2. Hospital
St. Thomas, Thursday, 20 June 2571
Odeon was still perplexed by the previous afternoon's odd meeting when he got to Joanie's room the morning after her surgery. The door was open, but he tapped on it and called her name anyway.
"Mike!" Cortin hoped he could hear the welcome she tried to put in her voice. "Come in, please!" She watched him approach, holding back tears. Mike had been her ideal since the day she'd met him, and she'd done her best to live up to his example of cool, impartial professionalism. He was an outstanding officer, an exemplary son of the Church; he certainly wouldn't come apart, so she had to conceal her anguish. She couldn't forfeit his respect for her by collapsing, even though the Brothers had maimed and perhaps crippled her.
He entered, smiling as he saw her. Her head and hands were bandaged, along with most of one arm; her face had half a dozen cuts and bruises not worth bandaging; and her ribs had undoubtedly been strapped tight under her hospital gown, but— "You're looking a lot better than you were the last time I saw you. How do you feel?"
"Right now, I mostly don't. They've got me so heavily doped up it's a miracle I'm awake and coherent. At least I hope I am. Coherent, that is; I know I'm awake."
"You sound fine to me," Odeon assured her. He leaned over, kissed her forehead. "Ready for my report?"
"Not until you do better than that," she said. "I know you can, and as far as I can tell, my mouth is all right."
"As good as ever, but I don't hug people with broken ribs." He kissed her as thoroughly as he thought possible without hurting her, then pulled up a chair to sit beside the bed.
Her first question gave him an unpleasant shock. "Have you put me in for Special Ops?"