Monday afternoon, 23 March 2572
Cortin grinned as Odeon entered her room and took one of the armchairs, his lap immediately occupied by the kitten who'd become his almost-inseparable companion whenever he was available. "I know it's a day earlier than the deadline I gave you, but—"
Odeon chuckled. "I'm fine, Joanie, between Tanj here and the studying." He rubbed the kitten's ears, smiling at her loud purr. "She's a little darling, and I'm almost afraid to say I'm really enjoying my research, as much as I got teased for it in school. I don't think that's what you called me in for, though."
"To find out exactly how you're doing, yes; the details of your research, no. And I hadn't expected you to bring your little friend along."
"Who brought her? I can't keep her away! Don't worry, though, she won't interfere."
"And just how do you know that?"
"A trip to the New Eden in the wee hours this morning, when I started feeling interested for the first time since Shayan worked on me. If I recall my explorations here correctly, you were with Chuck and Dave, Sis and Betty with the other two, and I didn't want to wake anyone. I also didn't want to take Tanj, but you know what a sucker I am—even worse than you, where kids and animals are concerned. So she went along, in my pocket. She watched, the first couple of times, then went to sleep. A pillow on the floor, if you're curious."
"Not primarily about that," Cortin said. "May I be nosy and ask how many you enjoyed?"
Uncharacteristically, Odeon flushed. "Uh—I can't match you, but—all the ladies who were awake. You know what it's like when you've been dry for a while."
"I sure do." Cortin tried to look stern, but failed miserably and gave up, grinning instead. "I should chew you out for not waking me, Captain. I assume, however, that you're back to normal and willing to demonstrate?"
"Willing and eager, Excellency."
Both of them were far more relaxed when they dressed for dinner, though Tangerine meowed plaintively at Odeon and tried to climb his trouser leg. He shrugged, grinning at Cortin, and sat down. "Part of her routine this time of day, I'm afraid," he apologized as the kitten jumped to his shoulder and began nibbling at his earlobe.
"Has you pretty well trained, doesn't she?" Cortin said, chuckling.
"Uh-huh." Odeon dug into a pocket, unwrapped and handed the kitten a piece of something Cortin couldn't identify but Tangerine obviously could; she hopped down to his lap with a sound halfway between a purr and a growl, eating her treat. Odeon let her finish, then put her on the floor. "I'm cleared for the convent defense, then."
Cortin nodded. "You are. I just wish I were, too."
The following evening, Cortin went to Odeon's room shortly before supper. "Mike, got a minute?"
"Any time. What's up?"
"Not that, this close to supper—will you and Sis be holding services this evening?"
"Of course. Are you going to bring Blackfeather?"
Cortin hesitated. "I don't know," she said at last. "She'll have to be exposed to it sooner or later, but I'm not sure an evening before the team goes into combat is the right time. If she reacts badly to either the nudity or the ceremony itself, it might make things harder on them."
"She's going in too," Odeon pointed out.
Cortin grimaced. "I know, blast it! She can and I can't—so you tell me which would be less damaging."
"In your place, I'd brief her, then let her decide whether she thinks she can accept it as a religious function." Odeon grinned. "As I may've said, I don't think anyone who's spent time in Hell is going to be shocked by anything as mild as that—my only hesitation is about how she'll react otherwise."
"Understood. All right, that's what I'll do."
In spite of Cortin's briefing, Blackfeather had trouble at first accepting a nude man and woman as real priests conducting a real religious rite. That changed quickly, though, in large part because of the Family's obvious acceptance of precisely that, and their equally-obvious devotion to the Protector. She didn't—yet, anyway—share that devotion, and if it hadn't been for Larry's certainty that the Protector was real, she thought it unlikely she'd have believed what was going on was an act of worship.
But Larry—no, she chided herself; she ought to start thinking of him by his real name—Shayan was certain of the Protector's existence and imminent arrival. Or … Blackfeather looked sharply at Cortin. Her lover hadn't said it in so many words, but now that she thought back, he'd certainly given the impression that Cortin was the Protector!
Even though it had seemed pointless at the time, Blackfeather now found herself wishing she'd paid more attention to prophecies of the Final Coming. Nothing she could remember from them said Cortin couldn't be the Protector instead of simply the Herald, which was disconcerting enough. A lot of things, in fact, pointed to it, now that she began to analyze everything she'd heard and read about Cortin and her unprecedented, rapid rise from being a curiosity as the only female Enforcement officer to High King's Inquisitor and Archduchess—not to mention her tumbling of some of Enforcement's strictest regulations, such as Special Ops' lack of close family, not only with impunity but with the backing of all the Sovereigns. And working for drastic changes in the social and religious systems with divine sanction that became obvious every time she said Mass.
Cortin wasn't reacting the way Blackfeather would expect from a divine incarnation, though. Desire for revenge after rape and maiming was a human thing the Protector should be beyond. So was becoming an Inquisitor, nothing like Jeshua's forgiveness of His enemies and His gentle nature. Still, she thougt, there was precedent, if you went back to the First Testament; she'd never been comfortable with things like the innocent Job being tormented simply as a demonstration to Shayan, or the she-bears being sent to kill forty-two children whose only offense had been to tease Elisha about being bald. Cortin at least confined the punitive parts of her Inquisitorial attentions to criminals, and her truthsense let her be certain who those criminals actually were.
23. Raid
Wednesday, 25 March 2572
The next morning, when Powell offered to help her into lightweight Enforcement body armor, Blackfeather accepted gladly. She'd found out the previous evening, at the same time she'd found out what the term 'unity' meant to those who were Sealed, that his Enforcement commission was another of the exceptions surrounding Cortin; he was barely seventeen, and his pose of being a veteran was exactly that, a pose. But he was no rookie inside, and that unity had given her considerable respect for the Protector's youngest Sealed.
"How does that feel, Sara?" he asked when she was suited up. "I can adjust it some, if it doesn't fit quite right."
Blackfeather moved experimentally, then grinned at him. "It's fine, Chuck. Now what about Sis?"
"She doesn't need armor; she won't be going in until after the action's over. Mike doesn't want her going in at all, but she says if he can, so can she, and he couldn't argue that. At least she's promised this'll be the last time till after she has the baby."
"And the Colonel? Even if His Majesty has forbidden her, I'm surprised she'd stay out of her team's—and Family's—first official action."
