world some day, on assignment or leave—but I hope it's in summer!"
"It is far more pleasant then," Illyanov said, chuckling. "Should I get the position and require your assistance, I shall try to assure it is in summer. Should you go there at any time, however, I would like you to meet my family. You will like them, I think, especially Elena and the girls, but I must warn you: the boys, especially Pyotr, will beg you for war stories, and they can be most persistent."
"I think I can handle that," Cortin said, amused. "You'll all be welcome at the Lodge, of course." She turned to Bain. "That goes for your brother's family, too, you know."
"Thanks …" Bain said, hesitantly. "But I'm not sure they'd be comfortable in the capital."
"I'm not sure I'll be comfortable there," Cortin said, then turned to Bradford. "Brad, all any of us know about life in New Denver comes from the news and—if we read them, which I sometimes do for laughs—the society columns. What's it really like?"
"I don't want to disappoint you," Bradford said, "but most of the time it's actually quite ordinary. You'll wear dress uniform more often, you'll be expected to attend important Palace functions, and your team will act as bodyguards any time you leave the Compound; otherwise, except for taking orders only from His Majesty—no one else can do more than request—you should find things fairly normal." He grinned. "You'll find out, starting tomorrow … if Your Excellency cares to join Their Highnesses on the return flight."
Cortin swallowed. That shouldn't have surprised her, but it did—a flight to New Denver with the Crown Prince and Princess wouldn't be unusual for a member of the Royal Household, and she would get used to it, she supposed. Right now, though, it was a shock. She brought herself under control and said, "I'd be honored. Arrangements will have to be made, of course, to return our horses and pick up our personal gear. Oh, and we'll need proper insignia."
"All taken care of," Bradford said. "We had plenty of time while you were under treatment."
Cortin absorbed that, starting on her dessert. It sounded at first like Bradford or His Majesty had assumed, even before asking, that she would accept—and maybe they had, she couldn't know—but a little thought told her that wasn't necessarily the case. Bradford could carry all the insignia in a pocket, all of their personal gear wouldn't strain a single packhorse, and if she refused, they could all be returned to Middletown with only a slight loss of time. "Thanks—that was kind of you."
"Call it enlightened self-interest," Bradford said. "And I do have something to ask, when and if your primary duties permit."
"Of course, if I'm able."
"You are; you've done it. Act as auxiliary confessor and spiritual advisor to the Detention Center Inquisitors—I heard how much good you did."
"Gladly—but don't forget Dave; he's a Priest-Inquisitor too."
"I've already said I'd do it," Bain said. "And I'll probably have more time for that sort of thing than you will. I have a very strong feeling your primary job isn't going to leave you much time for anything else."
"Probably true," Cortin agreed. "I enjoyed helping, but if I'm going to do a good job as King's Inquisitor I may not have time to do that very well. And I'd rather not do it if I can't do it right."
"You'll be keeping busy, all right," Bradford told her, "with a whole Kingdom to draw from. The whole Systems, if your skills are necessary."
Cortin smiled. "Good!"
"And it might interest you to know that His Majesty doesn't interfere in his Household's private lives," Bradford said. "I don't know your preferences that well, but as long as you don't flaunt them, what you do is between you and your partner or partners. With the security provided at the Palace Compound and Harmony Lodge, you won't have to worry about outsiders who might be offended."
"No flaunting," Cortin promised. "I have very basic tastes; the only thing most people would frown on is the amount and variety of partners I like."
Bradford smiled. "Such as this group?"
Cortin returned the smile. "Exactly."
"And is Her Excellency interested now?"
"Her Excellency most certainly is."
When Cortin woke, shortly before dawn, she was still awed by her new position. That sort of promotion and transfer simply weren't supposed to happen—but all the Kingdoms would have Sovereign's Inquisitors, according to Brad; soon she'd be one of a dozen, different only in that she worked directly for the High King. That made it a little less daunting—and they were supposed to leave for New Denver today. She got up, bathed, and dressed, unable to suppress a thrill when she fastened the Colonel's eagle and the Household badge to her tunic.
