Blackfeather wasn't feeling particularly adaptable when she woke from Chang's drug; she was still too shaken by what she'd found out when Odeon had released the compulsions that had held her for so long. It was a relief to find a woman sitting beside her bed—and almost a relief that the woman wore Enforcement gray, with a medic's specialty badge. "You're the one who gave me the shot?" she asked as she sat up.
"I am. Medic-Lieutenant Eleanor Chang, otherwise called Piety or Sis. I regret that your welcome to our home was so traumatic, though the drug should have helped. We have waited lunch, in case you cared to join us."
To Blackfeather's astonishment, the medic's words made her realize she was hungry—and the idea of eating with Enforcement troopers was more attractive than not. After what Odeon had suffered to help her, she was willing to believe there might really be more than talk to their motto of "We Serve, to Protect". She might not manage to feel protected just yet, but at least she no longer felt threatened. "Do I have time to clean up a bit, Lieutenant?"
"Of course. Colonel Cortin has asked me to apologize for her earlier insistence on meeting you immediately, and hopes you will understand and forgive her."
"Let's just say I'll withhold judgement until I find out more. Though … I can't deny I'm grateful to Captain Odeon."
"He is a good man, Miss Blackfeather, a priest of both Jeshua and the Protector. He is also, though he would probably laugh at the term, a wise man. He is, however, deeply troubled by the Hell-King's touch, so if he should seem wary of you, please realize it is nothing at all personal."
"I think I can manage that," Blackfeather said. She went into the bathroom to take care of her needs, then emerged to dress. When she was done, Chang led her to the dining room—where she was astonished to find three young children munching on cookies, and an apologetic-looking Colonel of Enforcement.
"They were hungry," Cortin said. "I'm afraid I'm not as strict as I should be—but they did want to see you. Do you mind?"
"Not at all," Blackfeather said. She'd never been all that fond of children; on the other hand, she did know they were humanity's future, and fewer than a replacement number, here in the Systems, were being born. "They aren't yours, I know; more company?"
"Not exactly." Cortin studied the reporter. "If I give you some background information, will you treat it as confidential until I say you can publish it? That should be less than a week."
"Of course!"
"I'll brief you while we're eating, then."
When the meal was over, Blackfeather was full, but scarcely aware of what she'd eaten. Taken as a whole Cortin's revelations, even delivered in the unemotional tone of what she'd called it, a briefing, were a shock. Blackfeather had anticipated or guessed at parts, which along with her training helped her conceal that shock, but didn't lessen it. Especially since she remembered that Larry had expected and intended her to become part of the Protector's staff, opposing him.
She didn't want to go into that right now, though. A nice safe neutral topic would be better … if she could think of one, and something touching her ankle provided the perfect subject when she bent down to pick up the tiny culprit. "Children, and now a kitten—not at all what I expected when I got your invitation, Excellency."
"More normal and civilized, right?" Cortin smiled. "I'm not offended, Miss Blackfeather, so you needn't look defensive. Until recently, I was careful to conceal such things; a reputation can be most useful to an Inquisitor. Since the situation's changed, I can let the truth be known." She grimaced. "And since I've found out myself what the truth is, which was a shock at times."
"I can sympathize," Blackfeather said with feeling. "All these years I've thought I was free …"
"And I thought I was immune to love—free in a different way. But I'm glad I was wrong." Cortin looked around the table at her Family, smiling. "In my admittedly biased opinion, you won't find a better group of people in the entire Kingdom Systems, and I couldn't be more delighted that they adopted me. I'm sorry Mike had to break your conditioning so abruptly, but I hope that having it broken will let you enjoy your stay here."
"It'll make it possible, at least," Blackfeather said. "What I'm sorry about is what he had to go through to help me."
"I was simply doing my duty, Miss Blackfeather," Odeon said, startling her. "I had no choice, and given the same circumstances, I'd have to try doing it again. Though I'm not sure I'd be able to, a second time."
"Since I don't think I could have done it the first time," Blackfeather said, "I certainly couldn't fault you for that! And duty or not, I am grateful, and I feel I owe you a debt."
"No debt," Odeon said. "You don't owe me—us—any more than you owe anyone else you write about. All we ask for is objective observation and reporting, in spite of the fact that most of us are Enforcement."
"My word on it," Blackfeather said. "I can't promise favorable reports, but they'll be as honest as I can make them."