"She doesn't have any choice," Powell said regretfully. "It's a legal order and her Enforcement oath is valid; disobeying would be a sin, and that's something none of the Sealed can do. If we had reason to believe any of the ones who tortured her would be among the attackers, she'd be free to go with us, but none of the information we have even hints at that. So she's stuck here."
"In her place, I'd hate that," Blackfeather said, feeling more sympathy for the Inquisitor than she'd have thought possible a few days ago. "At least we can make sure we give her a complete report."
The only thing that helped Cortin's frustration at being kept out of the convent defense was saying Mass, and that only helped for the brief time it was going on. By the time it was over, though, she'd come to one conclusion: His Majesty had ordered her not to get into the action, but he hadn't said anything about not going to the Palace communications center to listen to the tactical radio!
But following the defense that way was less informative than she'd hoped. She wasn't familiar enough with the terrain to visualize the deployment, which made movement orders impossible to follow. About all she could be sure of was that the Royals were winning, even though they were taking heavier casualties than she liked or had expected. She couldn't help praying that none of her people were among the dead and wounded, though she felt a little uncomfortable asking for that sort of special consideration; if the casualties weren't from her team, they had others who'd care as strongly about them.
At last it sounded like the fighting must be about over; Bradford was ordering the prisoners taken to a holding area and calling in the medevac units. As further transmissions showed things were winding up, she decided she might as well go back to the Lodge and make one final check of her preparations before prisoners started arriving. She was thanking the communications techs for their courtesy when Bradford's voice again came from the radio. "Palace Com, this is Strike Leader. Request Azrael be contacted and asked to join us at her earliest convenience."
"Azrael is on scene, Strike Leader," the tech said. "One moment, please."
Cortin took the microphone he offered. "Azrael here, Strike Leader. What's the problem?"
"Prisoner evaluation. We have some here who present unexpected problems, and I would appreciate your expertise."
"Unexpected problems?" That didn't sound too likely, Cortin thought—Brad and Dave both had more specialty-time than she did, though she had to admit that her position had probably given her a wider variety of cases. Still, likely or not, she wasn't about to argue with anything that would get her out into the field, however briefly. "I'll be there as soon as I can find transportation. Azrael out."
To her surprise, fifteen minutes later she was airborne and well on her way to the convent. His Majesty had both ground and air transportation available at no notice, of course, and as one of the King's Own she was allowed to use elements of the Royal Fleet—but she hadn't expected to be able to use one of the alert craft!
The pilot circled the battlefield, more to avoid throwing dirt and rocks on the wounded than to let her observe—though it did that as well—following a ground controller's orders to land on the convent lawn near the temporary prisoner holding pen. Before, she'd always been in combat gear, exiting a helicopter; this was easier, in her service uniform, though she did have a little trouble holding onto the wide-brimmed hat. When she was clear and the copter had lifted off, moving back several hundred meters to wait for her, she took another look at the battlefield from this more familiar perspective. It was clearer to her this way, a bigger scene of carnage than she'd imagined it could be, and she found herself appalled at the unnecessary damage and loss of life. Compassionate Mother of God, what could the Brothers hope to gain from all this? At least the convent showed no major signs of damage, nothing worse than a few bullet pocks, and the Blue Sisters were working with Enforcement medics, as usual, to help the wounded.
She heard the rustle of heavy cloth behind her, and turned to see Bradford—who looked surprisingly comfortable, for a senior officer, in battle gear—and a nun she supposed to be Reverend Mother Superior Mary Gabriel. She returned Bradford's salute, bowed to the nun. "I hope none of the sisters were hurt."
"No, thank God," Bradford said. "We were able to warn them, then ambush the terrorists far enough away the Sisters were never in any real danger. Would Your Excellency care for a copy of my report?"
"Thank you, Colonel, but it won't be necessary; Team Azrael will brief me. I would appreciate it if you have time to visit Harmony Lodge this evening, though. Ah—were any of Team Azrael hurt?"
"Not seriously," Mother Gabriel said. "Lieutenant Degas was hit in the side, Lieutenant Powell in the leg. They are in no danger, and are able to travel, but I think it would be best if Your Excellency permitted them to remain here for three or four days."
"Whatever you think best, Mother Superior. May I see them?"
"There would be no point, Excellency; they are still under anesthetic. I will be glad to tell them you asked for them, however." She smiled, more warmly than Cortin had learned to expect from healer to Inquisitor. "I understand we have Your Excellency to thank for Enforcement's timely intervention and the welfare of our patients."
"And Lieutenant Powell," Cortin said. "He's the one who infiltrated the Brothers and came back with the original information that let me know what questions to ask."
Mother Gabriel frowned briefly at that reminder, then her expression smoothed. "It has become obvious Your Excellency does God's work with His full approval, whatever I may think personally of the means employed. We are grateful for your help, and we would appreciate your blessing."
That was a perfectly understandable attitude from a healer, Cortin thought. Raising her hand, she drew the Triune's symbol in the air. "May all three Aspects of God protect and guide you and the holy Sisters."
"And pray for the Protector's appearance," Odeon said, approaching. "The prisoners are ready for you, Colonel."
"Thank you, Captain. If you'll excuse us, Mother Superior, I'd like Colonel Bradford to accompany us." When Mother Gabriel nodded, she and Bradford followed Odeon toward the holding pen. Her second-in-command had a bloody bandage around his left bicep, but it didn't seem to bother him, and Mother Gabriel hadn't mentioned it, so it was probably no more than a flesh wound—not worth worrying about, so she didn't comment on it. Instead, she asked, "How did Blackfeather react? Did she give you any trouble?"
"Not at all. In fact, if she hadn't called a warning, Chuck would be dead instead of wounded, and she's the one who gave him first aid."
"Oh? Quite a change from her former attitude, isn't it?"
"Considerable," Odeon agreed. "Enough that I told her I'd ask if she could listen while you interviewed the prisoners. She won't interfere, I'm sure of it."
"In that case, all right." Cortin stopped while they were still out of earshot of the prisoners. "Ask her to join us, then go get Tiny; I think the two of you flanking me ought to provide a certain amount of incentive for the Brothers to answer my questions."
Odeon grinned. "Will do—I like that idea."
As he left, Cortin turned to Bradford. "Okay, Brad, what's this about unexpected problems? You and Dave should be able to handle anything that came up in the field as well as I could. Especially with your new truthsense."
