She gave him absolution, with a penance of memorizing the third chapter of St. Jean Grillet's The Inquisitor's Call. It seemed harsh to her, but his expression said otherwise, and when he rose, he thanked her.
Breakfast was on the table when they got back, and she was hungry; as soon as grace was said, she started on a stack of hotcakes and honey. Illyanov was absolutely right, she decided immediately; the food was far better than she'd gotten in any Service dining hall. She grinned at Robbins, giving him the "first-class" hand signal, then continued eating and listening to the conversation.
That had settled rather quickly into shop talk, as it usually did when groups of specialists got together. She could understand how it might upset a nearby diner, but she'd been studying during meals for weeks now; she listened carefully, making mental notes of several useful-sounding—or just interesting—tips, though she didn't join in until her plate was empty and she was enjoying a glass of pear nectar. There was less resentment than she'd expected at Bradford's order that she get first choice of all non-critical prisoners, though she did take some teasing about being sure she left some for them, what with the Brothers still laying low. She promised, with a bit of return teasing that if things were all that slow this might be a good time to take some leave, then she had to make another promise that she'd hold Confession and Mass for them, in the base chapel if she could get permission, in their lounge at the Detention Center if she couldn't.
As she was getting ready to leave, a waiter approached and handed her a note; she read it, grinned, and handed it to Illyanov. She was summoned to the Base Theater for a meeting of prospective Team Leaders and team-seconds. The note didn't say what kind of teams they were to be Leaders and seconds of, naturally, but it didn't have to; she and Illyanov knew. "I'll see about arranging for the chapel," she told the group as she rose. "I'll post the results on the bulletin board, whichever way it works out, but I've got to go now. Thanks again."
5. Azrael
St. Thomas, Wednesday, 24 July 2571
Less than half an hour later, she was in the theater along with what she estimated at fifty others, all with Special Ops patches and specialty badges—even Odeon, when she spotted him, was wearing his Tracker's badge, something he didn't normally do. She would be willing to bet, now that the operational arms needed them, that a Priest's badge was being made and they'd both be wearing those as well, not long after the Strike Force was activated—and she'd also be willing to bet Mike would love wearing his. She made her way to him, exchanging introductions with several others on the way and realizing quickly that those in the group had more than insigne in common. There was an air to them, a feel of anticipation as of a wolfpack scenting its prey, and she shared it. "How did it go?" she asked Odeon.
"Not bad for someone who'd never done it before," he said with a smile. "How about yours?"
"Better than I would've believed," she said. "I ended up with a server and small congregation, thanks to Colonel Bradford—and I've already heard my first Confession. It's strange being on the receiving end, believe me!"