12. Flight
Sunday, 01 Mar 2572
The flight started out as interesting, if uneventful. Cortin exchanged courtesies with the Royal couple, then joined her team, taking a window seat. It was her first flight—well, she thought, the first one she'd been awake for, anyway—and she wanted to see everything she could. She'd had a passing interest in archaeology once, so she was aware of pre-war population statistics, and knew the unnaturally straight lines of vegetation in the areas they flew over marked roads or buildings that no longer existed. For the first time, the two came together and became real for her. There had been so many of them! Dear God, it must have been unbearable, especially in the cities, crowded so closely together! But it was fascinating, seeing what they'd left … and they'd been thriving, not declining … She forced that thought aside, not for the first time. It was for Kings and Popes to concern themselves with the fact that humanity in the Systems was dying out, not for Enforcement officers.
As the plane droned westward, though, she discovered she couldn't dismiss it any longer. Whatever she'd experienced during her drugged recovery wouldn't let her. Like it or not, if she believed the vision or hallucination or whatever—and it didn't seem to be leaving her much choice in the matter—she'd been saddled with responsibility for reversing the decline.
It wasn't fair, she protested to herself. She was an Enforcement officer, not a secular or Church noble; she didn't have the kind of power or backing it would take to make the tremendous changes she'd been shown were necessary. Though, she admitted grudgingly, she'd also been promised help getting the power and people she'd need to do the job—and a Strike Team Leader/Inquisitor just promoted to High King's Inquisitor wasn't exactly powerless. Not popular, which she'd have to be to gain widespread support for the changes she'd be trying to make, but certainly not powerless.
Odeon's voice broke into her thoughts. "You look disturbed, Colonel. Is it anything we can help with?"
Cortin wanted to say no, but nodded instead. She couldn't accomplish either of her objectives alone, and who better for her closest helpers than the team she and Mike had hand-picked? "I'm afraid so. See if we can use the conference cabin, please, so I can brief all of you at once."
"Right away." Odeon stood, then hesitated. "What about Colonel Bradford and Major Illyanov?"
"Fine. And civilian input wouldn't hurt, either, so see if Their Highnesses would care to join us."
Even on an aircraft of the Royal Fleet, space was limited; the conference cabin was full when Cortin began the briefing. "Your Highnesses, gentles—thank you for coming. This is difficult for me to talk about, and it will be difficult for you to hear—but it not only has to be said, it has to be acted on."
She paused, scanning the group's faces. Yes, she had their full attention, though both Odeon and Chang looked apprehensive as well as attentive. That was all right; everyone here would feel the same before she got through. "While I was recovering from Lieutenant Chang's surgery, I had a series of what I can only call visions. You can decide the source for yourselves when you've heard what I have to say; my own opinion is that the medication I was under either allowed or forced me to put together a number of facts and arrive at some uncomfortable conclusions.
"Although we've eliminated war and most illness, leading in turn to the elimination of poverty in any sense the Terrans or prewars would understand, the human race faces two great—and immediate—threats. One is the terrorists, particularly the Brothers of Freedom and their chief Raidmaster, Lawrence Shannon. Eliminating them is a job we've all—except Your Highnesses, of course—sworn to do, and the Strike Force has personal reasons to do it thoroughly and quickly."
She took a deep breath. "As bad as that threat is, the other is both worse and harder to deal with. Everyone knows, although no one wants to talk or think about, the facts of human infertility and a declining population. The only thing that has been done about that, and it was against considerable opposition, was the granting of Enforcement's sexual dispensation. Although some families are blessed with numerous children, the average birthrate is less than two per family—and there are many people who choose not to have families at all. On the other hand—Major Illyanov, how many children have you fathered?"
The Dmitrian smiled. "Three by my wife, six more I am aware of by other women—the children live with us, their mothers nearby—and my mistress is currently with child."
"Seven children that wouldn't exist without the dispensation," Cortin said, "since Major Illyanov honors God in both word and deed. As does Bishop-Colonel Bradford. Colonel?"