"In that respect, yes," Bradford acknowledged. "But he and I think what we've found out is going to take your authority to deal with. I don't want to prejudice you, though, so I'll let you do your own questioning and deciding."
Cortin was both puzzled and intrigued by his statements. Something unusual was definitely going on here, and since she'd be finding out in a few minutes anyway, she decided not to push Bradford on that subject. She didn't see Odeon on the way back yet, so she changed the subject. "How was the inspection trip?"
"Better than we expected," Bradford said. "A lot of Archangel's public buildings survived better than we had any right to expect—not intact, but not needing major repairs, either—so there are facilities available with minimum expense for both Archducal Enforcement and Strike Force HQ. The Governor's Mansion should make you a decent Archducal Palace, and some of the hotels can be modified for Family living."
"What about the people? They must have gotten some idea of what's going to be happening."
"Just speculation, so far, but what I heard was pretty accurate—and popular. I'd say His Majesty knew what he was doing when he picked you a fief."
Cortin grinned. "From everything I've seen, His Majesty usually does. I'm glad to hear it went so well—did Ivan come back with you?"
"Yes—and he's come up with a 'territorial' insignia I'd love to wear."
Cortin would have pursued that, but there was no time; Odeon was returning, with Blackfeather and Pritchett close behind him, and Bain was approaching from the holding pen. She moved forward, signalling Bain to stop. When the group had joined him, now within earshot of the prisoners, she asked, "Have you done any preliminaries, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, ma'am, but with some exceptions Colonel Bradford has probably told you about, nothing very productive. None of the hard-cores want to volunteer anything, and Mother Superior won't hear of an Inquisitor working on a wounded man under her care."
"Of course not." Cortin couldn't blame her for that, though getting immediate information would have been helpful. "All right, bring them over one at a time. It shouldn't take more than two or three questions to separate them—though with you and Colonel Bradford talking about unexpected problems, I could be wrong."
"Not exactly," Bain said. "Best you see for yourself, though; to me, it's at least close to the worst of the Brothers' atrocities."
Cortin frowned, more puzzled than ever. A Brothers' atrocity she hadn't heard about seemed impossible, but Dave believed what he was saying, and Brad was nodding agreement. Well, she'd learn about it in a few minutes, from the ones who'd done it. "All right, have the first one brought over."
Bain turned to face the holding pen and gave the appropriate hand signals, then turned back; moments later, troopers brought the first prisoner out. He looked about 45, his expression frightened, but seeming hopeful as well—not at all a normal reaction, and it puzzled her. She frowned to herself, but decided her curiosity would have to wait. "Were you in charge of this raid?" she asked.
The man shook his head. "No, Lady," he said respectfully. "I wasn't in charge; I'm not even a Brother."
"True. Well, then, do you have any information you think I might find useful?"
The man shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Lady."
Cortin frowned again, this time openly. He was afraid, yes—but his fear seemed to be of the idea she'd think him a Brother or have any information, which was interesting. And worth pursuing, even though she was supposedly here to evaluate prisoners. "Not likely that you have any information, or not likely I'd find it useful?"
"Either, Lady. I'm an honest farmer. Or was, till those bas—uh, Brothers—killed my wife and kidnapped my little girl. They said they'd kill her too, unless … unless I helped them." His shoulders slumped. "They've probably killed her anyway—or worse. But I can't take that chance."
Cortin took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Dave was right, she thought; this was one of the worst of the Brothers' atrocities, and it made her coldly furious. Forcing outsiders to help in horror-raids by threats to their families went beyond her conception—until now—of even the Brothers' depravity. "I believe you," she said, and showed him the back of one hand. "Any Inquisitor who wears this mark knows when someone's telling the truth, and no one who hasn't committed a crime will be punished. You'll be taken to the Detention Center, though, for detailed questioning. Enforcement will use any information you can give us to try to rescue your daughter, so be as thorough as you can; sometimes a tiny detail you think useless can be the key. After that, I'm afraid, you'll be kept in protective custody—" She broke off at his expression. "Protective custody, I said! Think, man—if we turn you loose, the Brothers can still use that threat against you. There's no guarantee what'll happen with you and whoever else is in the same situation in custody, but there's no doubt what'll happen if you're not. And I'll see it's as comfortable for you as it can be. Do you know how many others are in your situation?"
The man shrugged. "Maybe half of this group; I couldn't say how many anywhere else. You will save Catherine?"
"We'll do our best," Cortin promised. "In fact— Colonel Bradford?"
"Yes, Excellency?"
"Can you arrange for a special Enforcement task force devoted to finding these … hostages?"
"As soon as we return to base, Excellency. And may I suggest you offer these men employment in Archangel under Strike Force protection until their families can be rescued, or confirmed dead?"
"Mmm. It would give them something to do and provide income …" She turned to the man. "Would you be interested in that sort of offer?"
"Yes, if it was something I could do—better than sitting around sweating it out."
"Reconstructing and fixing up some prewar buildings," Bradford told him. "Headquarters for His Majesty's Strike Force, and Her Grace's Archducal Palace and Enforcement headquarters."
The man looked from Bradford to Cortin. "I can do that, Lady. Thank you. And I believe you will find Catherine, if she's still alive."
"As I said, we'll do our best." Her job-related questioning over with this man, she thought it reasonable to ask about his odd phrasing. "Now—why do you keep calling me Lady?"
"I can't think of any other good term, Lady."
"Interesting," Cortin said slowly. "I have plenty of titles, yet you pick one of the few I can't claim. Who or what do you think I am?"
"Not think, Lady Protector—I know." The man knelt, bowing his head. "I've just confessed to the Priest-Captain—may I have Your blessing?"
Cortin looked at Odeon, feeling a twinge of dismay. This man honestly believed she was the Protector, not just His Herald—and that was a frightening idea, one she wanted to deny. Odeon was nodding slightly, though, and Jeshua had told her not to deny it if she were called either Herald or Protector—so she blessed the man, then raised him to his feet, disturbed by the expression of open worship on his face. If she couldn't deny being the Protector, she supposed she'd have to learn to live with that attitude—but she didn't think it would be easy.
"One last favor, Lady, if You don't mind?" the man said hesitantly.
"What is it?"
"I'd … like to pay You the proper respects, if I knew how. The right ceremonies, any special devotions … You know."
