29. Arrival
The Columbus left as soon as Medart's ship, the Empress Lindner, entered orbit. Battle cruisers were far too large to land in a gravity field as strong as St. Thomas', so he came down in one of the bus-sized landers along with a single pilot/bodyguard. There was none of the pomp or ceremony Cortin would have expected when royalty from one realm visited another, but Colonel Bradford had decided to leave the Strike Force troops in place because of the Brotherhood, so she was able to have a proper military formation, at least. The Ranger had asked for informality, though, so she and Odeon were the only ones who approached to greet him when he emerged from the lander, followed by his bodyguard. They exchanged introductions, and Medart confirmed Cortin's guess that the small, dark-skinned blond was indeed one of the genetically engineered Sandeman warriors, Lieutenant Keith DarElwyn.
"I thought it might reassure you," Medart said, "if I brought along one of the people we were able to make friends with thirty years ago. I've got Traiti aboard as well, but I don't think you're quite ready for them." Cortin, he thought, was more impressive in person than on screen. She was medium height and build, with straight brown hair not quite shoulder length, wearing a gray uniform with wide-brimmed hat—but it was her eyes that struck him. They were a light brown, with pupils that seemed blacker than space, making them seem to look through you.
Even though he was familiar with Odeon from DeLayne's tapes, he found the scar-faced man more impressive in person, as well. He was a good twenty-five centis taller than his commander, strongly built without looking like a weight-lifter—and the nasty-looking scar that cut across his right cheek down across his mouth and into his chin seemed more a distinction than a disfigurement. Both officers reminded Medart irresistibly of predators, though he couldn't pinpoint the reason … maybe that neither seemed to have any softness about @.
It had become almost a reflex for Medart to do a quick mental scan of anyone he met, and under the circumstances, he would've scanned Cortin and Odeon anyway. Mike Odeon was average, with no mind-screen or perceptible Talent other than very minor telepathy, but Cortin was an entirely different story. She had an incredible degree of Talent latent, though it wasn't like any he'd felt before. Still, three and a half years of experience didn't make him an expert in Talent varieties—especially human ones, since that had been discovered only the same three and a half years ago. Her mind-shield had a potential strength even greater than a Sandeman warrior's, though she wasn't using it. She also had a strong telepathic potential, of which she was using a small, untrained portion—and there was another aspect, one he hadn't encountered before, that it felt like she was using fully, though unconsciously. It was a good thing, Medart thought, that he seemed to be immune to that particular aspect. His focus had to remain on the Empire as a whole; he couldn't afford—and had no desire—to fall in love. He was less sure about Keith's immunity, though; even in this brief a time, he could sense a sort of mellowing. He'd have to keep an eye on that, he thought; if Cortin could affect a Sandeman, even one of the rare unshielded warriors like Keith, it might be risky letting her around too many Imperials. On the other hand … He made a mental note to contact DeLayne when he was alone, and find out what effect she'd had on the Columbus' captain and crew. Probably none, since he hadn't said anything about it, but best to double-check.
Cortin nodded to the Sandeman. "It would be interesting to get his reactions to the Empire first-hand."
Keith bowed. "I look forward to the opportunity, Excellency."
"Let's go inside, then, and I'll introduce you to the rest of my Family. Did Captain DeLayne brief you about the satyr plague?"
Medart chuckled. "And the Strike Force's … ah … 'enthusiastic use of their dispensation' was how he phrased it. We've both been immunized, just in case."
"Yes. Well, one of the social changes it triggered, and I helped bring about, was an expanded family structure to allow for the variety it makes you want, while still providing stability for the family itself, particularly the children. Family Cortin began as Strike Force Team Azrael, and most of it still is, though we've added a civilian wife. I understand Sandemans have a strong privacy drive?"
"Very strong," Medart agreed. "Why?"
"Because Family behavior on the private floors can best be described as uninhibited, particularly in the evening," Cortin said. "If open sexuality disturbs him—either of you, for that matter—I'm not sure what to do. You want to learn about us by living with us, and that's part of our life. I certainly can't put one of your rank in a field shelter!"
Medart chuckled. "It doesn't disturb me, but Keith would probably be seriously embarrassed." He enjoyed it, in fact, any time he was on one of the worlds where open sexuality was the norm—particularly where outsiders were allowed or encouraged to participate. That was a preference, though, that Sandemans definitely didn't share. He turned to Keith. "Would you prefer staying in a shelter or the lander, Lieutenant? With this many troops around us, I don't think I need a full-time bodyguard."
"I would, thank you, sir. The lander, by preference."
"You will still eat with us, won't you?" Cortin asked. "We don't generally relax to a degree that should make you uncomfortable until after supper, and the ground floor is always formal."