"One by my wife, who's expecting our second," Bradford replied, frowning. "Three others I know about."
"Less prolific, but still well beyond replacement. No one else in this room has had any."
Princess Ursula echoed Bradford's frown. "Are you suggesting that we do away with families, or make all married women attempt to have children by Enforcement men?" she asked quietly.
"Not at all, Your Highness," Cortin said. "A strong family structure is necessary to a healthy society, and no woman should be compelled to have children, by any man. I'm not advocating anything of the sort. What I am saying is that family structure has to change in response to changed conditions. Monogamy means that if either spouse is sterile, that couple will have no children—which is the case with almost half of our families. And that is as tragic for the individuals concerned as it is suicidal for the race." She paused. "Some infertile couples adopt, of course, and some seek Enforcement help, but neither is statistically significant. Fortunately, a few of those we've helped have been nobles otherwise unable to fulfill their duty to provide heirs."
Prince Edward winced, then nodded, looking grim. A trooper's partner naturally shared his dispensation for that act, and if a child came of it, the trooper was almost always named the baby's godfather—though the legal father was the husband. "A service the Kingdom cannot acknowledge," the Prince said, "but one it's nevertheless extremely grateful for. Unfortunately, it's one that has been of no benefit to Ursula and myself. If you have something that might work, we'll be glad to consider it."
"Polygamy," Cortin said promptly. "More than two spouses improve the odds dramatically. Four to eight per family, ideally half men and half women, would do wonders for the birthrate."
"Be better for the children, too," Bain put in. "Like my brother's family—when he was killed, they lost the only adult male, and were left with one adult to care for three young children, no steady role model for the boys. Jo—the Colonel's way, that'd be a whole lot less likely. One parent's death would still be tragic, of course, but it wouldn't cause complete disruption."
"Which," Cortin said, "—and I admit to considerable personal interest here—would mean Special Ops personnel could have families. That includes my team, though according to what I saw it doesn't include me."
It wouldn't, Odeon thought regretfully, at least not until the real Protector manifested. Her family, until then, had to be all the humans in the Systems; she couldn't be restricted to a few individuals. If he were permitted a family, though, Joanie'd be as much a part of it as he could manage—and he had a pretty good idea how.
The Royal couple whispered to each other for a few moments, then Prince Edward looked back at Cortin. "We agree, Excellency. Show us how it can be done legally and without sin, and Ursula and I will bring others into our family." He raised an eyebrow at them. "Although we have come to love each other, it's common knowledge that isn't necessary to a Royal marriage, the primary purpose of which is to beget heirs. If a polygamous marriage can permit us to fulfill that purpose it is—as you pointed out—our duty."
Cortin swallowed, uncomfortable. "I intended no offense, Your Highness."
"None taken, Your Excellency. Although it's not by intent, we have failed." He turned to Bradford. "How do you think Enforcement personnel and their families would react to the idea, Colonel?"
"Favorably," Bradford said. "Many of us already have such arrangements informally, as I'm sure Your Highness knows, and quite a few—myself included—would like to formalize them."
"And most of the nobility," the Prince said, "would be more intrigued than offended, if it could be shown not to be sinful. The Church would resist that, though, I'm afraid, and the landfolk would probably have strong objections."
"I know," Cortin admitted. "I don't have any choice but to try, though. I saw two possibilities in the vision, or whatever it was, and I've got to work for the second. In the first, humanity kept on the way it's going now, a slow decline with the terrorists getting stronger until they reach a critical number and Shayan takes them over openly, uses them to wipe out the rest of us in a final bloody massacre, then amuses himself by torturing them to death one by one—which he and his demons continue, of course, once they're in Sheol.
"The other wasn't quite as clear, maybe because there's more than one way for it to go—I can't be certain. In it, we recognize the Satyr Plague for what it is—"
"Shayan's attempt to corrupt us," Princess Ursula declared.