That was something Cortin could understand and agree with; even if the man was misdirected, piety was important to the Protector's success. And if one Aspect told her not to deny being its object, surely the Triune would take it as it was intended … She turned to Odeon. "Will you and Lieutenant Chang see to that, Captain?"
"With pleasure, Excellency," Odeon said, then turned to the man. "Want a cartridge, until Lieutenant Chang and I can brief you? I usually carry a couple of spares."
"Cartridge? Oh!" The man's initial puzzlement turned to eagerness. "Yes, Captain, please. Does that mean you're Her priest as well as Jeshua's?"
"Lieutenant Chang and I, yes; Her priests'll generally be working in pairs." Odeon dug into a pocket and handed the man one of Joanie's holy-medal equivalents. "This isn't as helpful as the Communion of Promise, of course, and certainly not up to the Sealing, but we'll get those to you too, as soon as we can."
"I appreciate that, Father." The man turned to Cortin, genuflected. "Thank You, Lady."
"My pleasure," Cortin replied—realizing, to her surprise, that it really was. She turned to Bain. "See that he and the rest who turn out to be press-ganged are interviewed, thoroughly but courteously, then interned according to the terms Colonel Bradford and I discussed."
"Of course, Excellency." Bain turned to the man. "Shall we go? Her Excellency has a lot of work to do."
As they left, Cortin signalled for the next prisoner to be brought. This one also turned out to be a conscript, but the next two were actual Brothers, and the one after that looked like Shannon, though his eyes told her he wasn't; he was the leader, despite his attempts to deny it. She had him held separately, to be taken to the Lodge, then continued the evaluation.
She'd lost count of how many she'd questioned, but only a few remained in the holding pen when she realized she'd seen this one before, in far different circumstances. Smiling grimly, she rubbed the backs of her hands as though the Seals on their backs were still scars.
"Colonel?" Odeon said softly.
"He helped put the originals there," Cortin said, just as softly. "I recognize him; I want him to recognize me too, and I look a lot different from the way they left me." The man's face was burned as deeply into her mind as the Brothers' marks had been into her hands; while this one hadn't been the leader, he'd had no hesitation in taking part in the massacre, or in helping to beat, rape, and maim her. She planned to really enjoy this first truly personal part of her revenge, she thought as the guards brought him to a halt facing her. "You know me," she said, making sure he saw the backs of her hands. "You helped inflict the originals of these, among other things; I'm sure you remember."
The Brother's lip curled. "I remember all right, Bitch. Next time you won't get off that easy—the Raidmaster says we're going to have real Inquisitors of our own soon, with His Holiness' blessing—so we can free the Systems of you and your blasphemies!" He grinned at her, not pleasantly. "And dear God, how I'd love to see them playing with you!"
"If you enjoy threatening, go ahead," Cortin said, a little surprised at herself. She'd thought she might be frightened if—or rather when—she came to confront her torturers again; she was pleased to find that this time, at least, that wasn't the case. She was more disturbed by the idea of trained terrorist Inquisitors working with Shayan's backing. At the moment, though— "I doubt you'll be around to know if your threats are realized, much less enjoy the results. Lieutenant Pritchett?"
"Yes, Excellency?"
Odeon's voice interrupted, urgently. "By Your Excellency's leave!"
Cortin glanced at him in surprise. "What is it, Captain?"
"This is one of the Brothers I also have a personal matter to settle with, Excellency. A severe beating of someone I love, in addition to the other things done to her."
So that was his personal reason for joining the Strike Force! It'd taken her long enough to learn it, Cortin thought, since she hadn't thought it a good idea to ask him. "In that case, Captain, yours had best take precedence. Just make sure, please, that he isn't damaged too badly for questioning."
"No worse than second stage," Odeon promised. He'd like to do more, but he wouldn't interfere with either her job or her revenge. "Lieutenant Bain has agreed to monitor, to assure that."
"In that case, he's in your custody; secure him in Suite Bravo when you're finished, and inform me. Lieutenant Pritchett, please provide any assistance Captain Odeon requires."
"With pleasure, Excellency." Pritchett reached out a big hand and pulled the Brother toward him, grinning widely. "Come with me, little man. We've got some real interesting plans for you." He turned to Cortin. "We'll turn him over to guards for the trip to the Lodge, Your Excellency, then be right back."
"Very good, Lieutenant." When they left, Cortin continued the separation, but her primary concern remained her former tormentor and what he'd said about the Brothers soon having real Inquisitors of their own. They'd always had amateur Inquisitors, of course, and occasionally—temporarily—a real one who'd gone rogue. That was something else she'd definitely have to question him about, but just the information she had so far was enough to disturb her deeply. Civil Inquisitors were necessary to investigate, and in many capital cases punish, crime. That was difficult enough, sometimes, even though crime for the most part was objective, not dependent on intent. Sin, on the other hand, was dependent on intent, and the ancient Terran Holy Inquisition had proven that religious Inquisitors were more likely to drive people away from God than bring them to Him.
Which, she thought grimly, would serve Shayan's ends perfectly. She couldn't be certain why he wanted souls, but the fact that he did was beyond question. Any people his Church Inquisitors drove away from God would end up as his subjects in Hell—and if they were effective enough at that, there could be an Infernal population explosion.
Population explosion. Cortin frowned at that thought. If they were accepted, Families could, and hopefully would, provide that sort of increase in the Systems. Which would give Shayan a chance at the larger number, which would explain why there'd been nothing from the Vatican objecting to that part of what she was trying to do. Her theory might be wrong, she acknowledged, but it felt right, and she knew nothing that would contradict it. At least it was some sort of explanation, better that the total lack she'd had before.
Cortin joined her team for the return to Harmony Lodge, riding in a command van for what felt like the first time in years. It took longer than the Fleet helicopter would have, but by the time they got home, she'd been fully briefed on the action, and her opinion of Blackfeather had gone up several notches.
As they entered the outskirts of New Denver, she turned her attention to the reporter. "The convent raid ends the cover on the Strike Force, Sara. Their Majesties agree that news should be broken by a Sealed representative; as the only Sealed member of the press, and the only reporter who was there, you're the logical one to do so. At my request, you'll also be allowed to do the first stories about the existence of Family Cortin and the new Archduchy; no other reporters will be officially briefed until tomorrow morning. That should give you adequate time, I think."