"I intend no disrespect, Excellency. I will be honored to eat and visit with you."
"Good. Let's go introduce you to my Family, then." As they entered the Lodge and went upstairs to the common-room, she said, "To spare you some confusion about our names: we're all Cortin, since Mike and Sis—the senior spouses—wanted me as head of the Family and named it after me. So Mike's full name is Michael Patrick Cortin-Odeon, but around the Lodge or people who know us well, he's Mike or Captain Odeon, depending on circumstances. Since he's also a priest, you'll sometimes hear adults calling him Father, too."
They were in the living room by then, where the rest of Family Cortin was waiting; she introduced them to the visitors. "Medic-Lieutenant Eleanor Chang, otherwise known as Piety or Sis, the Family's senior wife; Elizabeth Bain, our only non-military adult; Communications-Lieutenant Joseph Pritchett, generally called Tiny; Armorer-Lieutenant Anthony Degas; Demolitions-Lieutenant David Bain, who's also a priest like Mike and myself, and my backup Inquisitor; Lieutenant Charles Powell, who doesn't have a rated specialty but acts as my secretary; and our children—legally my grandchildren, though I can't have children of my own—Luke, Kateri, and George."
The two Imperials bowed slightly, and Medart did the honors on that side. "I appreciate your hospitality," he said then. "Before Colonel Cortin and I can do any productive negotiating, we have to get to know each other and each other's cultures. You got a bit of a head start with Columbus' crew, but I'm deliberately starting from scratch, except for the little Captain Odeon gave Captain DeLayne."
"With first names," Cortin said, "since you're guests in our home; formality's for the ground floor and below. Unless that's considered rude in the Empire, which I doubt from the time Gwen spent with us."
"In the Empire it'd be undue familiarity from anyone except my parents, other Rangers and the Sovereign, or the captain of my ship. But this isn't the Empire, so we go by your customs, not ours; I'm Jim."
Cortin smiled. "Joan—maybe Joanie, if you feel like joining our Family pleasures some evening." She sobered. "Now—I agreed to let you observe me, and I won't go back on that. But I do have to warn you that, based on people's reactions here, you'll probably find my work extremely unpleasant. I know Mike didn't go into detail about it with Captain DeLayne, because I told him not to." She paused, using the brief silence for emphasis. "I'm an Inquisitor, Jim. Normally, that would mean I question prisoners, and turn them over to a judge for sentencing if the evidence warrants it. But I'm the High King's Inquisitor, which means I deal only with capital crimes of the worst type; by the time a criminal gets to me, he's either proven too stubborn for other Inquisitors, or he's under sentence of prolonged death. So far, only one of the prisoners remanded to me has left Harmony Lodge alive, though with your help there may be a second."
"That," Medart said with considerable aversion, "sounds like you torture people to death."
Cortin nodded. "If you restrict 'people' to 'heinous criminals', you're absolutely right. I have never gone beyond first stage interrogation—simple questioning—with an innocent, and truthsense lets me be sure the ones I kill are guilty of the crimes they're sent to me for." She smiled, grimly. "I don't even have to ask, since they all protest their innocence."
"You said that if I help, a second prisoner may leave here alive. What help do you need?"
"Your mind-probe, if it doesn't require the subject to answer verbally." Cortin explained about her anomalous prisoner, then said, "It's probably nothing significant, but I don't like it. I can't find the Inquisitor who conducted the interrogation, and there are rumors the judge who sent him here has ties to the Brotherhood. If he was sent here under false pretenses, my prisoner should be freed and given compensation, and the judge should take his place."
"The probe doesn't require verbal answers, no," Medart said. "And since it may mean saving a life, I'll have a probe unit and operator come down." He paused, considering. He could use telepathy to get the answers she wanted, and her own—the small part she was calling truthsense—would let her be sure he was reporting accurately. That would be quicker than waiting for the probe; the question was whether it would be wiser to reveal his Talent or not mention it at all.
Use it, he decided. Odeon had read about the White Order rebellion and Corina's discovery of human Talent in Medart, then others; he might not know the details, but he did know the basics, and it would be logical to assume he'd passed the information along. "That'll take several hours, though, and there's a faster way, if you want. I'm a fairly powerful telepath; I can read his mind as well as a probe could, and I'm already here."
It was Cortin's turn to hesitate. Mike had mentioned Talent, yes, and had some telepathy himself, with anyone Shayan had mind-touched; the idea wasn't that odd, really, and Medart's offer would save time. Still—"Are you reading my mind?"
"No. I touched you briefly when we met, enough to learn you're not a threat, though I did pick up a little other information. Otherwise I seldom use it unless I'm invited or there's an emergency."