Monday afternoon, 23 March 2572
Cortin grinned as Odeon entered her room and took one of the armchairs, his lap immediately occupied by the kitten who'd become his almost-inseparable companion whenever he was available. "I know it's a day earlier than the deadline I gave you, but—"
Odeon chuckled. "I'm fine, Joanie, between Tanj here and the studying." He rubbed the kitten's ears, smiling at her loud purr. "She's a little darling, and I'm almost afraid to say I'm really enjoying my research, as much as I got teased for it in school. I don't think that's what you called me in for, though."
"To find out exactly how you're doing, yes; the details of your research, no. And I hadn't expected you to bring your little friend along."
"Who brought her? I can't keep her away! Don't worry, though, she won't interfere."
"And just how do you know that?"
"A trip to the New Eden in the wee hours this morning, when I started feeling interested for the first time since Shayan worked on me. If I recall my explorations here correctly, you were with Chuck and Dave, Sis and Betty with the other two, and I didn't want to wake anyone. I also didn't want to take Tanj, but you know what a sucker I am—even worse than you, where kids and animals are concerned. So she went along, in my pocket. She watched, the first couple of times, then went to sleep. A pillow on the floor, if you're curious."
"Not primarily about that," Cortin said. "May I be nosy and ask how many you enjoyed?"
Uncharacteristically, Odeon flushed. "Uh—I can't match you, but—all the ladies who were awake. You know what it's like when you've been dry for a while."
"I sure do." Cortin tried to look stern, but failed miserably and gave up, grinning instead. "I should chew you out for not waking me, Captain. I assume, however, that you're back to normal and willing to demonstrate?"
"Willing and eager, Excellency."
Both of them were far more relaxed when they dressed for dinner, though Tangerine meowed plaintively at Odeon and tried to climb his trouser leg. He shrugged, grinning at Cortin, and sat down. "Part of her routine this time of day, I'm afraid," he apologized as the kitten jumped to his shoulder and began nibbling at his earlobe.
"Has you pretty well trained, doesn't she?" Cortin said, chuckling.
"Uh-huh." Odeon dug into a pocket, unwrapped and handed the kitten a piece of something Cortin couldn't identify but Tangerine obviously could; she hopped down to his lap with a sound halfway between a purr and a growl, eating her treat. Odeon let her finish, then put her on the floor. "I'm cleared for the convent defense, then."
Cortin nodded. "You are. I just wish I were, too."
The following evening, Cortin went to Odeon's room shortly before supper. "Mike, got a minute?"
"Any time. What's up?"
"Not that, this close to supper—will you and Sis be holding services this evening?"
"Of course. Are you going to bring Blackfeather?"
Cortin hesitated. "I don't know," she said at last. "She'll have to be exposed to it sooner or later, but I'm not sure an evening before the team goes into combat is the right time. If she reacts badly to either the nudity or the ceremony itself, it might make things harder on them."
"She's going in too," Odeon pointed out.
Cortin grimaced. "I know, blast it! She can and I can't—so you tell me which would be less damaging."
"In your place, I'd brief her, then let her decide whether she thinks she can accept it as a religious function." Odeon grinned. "As I may've said, I don't think anyone who's spent time in Hell is going to be shocked by anything as mild as that—my only hesitation is about how she'll react otherwise."
"Understood. All right, that's what I'll do."
In spite of Cortin's briefing, Blackfeather had trouble at first accepting a nude man and woman as real priests conducting a real religious rite. That changed quickly, though, in large part because of the Family's obvious acceptance of precisely that, and their equally-obvious devotion to the Protector. She didn't—yet, anyway—share that devotion, and if it hadn't been for Larry's certainty that the Protector was real, she thought it unlikely she'd have believed what was going on was an act of worship.
But Larry—no, she chided herself; she ought to start thinking of him by his real name—Shayan was certain of the Protector's existence and imminent arrival. Or … Blackfeather looked sharply at Cortin. Her lover hadn't said it in so many words, but now that she thought back, he'd certainly given the impression that Cortin was the Protector!
Even though it had seemed pointless at the time, Blackfeather now found herself wishing she'd paid more attention to prophecies of the Final Coming. Nothing she could remember from them said Cortin couldn't be the Protector instead of simply the Herald, which was disconcerting enough. A lot of things, in fact, pointed to it, now that she began to analyze everything she'd heard and read about Cortin and her unprecedented, rapid rise from being a curiosity as the only female Enforcement officer to High King's Inquisitor and Archduchess—not to mention her tumbling of some of Enforcement's strictest regulations, such as Special Ops' lack of close family, not only with impunity but with the backing of all the Sovereigns. And working for drastic changes in the social and religious systems with divine sanction that became obvious every time she said Mass.