"More than adequate," Blackfeather said. "Since I knew I'd be able to publish soon, those two stories are already written—but I hadn't expected that much of a lead. Thanks!"
"You've earned it. And thank you for saving Chuck's life."
Blackfeather shrugged. "I've changed my opinion of Enforcement, Colonel. Before Mike did what he did for me, I'd probably have enjoyed watching a trooper die, though I can't be sure since it never came up. I'm glad to find out that now I'm not like that." She shook her head, her expression rueful. "It seems my attitude's become exactly the opposite of what it was, in fact. I used to defend the Brothers, you know."
Cortin nodded. "I know, and say the troopers who were hurt or killed fighting them deserved what they got. The only thing I could find in your favor then was that you believed what you were saying."
"I couldn't do that now," Blackfeather said. "It's not just seeing Brothers and troopers in action for the first time, though that did help crystallize my new feelings. Mostly it's seeing the Family being a family, seeing the Special Ops troopers I thought were the worst playing with kids and kittens, and … well, the part I'm not going to be able to write about because no one who hasn't at least been around it could possibly believe it. But being troopers—especially an Inquisitor—gives you a whole new kind of understanding."
"You liked being part of Dave, in particular?"
"Oddly enough, yes." Blackfeather hesitated. "They're all good men, but there's something special about Dave … something I have a hard time describing, even if I am a reporter. A special kind of idealism, maybe … tougher, not that any of them are soft …"
"I know what you mean," Cortin said, glancing around at the rest of the team and getting nods. Unity during sex was most intense between man and woman, but it was there between any Sealed; they'd all felt what Blackfeather was talking about, with her, Bain, or both.
"He reminds me of Larry, in a way," Blackfeather went on, surprising them. "So do you. Because in his own way, he's an idealist too—even though I'm not sure he knows that, or would believe it. An idealist who's turned cynical, soured against just about everything—but I believe there's still a tiny bit of him that wants the same things we do."
Chang gave the reporter an appraising look, then turned to Cortin. "I believe we may have a truly virtuous person among us, Joan. Not merely sinless, but virtuous—willing to believe the best of people, which I find surprising for a reporter."
"I doubt I'll be a reporter much longer," Blackfeather said. "What Sis calls a virtue isn't, in my particular field; once I've filed these three stories, backing Enforcement, the Families, and Colonel Cortin, I fully expect to be fired. So would any of you happen to know of any job openings for an ex-reporter?"
"How about historian?" Odeon asked. "We need one, with a reporter's training, while it's still early enough to get an accurate account of what's happening. The First and Second Testaments were written by groups, edited by others, and translated by still others; after that many opportunities for intentional or accidental change, we might not know what the originals really said." He made a wry face. "Yes, I believe everyone involved was inspired. As investigators, though, we all know humans are fallible—with or without inspiration. But they didn't have modern publishing; given a press run of ten or fifteen thousand, by one writer and in the original language, there'll always be a totally genuine version somewhere."
To Odeon's surprise, Blackfeather snickered. "You've got your historian, Mike—but if you believe a press run as low as ten or fifteen thousand, it's sure clear you're no publisher! On this particular subject, especially with Colonel Cortin involved, go up a couple of orders of magnitude. A million or million and a half copies wouldn't be an unreasonable estimate of sales, even at a price double or triple that of a standard book. A copy she autographed would be worth … well, even my imagination isn't quite that wild!"
"Even better," Odeon said.
"You do know, though, that it'll mean interviews to get everything you remember that has anything to do with Joan—and that the result won't leave you much, if any, privacy. You don't get a major social revolution by hiding the sort of personal behavior you're trying to encourage—even though other people may choose to do so."
"Sis and I figured as much," Odeon said. "We talked it over, between us and with the rest of the team, and it's necessary. There's going to be a lot written about what we're doing, one way or the other, and we're agreed one of them has to be accurate. So you'll get full cooperation."
"Including an Inquisitor's help," Bain said. "Colonel Bradford's the best you'll find at the memory-enhancing techniques we use with cooperative subjects, but I'm no slouch; you may get more information than you can use."
"More than I can include, maybe," Blackfeather said, "but not more than I can use, if only as background." She turned to Cortin. "What about you, Colonel?"
Cortin grimaced and looked pleadingly at Odeon. "Do I have to, Mike?"
"You're my Family head, Archduchess, and Commanding Officer, not to mention the Protector's Herald; I can't say you have to. But I'd recommend it pretty strongly."
Cortin sighed. "Mike, for someone who claims to be a subordinate, you
give the most convincing orders … all right, all right, I'll cooperate." She turned to Blackfeather. "I will, too. But I don't promise to like it—and you probably won't like what you hear if you think you need to go into what I do in my interrogations."
"I'd rather not, but I probably will." Blackfeather made a face. "Being both Larry's mistress and several Enforcement officers has given me a new perspective on that, too. Especially, as I may have mentioned before, being Dave."
Several of the team chuckled. "You did," Bain said, "and it was flattering—but if you want to be two of the best in the business, ask Brad and Ivan. I'm good, or I wouldn't be on Team Azrael; those two are second only to Joan."
"I'll have to ask, then, next time I see them," Blackfeather said.
"That should be tonight," Odeon said. "I invited Brad, and he said he'd pass it on to Ivan; if they possibly can, they'll both be at our home Communion service."
Blackfeather smiled. "Good!" Then she sobered, turning back to Cortin. "I don't like to mention this, Colonel, and I'll like getting involved with it even less, but the history should definitely include your work, too."
Cortin was silent. Blackfeather was right, inarguably so; the Protector whose Herald she was embodied Justice as well as Love, and Justice wasn't always pleasant. It could be, of course, when rewarding virtue, but punishment was usually pleasant only to the punished's victims or their survivors—never to the punished, seldom to observers, and only through God's Mercy was it satisfying to the punishers.
"Very well," she said at last. "You may have access to the films of my interrogations, and observe any you think necessary from now on. But I have to warn you, you won't find any of it enjoyable."
"I don't expect to," Blackfeather said. "My job's gotten me into unpleasant situations before, though, and I can cope. I think I should start with the one you and Mike have personal reasons to work on."
"You know our reasons?"
"I'm sure of yours—it was in the news enough—and I can guess at Mike's, yes."
"As you wish, then," Cortin said. "It's too late to get started tonight, though, and Brad and Ivan should be here any minute. Why not get your stories filed, then we'll take the rest of the night off?"