Her truthsense agreed, so Cortin nodded. "If an injustice is being done, it should be corrected as soon as possible; I accept." She turned to her people. "Mike, Dave—would you take that prisoner to my first-stage room, please, while I give our guests a brief tour of the dungeon?"
"Of course," Odeon replied. The two left, and Cortin turned back to the Imperials.
"I was making an assumption perhaps I shouldn't," she said. "It's your choice to accompany us or not, Lieutenant DarElwyn."
The Sandeman bowed. "I would be honored to do so, Excellency."
Something in his tone made Medart glance at him, then do a quick surface scan. Cortin's unconscious Talent had done its job; the warrior was thoroughly in love with the High King's Inquisitor. That, Medart thought, was a complication he didn't need—but it was also one he couldn't do anything about, so disregard it for now. Just make a point of getting hold of DeLayne as soon as he could find a reasonable excuse to be alone.
"Let's go, then." Cortin led them outside and to the rear of the Lodge, where a cave-like entrance led underground. Above it was carved, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."
"Dante's Inferno," Medart commented. "I take it, then, that this is the prisoners' entrance?"
"Right," Cortin agreed. "It isn't really Hell, of course, but it is the anteroom to it for most. A few escape that by repentance, but they still have to pay the worldly penalty for their crimes. What happens after that is between them and God; all I can do is administer the Sacraments and finish my work. If it's an interrogation, though, I'll kill one who repents as soon as he's given me any information he has."
"You don't even try to save them?" Medart asked.
"Their bodies, no," Cortin said, leading them down the stairs. "I told you, I get the stubborn ones. By the time I break them, forcing them to live longer than necessary would be a torment even Cortin the Bitch doesn't care to inflict."
At the end of a short passage, she unlocked a massive door and gestured them through, into a dimly-lit corridor with doors along both sides, some with small lights turned on above them. "These are the holding cells, under constant monitoring from the Detention Center and periodic monitoring by my people. Troops from the Center take care of the prisoners, then remove bodies when Lt. Bain and I are done. Or our colleagues, who're free to use any suites we aren't, if they have an overflow."
Halfway down the passage, she unlocked another door. The corridor this one led to was wider and brightly lit, much like a hospital corridor; she led them straight across, to a door marked "Interrogation Suite Alpha", the "In Use" light above it lit. "This is the one I normally use," she said, ushering them into the office area. "The layout's standard, but it's bigger than usual, and I have quite a bit of experimental material, both equipment and drugs. This section's normally used for Stage One, which rarely happens here; today is unusual." She nodded in the direction of her desk, and the chair in front of it which held a prisoner, flanked by Odeon and Bain. "He's all yours, Ranger. Do you need anything special?"
"A chair would help, so I'm not standing over him; otherwise, no."
Cortin nodded; Bain left, returning moments later with a folding chair he handed to Medart.
Medart positioned himself facing the prisoner and introduced himself, then said, "Colonel Cortin has some doubts about your guilt, but since you can't talk, she can't question you very well. I can read minds, so I don't have that problem. Do you understand?"
The man nodded, but his attention was obviously on Cortin, not the Ranger, and when Medart mind-touched him, all he could read was fear. He turned to the Inquisitor. "He's so terrified his fear's acting like a mind-shield, Colonel. I could get through, but not without hurting him; is there anything you can do to calm him down?"
"That might be difficult," Cortin said. "I generally want my subjects afraid of me; this is the first time I've had to calm one." She turned her attention to the prisoner. "Kenneth Shelton, isn't it?"
The man nodded.
"I'm sure you've heard the usual rumors of my methods; it should be at least a little reassuring that you're dressed and in this suite's office, rather than hanging naked in my third-stage room."
The man nodded, mouthing, "Why?"
"Because, as Ranger Medart said, I have several reasons to wonder about your guilt." She detailed them, ending with, "In particular, the fact that you were muted, apparently to keep you from talking to me—which is the only way I can rely on my truthsense for more than basics. Since I knew the Imperials were coming, and that they had a method—not this one, though it should be equally effective—which would insure truthful, if non-verbal, responses, I used my prerogatives as High King's Inquisitor to postpone your execution, and if my suspicions prove well-founded … we'll see. Does that help?"
Shelton nodded, with Medart agreeing. "The fear's going, Colonel; his primary emotion now is gratitude. When that fades a bit, I'll be able to read him."
"Gratitude," Cortin said, her expression grim. "He is innocent, then. I owe you a personal debt, Ranger; I have never harmed, much less executed, anyone who didn't deserve it. Thanks to your assistance, this will be no exception."
