She turned, saw his pale face, and hurried to him. "Can you make it to the washroom?"
"I don't think—"
"No, he cannot," Illyanov interrupted, coming over and holding a wastebasket.
Odeon had time for a grateful look before his stomach completed its rebellion. He felt Joanie's hand stroking his head, heard both Inquisitors telling him it was all right as they helped him into the suite's outer room and got him seated. When he was finished, Joanie handed him a towel; he wiped his mouth and looked up at them. "I'm sorry."
"That is a normal reaction," Illyanov said calmly. "There is no need to apologize; you did better than could have been expected."
"You should've left if it bothered you," Cortin said. "I'd like to have you backing me, yes, but not if my work's going to upset you like this."
"I'll get used to it," Odeon said stubbornly. "I can't promise I'll ever get to like it, but I will learn to handle it well enough to give you any backup you need."
"You set yourself a difficult task," Illyanov said. "I feel safe in predicting you will not come to like it; observing you, I would say you lack the quirk of mind required to take pleasure in another's pain. With adequate motivation, time, and exposure, however, you may develop enough tolerance to be able to assist."
"I'll settle for that." Odeon's stomach churned again at the thought of doing what Illyanov had, unsure whether he was pleased or not at the Major's prognosis. In a way, it'd be good to share Joanie's pleasure even in that … "What do I do, sit in on all her interrogations?"
"I would normally recommend that you begin with a less talented Inquisitor," Illyanov said, "as that would be less unpleasant for you. However, Captain Cortin is the one you will be teamed with, so perhaps it would indeed be as well if you work with her from the beginning."