He was getting off the subject, though, he told himself sternly. He was here to protect Joanie's interests, not worry about the Brothers. And if he was going to do that, it might be a good idea to get up.
He glanced at the clock, then almost tangled himself in the sheets in his hurry to get out of bed. It was almost six-thirty! If he didn't get a move on, he'd be late for seven o'clock Mass!
He made it, though with barely a minute to spare, and he found peace as usual in the familiar liturgy. There were still times he wished his call had been to the priesthood—he'd been raised in a monastery, by the White Fathers, after his parents died—but for the most part, he no longer missed the life too badly. The Fathers had comforted him when it became clear that his vocation was military rather than religious; enforcing civil order, they'd reminded him, was as important to human welfare as ministering to spiritual needs. And when he'd been commissioned, directly into Special Operations, several of them had been at the Academy to congratulate him.
As he went forward to take Communion, Odeon found his thoughts going to Joanie. He shouldn't be thinking about her, not now … but he couldn't concentrate on the Sacrament properly, even as he accepted and swallowed the Host. Well, the Fathers had taught him that if he couldn't, despite his best efforts, maybe he wasn't supposed to—and it wouldn't be the first time something had resolved itself this way. Returning to his place in the small chapel, he said a brief prayer to the Blessed Virgin as the Compassionate Mother for guidance. Surely, she would help the only officer of her sex in this dangerous vocation!
He was feeling better when he entered Egan's office half an hour after Mass was over. He hadn't found a solution, but he had become sure that one would make itself known; he'd just have to find it.
Egan wasn't there; she was already in surgery. But she'd left word that he could use her office while he waited, and he appreciated her thoughtfulness. An Enforcement officer in a civilian hospital waiting room tended to make patients and visitors nervous; a Special Ops officer tended to make the staff nervous as well, which bothered him. And a desk was far more convenient for doing paperwork than a lap. Odeon sighed as he picked up the form she'd left for him. It was her recommendation for Joanie's discharge, as promised, and it made no bones about the seriousness of her injuries, or about the resulting sterility and constant pain.
Frowning, Odeon read it again—and realized that here was at least part of his solution. Joanie was sterile, which meant she was eligible for Special Ops!
Granted that he didn't like either the fact or what had caused it, she was eligible, and he was positive that—given the cause—she would want to apply, which could very well give her a bit of an edge staying in. And he was equally positive that she'd be as outstanding in Special Ops as she had been in regular Enforcement work. He endorsed the discharge recommendation with a combined request, for waiver and transfer to Special Ops, then decided to tackle some paperwork he'd gotten behind on.
It was several hours before Egan returned to her office, obviously fatigued, and collapsed into an armchair. Despite his anxiety, Odeon took time to get her a cup of coffee and let her drink some before he asked tensely, "How did it go?"