Cortin wasn't reacting the way Blackfeather would expect from a divine incarnation, though. Desire for revenge after rape and maiming was a human thing the Protector should be beyond. So was becoming an Inquisitor, nothing like Jeshua's forgiveness of His enemies and His gentle nature. Still, she thougt, there was precedent, if you went back to the First Testament; she'd never been comfortable with things like the innocent Job being tormented simply as a demonstration to Shayan, or the she-bears being sent to kill forty-two children whose only offense had been to tease Elisha about being bald. Cortin at least confined the punitive parts of her Inquisitorial attentions to criminals, and her truthsense let her be certain who those criminals actually were.
23. Raid
Wednesday, 25 March 2572
The next morning, when Powell offered to help her into lightweight Enforcement body armor, Blackfeather accepted gladly. She'd found out the previous evening, at the same time she'd found out what the term 'unity' meant to those who were Sealed, that his Enforcement commission was another of the exceptions surrounding Cortin; he was barely seventeen, and his pose of being a veteran was exactly that, a pose. But he was no rookie inside, and that unity had given her considerable respect for the Protector's youngest Sealed.
"How does that feel, Sara?" he asked when she was suited up. "I can adjust it some, if it doesn't fit quite right."
Blackfeather moved experimentally, then grinned at him. "It's fine, Chuck. Now what about Sis?"
"She doesn't need armor; she won't be going in until after the action's over. Mike doesn't want her going in at all, but she says if he can, so can she, and he couldn't argue that. At least she's promised this'll be the last time till after she has the baby."
"And the Colonel? Even if His Majesty has forbidden her, I'm surprised she'd stay out of her team's—and Family's—first official action."
"She doesn't have any choice," Powell said regretfully. "It's a legal order and her Enforcement oath is valid; disobeying would be a sin, and that's something none of the Sealed can do. If we had reason to believe any of the ones who tortured her would be among the attackers, she'd be free to go with us, but none of the information we have even hints at that. So she's stuck here."
"In her place, I'd hate that," Blackfeather said, feeling more sympathy for the Inquisitor than she'd have thought possible a few days ago. "At least we can make sure we give her a complete report."
The only thing that helped Cortin's frustration at being kept out of the convent defense was saying Mass, and that only helped for the brief time it was going on. By the time it was over, though, she'd come to one conclusion: His Majesty had ordered her not to get into the action, but he hadn't said anything about not going to the Palace communications center to listen to the tactical radio!
But following the defense that way was less informative than she'd hoped. She wasn't familiar enough with the terrain to visualize the deployment, which made movement orders impossible to follow. About all she could be sure of was that the Royals were winning, even though they were taking heavier casualties than she liked or had expected. She couldn't help praying that none of her people were among the dead and wounded, though she felt a little uncomfortable asking for that sort of special consideration; if the casualties weren't from her team, they had others who'd care as strongly about them.
At last it sounded like the fighting must be about over; Bradford was ordering the prisoners taken to a holding area and calling in the medevac units. As further transmissions showed things were winding up, she decided she might as well go back to the Lodge and make one final check of her preparations before prisoners started arriving. She was thanking the communications techs for their courtesy when Bradford's voice again came from the radio. "Palace Com, this is Strike Leader. Request Azrael be contacted and asked to join us at her earliest convenience."
"Azrael is on scene, Strike Leader," the tech said. "One moment, please."
Cortin took the microphone he offered. "Azrael here, Strike Leader. What's the problem?"
"Prisoner evaluation. We have some here who present unexpected problems, and I would appreciate your expertise."
"Unexpected problems?" That didn't sound too likely, Cortin thought—Brad and Dave both had more specialty-time than she did, though she had to admit that her position had probably given her a wider variety of cases. Still, likely or not, she wasn't about to argue with anything that would get her out into the field, however briefly. "I'll be there as soon as I can find transportation. Azrael out."
To her surprise, fifteen minutes later she was airborne and well on her way to the convent. His Majesty had both ground and air transportation available at no notice, of course, and as one of the King's Own she was allowed to use elements of the Royal Fleet—but she hadn't expected to be able to use one of the alert craft!