Their guests arrived while Blackfeather was still working. The Family adults greeted them warmly, but waited for more till Blackfeather was finished and had rejoined them in the common-room. When she had, Cortin pointed to the new insignia on both men's collars. "Ivan, I know I told you to design a territorial emblem—but isn't that a bit presumptuous? And Brad, how come you're wearing it?"
Illyanov smiled. "It is not presumptuous at all, beloved, nor is it really territorial. I could think of nothing, so I prayed, and that night dreamed of this. We are the Protector's, after all; what more natural than that we should wear the sword and rose you and Michael chose for our first altar?"
"And as he said," Bradford continued, "it isn't really territorial. It didn't make much sense to us to have Sealed troopers limited to one jurisdiction, and Their Highnesses agreed. So did His Majesty when they approached him, and the other Sovereigns when King Mark approached them—because we were informed shortly after my return to the Palace that we are now extraterritorial. Not just Strike Force, but all Sealed troopers—so all of you need new insigne, which we've brought." He smiled, handing them out. "Ivan had several hundred made, for when the Protector manifests, but these are all we need for now. I sent some to Tony and Chuck, too, so they'll be in correct uniform when Mother Gabriel releases them."
"That was thoughtful of you—thanks." Cortin smiled, then glared at both of them. "One of you could have called me with a little advance warning, I should think! Isn't it bad enough that His Majesty keeps pulling this sort of surprise on me?"
"It is fun to surprise you when we have the chance," Illyanov said. "Would you deny us a bit of harmless entertainment?"
Cortin chuckled ruefully. "Put that way, of course not—how could I? But someday I may be able to pull the same thing on you, be warned!"
"We shall consider ourselves properly warned indeed," Illyanov agreed.
"Good enough." Cortin moved her shoulders uncomfortably, but maybe it would help the discomfort she still felt if she did talk about what had happened with the farm-folk this afternoon. "Until then, I need some moral support. Something scary happened while I was questioning the first conscript today—since you weren't all in earshot, and Ivan wasn't there at all, can I describe it?"
"Please," Illyanov said.
Cortin did. When the description was over, she said, "I can't really describe how it felt, though. He honestly believed I am the Protector, was worshipping me. I was told not to deny that identification, so I didn't—but dear God, it was frightening! And several of the others were almost as bad. Being treated like the Herald is awful enough; being treated like the Protector Herself is … I don't know, I don't have the right word. I don't think I'd like it even if I were Her. Or Him."
"Whether you did or not would have little bearing," Illyanov said. "God does not need to be worshipped; He—or She—requires it of us because it is we who need to worship, and if we do not worship God, we will worship someone or something less worthy."
"That makes sense," Cortin said. "It's not what I'd choose, but I've been frightened and embarrassed before, without a Family for support. I suppose I'll learn to live with it—I'll have to, since I don't have any choice."
"You also have the support of the rest of us who are Sealed," Illyanov said, leaning over to kiss her. "Would you like me—or us—to spend the night?"
"Either or both, any time—which you know. But what about your families?"
"Mine went directly to Archangel and is busy moving in, with Delia's help. Brad's, I believe, is preparing for the move."
"They are," Bradford said, "so I can't stay past Communion—I have to help, as long as I'm in town."
Cortin grinned, her mood lightening. "Too bad for you, Brad; that means Sara'll have to wait for unity with you. Though not with Ivan, if he's willing."
Both men bowed in the historian's direction, and Bradford spoke first. "I'm sorry to have to postpone something so delightful, but hopefully it won't have to be for long."
"I, on the other hand, will be pleased to join you as soon as you wish," Illyanov said, smiling.
Bain grinned. "Don't waste any time, Sara; grab him right after Communion."
Blackfeather was definitely attracted to the handsome Inquisitor-Colonel, but she wasn't used to such openness about sex yet; though she remembered the previous evening's post-Communion lovemaking clearly, it didn't seem quite real. Now she was being urged to make love to a man she'd barely met … at least she'd known the Family men, if only briefly …
Chang chuckled. "It is not difficult to see you find him attractive; with both of you Sealed, that is a strong indication you are compatible. Given that, what better way to become friends?"
Odd though it seemed, Blackfeather thought, that was reasonable. "After Communion, then, if that's agreeable."
"Most agreeable," Illyanov said. "Michael?"
"Just a minute," Cortin said. "Can I get a couple of quick updates first?"
"Of course."
"Thanks. Brad, what about the special rescue teams?"
"Being organized. I put Major Grunwald on it, so they should be ready to go in a week."
"Good! Sis, Mike—the press-ganged ones?"
"They are in the Detention Center's spare barracks," Chang said. "Dave and Mike heard confessions, then Mike got permission to say Mass a second time for them, and we gave them the Communion of Promise. I believe we shall also have to devise some additional forms of both public and private devotions."
"I suppose so." Cortin sighed. "Brad, do you have anyone who can handle that? None of us are liturgists."
"As it happens—" Everyone, Bradford included, laughed—"Inquisitor-Lieutenant Andrews at the Center is good, and would appreciate the challenge. I'll call him as soon as I get home. And this time I will warn you: he's one of those who believes you are the Protector, so you probably won't appreciate his efforts. But they'll be well-done."
Cortin grimaced. "As Ivan said, devotions are for the devotees, not the objects of that devotion. If He doesn't mind, I don't suppose I can. And I suppose I should take a look at whatever your liturgist comes up with. So should Mike and Sis."
"He'll expect that, and to have you critique his work. He's conscientious; he'll want to be sure it's right. Can we dedicate tonight's service to that intention?"
"I don't see why not," Odeon said. "Sis?"
"It seems most fitting. I would suggest we also ask that the Protector ordain more priests, either through us or through the Herald, to be prepared when we may begin Sealing those outside the current group."
"You're Herald, Joanie," Odeon said. "What do you think?"
"Since we don't have any idea when He'll manifest, I'm in favor of it. Anyone who feels the call should be ordained, even though the only ones who can feel it are the ones Sealed to Him."
"Right. Everyone ready for services, then?"
