"Okay, Chris." As he left in search of the proprietor, Cortin turned to Illyanov. "Ivan—" it seemed strange calling him that—"thanks." She looked around. "Thank all of you, for joining me. It means a lot."
"It means much to us, as well." Illyanov touched her hand. "You are new to our field, Joan, but already you must begin to feel our isolation. An Inquisitor who is also a priest is most literally a gift from God."
"I'm not the only one," she said, uncomfortable with his intensity. "Colonel Bradford, uh …" She hesitated, realizing that the Bishop was the only other Priest-Inquisitor she knew of.
"His Excellency's other committments do not normally permit him to exercise his priestly functions on an individual basis, not true?"
"True." Most Bishops did have to be more concerned with administration than with a chaplain's duties … "Okay, I guess you're right. What can I do for you?"
"Hear our confessions, for one thing," a graying Captain said. "I messed up, oh—three or four months ago, but the chaplain we were assigned doesn't understand Inquisitors—he couldn't figure out why it bothers me." He paused, looking miserable. "Reverend Mother—please?"
Cortin looked around for a private place—she couldn't refuse such a plea—but it was Robbins who said, "If you'd like to use my office, Mother, I'd be honored."
"Thank you—where is it?"
"Through the curtains over there, second door on the right."
Cortin rose, feeling inadequate, but led the older officer—Captain Gregory Watkins, if she remembered correctly from the group introduction—through the curtains and into an office decorated with Enforcement Service pictures, awards, and certificates. She sat in the desk chair, putting on her stole; when Watkins knelt beside her and began his Confession, she understood why he would want a confessor who could understand the feelings of guilt that, deservedly or not, went with failure to get necessary information from a subject, then damaging him so badly, in an effort to correct the first problem, that no one else could get the information either. She hadn't done that badly yet—her clumsiness with her first subject had been due to inexperience, not lack of judgement—but she was certain she'd do it some day. When she did, she too would want a confessor who understood what she'd done, why it was wrong, and how to help her avoid it in the future.