The pilot circled the battlefield, more to avoid throwing dirt and rocks on the wounded than to let her observe—though it did that as well—following a ground controller's orders to land on the convent lawn near the temporary prisoner holding pen. Before, she'd always been in combat gear, exiting a helicopter; this was easier, in her service uniform, though she did have a little trouble holding onto the wide-brimmed hat. When she was clear and the copter had lifted off, moving back several hundred meters to wait for her, she took another look at the battlefield from this more familiar perspective. It was clearer to her this way, a bigger scene of carnage than she'd imagined it could be, and she found herself appalled at the unnecessary damage and loss of life. Compassionate Mother of God, what could the Brothers hope to gain from all this? At least the convent showed no major signs of damage, nothing worse than a few bullet pocks, and the Blue Sisters were working with Enforcement medics, as usual, to help the wounded.
She heard the rustle of heavy cloth behind her, and turned to see Bradford—who looked surprisingly comfortable, for a senior officer, in battle gear—and a nun she supposed to be Reverend Mother Superior Mary Gabriel. She returned Bradford's salute, bowed to the nun. "I hope none of the sisters were hurt."
"No, thank God," Bradford said. "We were able to warn them, then ambush the terrorists far enough away the Sisters were never in any real danger. Would Your Excellency care for a copy of my report?"
"Thank you, Colonel, but it won't be necessary; Team Azrael will brief me. I would appreciate it if you have time to visit Harmony Lodge this evening, though. Ah—were any of Team Azrael hurt?"
"Not seriously," Mother Gabriel said. "Lieutenant Degas was hit in the side, Lieutenant Powell in the leg. They are in no danger, and are able to travel, but I think it would be best if Your Excellency permitted them to remain here for three or four days."
"Whatever you think best, Mother Superior. May I see them?"
"There would be no point, Excellency; they are still under anesthetic. I will be glad to tell them you asked for them, however." She smiled, more warmly than Cortin had learned to expect from healer to Inquisitor. "I understand we have Your Excellency to thank for Enforcement's timely intervention and the welfare of our patients."
"And Lieutenant Powell," Cortin said. "He's the one who infiltrated the Brothers and came back with the original information that let me know what questions to ask."
Mother Gabriel frowned briefly at that reminder, then her expression smoothed. "It has become obvious Your Excellency does God's work with His full approval, whatever I may think personally of the means employed. We are grateful for your help, and we would appreciate your blessing."
That was a perfectly understandable attitude from a healer, Cortin thought. Raising her hand, she drew the Triune's symbol in the air. "May all three Aspects of God protect and guide you and the holy Sisters."
"And pray for the Protector's appearance," Odeon said, approaching. "The prisoners are ready for you, Colonel."
"Thank you, Captain. If you'll excuse us, Mother Superior, I'd like Colonel Bradford to accompany us." When Mother Gabriel nodded, she and Bradford followed Odeon toward the holding pen. Her second-in-command had a bloody bandage around his left bicep, but it didn't seem to bother him, and Mother Gabriel hadn't mentioned it, so it was probably no more than a flesh wound—not worth worrying about, so she didn't comment on it. Instead, she asked, "How did Blackfeather react? Did she give you any trouble?"
"Not at all. In fact, if she hadn't called a warning, Chuck would be dead instead of wounded, and she's the one who gave him first aid."
"Oh? Quite a change from her former attitude, isn't it?"
"Considerable," Odeon agreed. "Enough that I told her I'd ask if she could listen while you interviewed the prisoners. She won't interfere, I'm sure of it."
"In that case, all right." Cortin stopped while they were still out of earshot of the prisoners. "Ask her to join us, then go get Tiny; I think the two of you flanking me ought to provide a certain amount of incentive for the Brothers to answer my questions."
Odeon grinned. "Will do—I like that idea."
As he left, Cortin turned to Bradford. "Okay, Brad, what's this about unexpected problems? You and Dave should be able to handle anything that came up in the field as well as I could. Especially with your new truthsense."
"In that respect, yes," Bradford acknowledged. "But he and I think what we've found out is going to take your authority to deal with. I don't want to prejudice you, though, so I'll let you do your own questioning and deciding."
Cortin was both puzzled and intrigued by his statements. Something unusual was definitely going on here, and since she'd be finding out in a few minutes anyway, she decided not to push Bradford on that subject. She didn't see Odeon on the way back yet, so she changed the subject. "How was the inspection trip?"
"Better than we expected," Bradford said. "A lot of Archangel's public buildings survived better than we had any right to expect—not intact, but not needing major repairs, either—so there are facilities available with minimum expense for both Archducal Enforcement and Strike Force HQ. The Governor's Mansion should make you a decent Archducal Palace, and some of the hotels can be modified for Family living."