For Shayan's reaction: [23a. Waiting]
24. Revenge
Thursday, 26 March 2572, New Denver
After Mass and breakfast, Odeon, Bain, and Blackfeather went to the dungeon. There was no question, Blackfeather thought, of her giving up her work as Cortin's historian, even though she'd joined Family Illyanov during her unity with Ivan last evening; while both of them regretted the separation, it would be only until Family Cortin and Strike Force HQ moved to Archangel—probably, Cortin and Illyanov estimated, by late winter or early spring.
To give them time to do whatever Odeon intended to the Brother both of them had claims on, Cortin went to her main-floor office and read the morning New Denver Times, which had picked up Blackfeather's reports and front-paged them, along with news of the Brothers' raid on the convent and Enforcement's successful defense. The Times maintained its reputation for strict reportorial impartiality; Cortin had to turn to the editorial pages to find reaction rather than the facts she already knew.
Not much to her surprise, the reaction was cautious. The editorial writers acknowledged that Families probably would stop or reverse the population decline, but were doubtful that they would be widely accepted, even though the Pope, when approached, had said he could see no objection. The creation of her Archduchy and her ennoblement were acknowledged, along with the creation of Family Cortin, as probably good for the new Archduchy and definitely good for the Family, an honor the Inquisitor-Colonel had earned, though she sensed the writer was relieved not to be in her fief. The Sealings weren't commented on at all. On the other hand, praise for the convent defense was unstinting, and Cortin was singled out for taking swift action to protect the press-gang victims and find the hostages, with the writer expressing the hope she would carry out equally swift justice on the captured Brothers, particularly the one who had helped maim her. There was no mention of revenge, but there was the implication the writer thought it would be appropriate for her.
Cortin put the paper down, frowning. It was true that she had been looking forward to her first chance at personal revenge ever since the attack on her—but now that she had it, the opportunity didn't seem anywhere near as attractive. There was no question but that the Brother deserved the revenge she'd planned for him, and more; his crimes undoubtedly deserved more punishment than she could possibly inflict.
But punishment wasn't the problem with this one, any more than it had been with any of her earlier subjects. It was the revenge part that bothered her, though it certainly wasn't illegal—or sinful, for Enforcement troops, since they were carrying out God's vengeance even when it had a personal component. So why had the idea of taking her revenge on this Brother suddenly lost its savor?
She mulled that over for some time before she was able to come to what seemed like a reasonable hypothesis. The Father had claimed vengeance as His own, but Jeshua had concentrated on mercy, even though some of His priests had been fighters. The Protector emphasized love and justice; possibly those who represented Him weren't supposed to indulge in vengeance. She'd have to talk to Mike about that, find out if he'd run into the same thing.
Maybe she could tell without talking, though, so she went down to Suite Bravo's observation room—Suite Alpha held the Brother team-leader—and joined Blackfeather. The reporter looked pale and had turned the speaker off, but was managing to control herself; Cortin greeted her with approval, then turned to watch Odeon.
Odeon's back was to her, so she couldn't see his expression. His manner, though, was more professional than passionate, which supported her hypothesis so far. The same went for Bain, who was holding the prisoner, though that was less evidential; to the best of Cortin's knowledge, he'd never expressed any desire for personal revenge against the ones who'd maimed her. She'd only be sure of it regarding him if they happened to capture one of the terrorists who'd tortured his brother.
"If he was on one of Larry's personal teams, he won't be able to tell you anything," Blackfeather said, interrupting Cortin's train of thought. "Larry did something to them, and to all his doubles, so they couldn't."
"Unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected," Cortin said. "Whatever I think of him otherwise, I know he's not stupid; it stands to reason that he'd give his closest associates the best protection he could. Especially if it also protected him at the same time."
"What will you do to him, then? Turn him over to the courts? Or take your revenge?"
Cortin looked at her sharply, but saw none of the disapproval the words implied, only curiosity. "Neither. If I gave him to the courts, he would simply be turned over to another Inquisitor for punishment and execution—probably one who wouldn't give him the time or opportunity to repent."
"Repent!" Blackfeather exclaimed, looking confused. "Joan, you can't believe—"
"I'll try, but I don't expect him to take the opportunity." The historian still looked uncertain, so Cortin continued. "He deserves far more punishment than I can impose, but I no longer believe anyone—even Shayan himself—deserves Hell for eternity. So I'll put this one through as much as he can survive of the kind of torment he gave his victims, though my methods will be different since I have both skills and equipment he didn't—but I will also pray for him, and if he repents, give him the Sacraments and allow him to finish his punishment in Purgatory."
"You don't want revenge?"
"Not any more. I think vengeance is for those who can't accept justice, and maybe for those who've been denied it. From the way I feel, I'd say it's not for the Protector or His people—though Mike may feel differently."
"He said about the same thing before he and Dave got started. At the convent, he wanted revenge, but by this morning, he was past that stage. And I think that frightened the Brother more than the revenge did."
Cortin thought for a moment, then nodded. "It probably would me, too. You can get to someone who's emotionally involved, if only to egg them on and end it quicker; a professional doing a job doesn't have that kind of handle."
"I can see that—" Blackfeather broke off as Odeon turned, rubbing his knuckles, and switched the sound back on.
"Is Colonel Cortin with you, Sara?" he asked.
"I'm here, Captain," Cortin said. "You have the subject ready for me?"
"Yes, Excellency. How would you like him?"
Cortin hesitated before answering. She had intended to start by raping and gelding this one, but since she now had to take Sara's history into consideration, that no longer seemed appropriate. Although he'd undoubtedly raped and maimed quite a few besides herself, making it appropriate in that sense, the fact that he had done it to her would give it the appearance of personal revenge rather than impersonal punishment. Better to use techniques with less chance for misinterpretation. "Standard position, I think. At least to begin with."
"Our pleasure, Excellency." Odeon bowed slightly, then he and Bain took care of securing the prisoner as she'd asked, and Bain left.
Cortin explained her change of plan and the reason to Blackfeather, and got a nod. "I made the assumption you'd want to see at least one session," she finished, "but if you'd rather it be later, that's up to you."
"I don't want to, but I definitely should," Blackfeather said. "And I suppose this is as good a time as any."
"Let's go, then." It wasn't until she was entering Bravo's third-stage room that Cortin thought to ask, "Do you want me to describe what I'm thinking as I work? Though I doubt it'll be suitable for publication."
"As I said earlier, even what I don't publish will be useful for background—knowing your thought processes will be a big help."
"All right—but it'll mean leaving the speaker on. Want me to mute him after I finish the preliminary, so you don't have to hear screams?"