"My pleasure," Medart told her. "I think he's settled down enough now for me to get through without hurting him." He closed his eyes, concentrating on the prisoner. The light touch needed for simple communication wouldn't be enough, though he paused briefly at that level to reassure the other. *Mind-reading is painless, Shelton, even though I'm going to have to go deep enough for direct memory access. I won't trigger the memories, so you won't have to relive them; I'll just copy them to myself, so I can report accurately to Colonel Cortin.*
*I understand.* The man was nervous—naturally enough, Medart thought—but there was a basic stability to him the Ranger liked. *Do what you have to—and God bless you for helping.*
*Thank you.* With that Medart went deeper, scanning memories until he found the relevant set. They were as nasty as he'd expected, and he didn't like the idea of experiencing them, but to accomplish his objective, he didn't have any choice. He "reached" for them.
Cortin watched with interest but no understanding as the Ranger closed his eyes and sat silent for several seconds. Then he shuddered, tensing, and she watched sweat stains appear and grow on his uniform. By the time he opened his eyes again, almost half an hour later, he was soaked and looked exhausted. She wanted to ask about her prisoner, but instead said, "Are you all right?"
"I will be after a bath and nap," Medart replied. "Reading minds, except for the simplest communication link, isn't like reading a book; on any deeper level, you share the other person's thoughts—and feelings. This is my third time at that level, and by far the worst." He stood, moving around to ease the kinks. "He's committed no crimes, Excellency, but he's damnsure been the victim of some. He's a small farmer; he and his family were sitting down to supper one evening when several men broke in. They restrained him while they killed his family, making sure he knew they were making it look like he'd done it. Then they changed to Enforcement Service uniforms and took him to an Inquisitor. The Inquisitor already had his report written; all he did was cut out Shelton's tongue and beat on him to make it look like he'd resisted interrogation. When that was over, the phony troopers took him to a judge, who sentenced him to you. The rest you know."
Cortin didn't even try to hide her cold anger. "I'll need more details, of course, but that's enough to let me get started. Did you happen to check on whether he was given the Sacraments?"
"Sorry, that didn't occur to me." Medart sent a quick thought. *Were you?*
*By the Brotherhood?* Shelton's thought was bitter. *No, and I need them—if you'll help me with Confession?*
"I'm Omnist, not Catholic," Medart cautioned aloud. "I'll relay if you want, though, and anything you say will be treated as Empire Secret."
*Please.* Shelton's thought held a trace of wan humor. *You have some of my memories; why should I mind you reporting some of my sins?*
Medart managed a chuckle. "Put that way, no reason."
"Ego te absolvo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."
"Amen," Medart relayed. "He'd like Communion, but without a tongue, he's not sure he can manage." He paused, grinned. "We may be able to help there, too, unless you've developed regrowth techniques."
"Spiritual Communion is as effective as physical," Cortin reminded the penitent, "though I admit it doesn't feel the same." She turned to the Ranger. "We don't have regrowth, no, but I do seem to remember hearing something about it. Only as a rumor, though."
"It's quite real. We learned it from the Traiti, and the Lindner's doctors are trained in the procedures. Initiating it will only take a few hours, but the regrowth itself usually takes a couple of weeks."
"A couple of weeks shouldn't matter, and since it's possible, it should be part of his restitution. What will such treatment cost?"
"No charge," Medart said. "Civilians can be treated at military facilities if there's space and what they need isn't otherwise available, both of which are true here." He turned to the Sandeman. "Take him up to the ship when Colonel Cortin's done, please."
"Yes, sir."
"I'd suggest," Cortin said, "that you bring a few extra bodyguards when you come back, Lieutenant. I learned from an earlier prisoner that Imperials are at the top of the Brotherhood's wipe list, and after the way he helped me today, Ranger Medart will be a particular target."
Medart frowned. "A Sandeman warrior's the only bodyguard I've had since they joined the Empire. And that's more symbol than necessity."
"In the Empire, maybe so," Cortin said. "For a major Brotherhood target, a bodyguard is a necessity. And it's a good idea to have physically impressive ones. Despite their abilities, Sandemans are impressive only to people who're familiar with them, which most in the Kingdom Systems aren't."
"You're the expert here," Medart said. "Okay. Keith, ask Colonel Williamson to detail me a standard team, the biggest people he's got. You'll be in charge of them, of course. Oh, and you can stay aboard overnight, if you'd like."
"Yes, thank you, sir." Keith smiled briefly, and Medart hid a grin. If Cortin thought he should have physically impressive bodyguards, that could be arranged—along with an evaluation of the Systems' attitude toward non-humans, though if it weren't for her suggestion, he'd have put that off for a while yet.
"Good," Cortin said. "Captain Odeon, would you show Ranger Medart to his suite, please?"
"Of course, Colonel. If you'll come with me, sir?"