"Easily," Odeon said, clearly relieved. "We sometimes have unexpected overnight company, so the guest suites are equipped with robes, pajamas, and standard toiletries. If you'll change, the servants can have what you're wearing clean and back to you in about an hour."
"I'd appreciate that."
When Medart woke, his uniform was hanging up inside the bathroom door, his underwear was folded neatly on top of the clothes hamper, and his boots and other leather items had been polished. He showered and dressed, decided not to call DeLayne since he'd gotten the necessary information about Cortin's odd Talent from Odeon, and checked the time. He'd slept longer than he expected; it was about 1730 Standard, about an hour later local time.
He left his suite, followed sounds of talk and laughter to the living room—and was pleasantly surprised to be greeted with a hug and enthusiastic kiss from the Inquisitor. He returned both with equal enthusiasm, got a similar greeting from Sis and a more restrained one from Betty—right, she wasn't a trooper, didn't share their dispensation, so more wouldn't be appropriate. Then Odeon approached, his expression inquiring.
Medart shook his head with a smile. "I'm flattered, Mike, and I don't want to offend you, but I'm afraid you aren't my type."
"Thanks, and none taken," Odeon said. "Too bad, though—does being around it bother you?"
"No, not at all—it just doesn't do anything for me, either."
Odeon chuckled. "It would if you'd had the plague and been out on remote patrol. There aren't many women in Enforcement, so all but a very few troopers go both ways, especially in the field."
"I can understand that," Medart said. "The ones I've seen, on a couple of worlds where sex is considered an art form, didn't leave any doubt they were enjoying themselves, either."