"I— Yes, please." Blackfeather managed a shaky grin. "I never thought I was the squeamish type, but there's something about this kind of violence that bothers me, even when I know it's necessary."
"That's normal," Cortin said. "Nothing to worry about, as long as you don't get carried away, like some Terrans did, and worry more about the criminal's pain than the victim's. Compassion is good, but you have to remember who deserves that and who deserves punishment."
"I know—being squeamish doesn't mean I've gone soft in the head. I'd rather not butcher my own meat, either, but I'm grateful to the ones who do it."
"Fair enough." God willing, she thought, Sara would never get over what she called squeamishness; humanity needed far more of that type than it did Inquisitors, or even regular Enforcement troopers.
The prisoner spat as she approached him to begin her preliminary evaluation. "Do your worst, Bitch—you'll get nothing from me!"
"So I have been informed, by a far more reliable source. I will be asking you no questions." Wait, though. And think aloud, for Sara. "Not immediately, at least. You have been protected against conventional questioning, even an Inquisitor's—but that means only that you cannot be forced to speak; it does not mean you cannot speak if you choose. Preliminaries first, however."
Those went better than she had expected. Mike was developing a good ability to anticipate the way she intended to work on a subject, and had been careful selecting the areas to sensitize. When she finished her evaluation, she went to her cabinets, studying their contents. "I'm ready to silence him. Something that won't do more than minor damage, preferably, which leaves out surgery … yes, this should do." She removed a vial, filled a syringe, and returned to her subject. "My observer prefers that you not scream, and since I can tell from your reactions if you should wish to confess, I am free to oblige. Paralyzing your throat muscles should serve the purpose nicely."
To her surprise, he didn't fight the injection. "Do you expect him to save you somehow?"
The man shook his head, sneering.
"To give you an easy death, then?"
He shrugged.
"You believe it possible, though he avoids me and did nothing to save you from Captain Odeon's beating."
"On the other hand," Blackfeather said through the speaker, "he could very well be using your punishment for his own ends. He told me once that letting a failure die under an Inquisitor's questioning was a good preliminary to what would happen once said failure died and arrived in Hell."
The man stiffened, mouthing Blackfeather's name.
Cortin nodded. "I see he did not tell you he sent her to us. Miss Blackfeather is now Sealed to the Protector, and a part of His team. I cannot offer you either, but should you repent during this part of your punishment, I will see that you die in a state of grace."
"Go to Hell, Bitch!" the man mouthed.
"Sara, were you able to read his lips?"
"No. What was it?"
"The usual; he wished me in Hell." Cortin's attention went back to her subject. "That is not my destination. In an attempt to keep you from going there, however, I will provide you the closest approximation I can manage to its torments. You will die painfully here, and continue to suffer afterward—but as long as you live, you have the chance to reject Shayan, make your torment a brief prelude to Heaven."
After a couple of hours, Cortin could no longer ignore a niggling feeling she'd had since entering the dungeon; she broke off her interrogation, signaling Odeon and Blackfeather to join her in the suite's office.
"You feel him too, huh?" Odeon asked, as soon as the door closed behind him.
"I feel something like being watched, yes. It's not Sara, but she's the only other person here—what 'he' are you talking about, and how could he be watching anything?"
"Shayan," Odeon said flatly. "There's a different feel to his mind-touch—I couldn't sense any menace from him—but after what he did to me, I can't mistake his identity."
"Shayan!" Cortin and Blackfeather exclaimed in unison.
"But I didn't sense anything," Blackfeather continued. "I would've thought any time he was around, physically or otherwise, I'd know it."
Odeon shrugged. "I can't say about that, Sara—all I know is what I've just told you. He's watching us, for whatever reason, yet I feel very strongly that he's not going to interfere." He rubbed the scar across his mouth, frowning in puzzlement. "Impossible as it sounds, I get the impression he intends to help us somehow. Not that he likes us—any but Sara, anyway. The feeling's more like … it's vague, not based on deliberate communication, but I'd call it something like a determined, if reluctant, alliance."
Cortin frowned. "Are you sure?"
"It's vague, like I said, but I'm as sure as I can be under the circumstances. I don't think it's possible to lie, mind to mind—could be your truthsense is a special form of telepathy."
"Shayan helping us. That doesn't sound possible." Cortin paused, still frowning. "I hate to ask, Mike, and I'll understand if you don't want to—"
"But you'd like me to ask him directly." Odeon rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. "Okay. Just don't be surprised if I go into another funk." He turned his attention to the Hell-King. *You've been listening; you know what I want.*
*You are quite correct about both the alliance and the reluctance,* came the reply. *This, however, is not the time to go into that; the discussion we need to have will take longer than Cortin should give her prisoner to regroup. I am observing primarily so I will know when you are free for that discussion; I will not continue it now. For the moment, suffice it to say I will be pleased if her efforts to obtain this one's repentance are successful, though I very much doubt that will be the case.* With that, the direct contact broke, though Odeon still sensed the observation.
"Are you okay, Mike?" Cortin asked anxiously. "You look pale."
"Yeah, just a little shaken. By what he said, not the contact itself this time." Odeon repeated what he'd been told, seeing astonishment to match his own on the women's faces.
"He'll be pleased if this one repents?" Cortin asked in disbelief.
"Uh-huh. And he doesn't want you giving him too much of a break."
"That doesn't sound like Larry, unless …" Blackfeather paused, cocked her head. "He's got something to gain. Something that outweighs all his other interests—so I'd recommend very strongly that Your Excellency take his advice and return to your subject."
"Since it would seem what he has to gain coincides with our interests, at least temporarily, that would seem to be the best, yes."
Cortin peeled off her coverall and went upstairs with the other two, feeling a peculiar combination of satisfaction and disappointment. Her subject had been punished as thoroughly as she could manage for nearly ten hours—but he'd been as intransigent as Shayan had hinted, and he'd died cursing the Protector.
That was a blow, though she'd known she couldn't possibly turn all—maybe not even most—of her subjects to God. She'd tried her best with this one, she reminded herself, and if she hadn't been able to turn him, no one could have.
The odd part was that Shayan had wanted her to turn him, which she still didn't understand. While most of her wanted to avoid any possible contact with him, a small part was so curious about why he was cooperating that she couldn't help wanting the discussion he'd mentioned.