"With all respect, Your Highness," Cortin said firmly, "that's not possible. I can't deny that Shayan has tremendous power, but there's one power God has reserved to Himself, and that is the creation of life. The satyr virus isn't very high on the scale, I agree, but it is life, with no detectable connection to any other form in the Kingdoms. So the Satyr Plague is from God, and it must be His Will that we use it, within the limits of morality He's given us, to reverse the decline."
"The Satyr Plague used within the bounds of morality?" Princess Ursula sounded highly dubious.
"It can be done," Cortin said. "Troopers don't use their dispensation to spend all their time having sex, do they?"
"No," the Princess admitted, "not even all their spare time. But troopers are far better disciplined than the average civilian—give landfolk the freedom to indulge their drives the way troopers do, and I dread to think of the consequences."
"I think you're underestimating them, Your Highness," Cortin said, allowing herself a smile. "I was raised in a farming family, and I can assure you they're every bit as disciplined as troopers, although in a different way." She grimaced. "I'll take drill, and transfers, and orders, and getting shot at, any day, over milking and plowing and feeding and getting up before dawn every day! Even with the virus' help, farm life doesn't leave enough energy for overindulgence. I'm sure most would be happy to keep their sexual activity within the family."
"Happier than now, I'd bet," Bain said. "That way, they'd get the variety the virus makes you want, without having to go outside the family—which would be a major reduction in adultery all by itself."
"That sounds reasonable," the Princess said. "Your argument about the virus being a new life form is one I can't refute either, so go on. We recognize the Satyr Plague as God's gift; then what?"
"The first thing, as Your Highness has already agreed, is to get polygamy approved," Cortin said. "And, as His Highness has pointed out, convincing the Church to sanction it is going to be difficult. Assuming we can manage that, even on a small scale to demonstrate its effects on the birthrate, the next step is to eliminate the terrorists. I don't know for sure, but I think that's going to mean a showdown between me and Shannon—the real one—and that, gentles, terrifies me." She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly in an attempt to calm herself. "Assuming the new family structure and Shannon's defeat, what I saw was God's Kingdom, here in the Systems. That tells me the Final Coming must have taken place sometime between now and then, with the protection from sin Jeshua said the Protector would bring to those who sought it. I didn't see that part, though."
The Princess crossed herself. "The Spirit Who will come to correct and comfort," she said softly.
"'Who will come in a form none can predict,'" Bradford quoted, "'bringing God's Wrath to those who persist in sin, and His Eternal Joy to those who forswear it.' Are you claiming to be His Herald, Colonel Cortin?"
"I'm not claiming anything, My Lord Bishop. All I'm doing is telling you about some things I saw in what may have been nothing more than a drug-induced hallucination. But it's one convincing enough I have to believe and act on it, even though I'm certain it's going to kill me." She shrugged. "Not that I expected to live long when I went into Special Ops. All I can ask is to go out doing my best."
"That's all any of us can ask," Bradford agreed. He'd have to talk to Odeon about this soon, in private; the scar-faced man's expression, though he was trying to remain impassive, told the Bishop-Inquisitor he knew something he wasn't saying. "I wouldn't tell anyone else about this until we get some hard evidence one way or another, and I'd suggest the rest of you keep it within this group as well."
"As the Colonel commands," Illyanov said. "I, however, intend to act as if Colonel Cortin's vision was precisely that." He gave Cortin a deep, seated bow. "I am yours to command, Excellency."
"So's the team, of course," Odeon said.
"And I'm willing to give serious consideration to anything that will give us an Heir," the Prince said. "I'll speak to my father about this, and I'll expect you to keep us informed. For now, we should be getting ready for landing." He paused. "Before we return to the main cabin, though, Your Excellency, I have a favor to ask."
"If I can, Your Highness."
The Prince took four cartridges out of his pocket. "For us and my parents, then, if you would be so kind."
Cortin sighed, but only to herself. "Of course. I'll need holy water; is there any aboard?"
"At your service." The Prince handed her a small vial.
Cortin took it, blessed the cartridges, and returned them. "With my personal hope you're never in a position to need the special blessing," she added.
"Which would be a form of protection, wouldn't it?" The Prince smiled. "Thank you, Colonel."