"What about the people? They must have gotten some idea of what's going to be happening."
"Just speculation, so far, but what I heard was pretty accurate—and popular. I'd say His Majesty knew what he was doing when he picked you a fief."
Cortin grinned. "From everything I've seen, His Majesty usually does. I'm glad to hear it went so well—did Ivan come back with you?"
"Yes—and he's come up with a 'territorial' insignia I'd love to wear."
Cortin would have pursued that, but there was no time; Odeon was returning, with Blackfeather and Pritchett close behind him, and Bain was approaching from the holding pen. She moved forward, signalling Bain to stop. When the group had joined him, now within earshot of the prisoners, she asked, "Have you done any preliminaries, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, ma'am, but with some exceptions Colonel Bradford has probably told you about, nothing very productive. None of the hard-cores want to volunteer anything, and Mother Superior won't hear of an Inquisitor working on a wounded man under her care."
"Of course not." Cortin couldn't blame her for that, though getting immediate information would have been helpful. "All right, bring them over one at a time. It shouldn't take more than two or three questions to separate them—though with you and Colonel Bradford talking about unexpected problems, I could be wrong."
"Not exactly," Bain said. "Best you see for yourself, though; to me, it's at least close to the worst of the Brothers' atrocities."
Cortin frowned, more puzzled than ever. A Brothers' atrocity she hadn't heard about seemed impossible, but Dave believed what he was saying, and Brad was nodding agreement. Well, she'd learn about it in a few minutes, from the ones who'd done it. "All right, have the first one brought over."
Bain turned to face the holding pen and gave the appropriate hand signals, then turned back; moments later, troopers brought the first prisoner out. He looked about 45, his expression frightened, but seeming hopeful as well—not at all a normal reaction, and it puzzled her. She frowned to herself, but decided her curiosity would have to wait. "Were you in charge of this raid?" she asked.
The man shook his head. "No, Lady," he said respectfully. "I wasn't in charge; I'm not even a Brother."
"True. Well, then, do you have any information you think I might find useful?"
The man shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Lady."
Cortin frowned again, this time openly. He was afraid, yes—but his fear seemed to be of the idea she'd think him a Brother or have any information, which was interesting. And worth pursuing, even though she was supposedly here to evaluate prisoners. "Not likely that you have any information, or not likely I'd find it useful?"
"Either, Lady. I'm an honest farmer. Or was, till those bas—uh, Brothers—killed my wife and kidnapped my little girl. They said they'd kill her too, unless … unless I helped them." His shoulders slumped. "They've probably killed her anyway—or worse. But I can't take that chance."
Cortin took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Dave was right, she thought; this was one of the worst of the Brothers' atrocities, and it made her coldly furious. Forcing outsiders to help in horror-raids by threats to their families went beyond her conception—until now—of even the Brothers' depravity. "I believe you," she said, and showed him the back of one hand. "Any Inquisitor who wears this mark knows when someone's telling the truth, and no one who hasn't committed a crime will be punished. You'll be taken to the Detention Center, though, for detailed questioning. Enforcement will use any information you can give us to try to rescue your daughter, so be as thorough as you can; sometimes a tiny detail you think useless can be the key. After that, I'm afraid, you'll be kept in protective custody—" She broke off at his expression. "Protective custody, I said! Think, man—if we turn you loose, the Brothers can still use that threat against you. There's no guarantee what'll happen with you and whoever else is in the same situation in custody, but there's no doubt what'll happen if you're not. And I'll see it's as comfortable for you as it can be. Do you know how many others are in your situation?"
The man shrugged. "Maybe half of this group; I couldn't say how many anywhere else. You will save Catherine?"
"We'll do our best," Cortin promised. "In fact— Colonel Bradford?"
"Yes, Excellency?"
"Can you arrange for a special Enforcement task force devoted to finding these … hostages?"
"As soon as we return to base, Excellency. And may I suggest you offer these men employment in Archangel under Strike Force protection until their families can be rescued, or confirmed dead?"
"Mmm. It would give them something to do and provide income …" She turned to the man. "Would you be interested in that sort of offer?"
"Yes, if it was something I could do—better than sitting around sweating it out."
"Reconstructing and fixing up some prewar buildings," Bradford told him. "Headquarters for His Majesty's Strike Force, and Her Grace's Archducal Palace and Enforcement headquarters."
The man looked from Bradford to Cortin. "I can do that, Lady. Thank you. And I believe you will find Catherine, if she's still alive."
"As I said, we'll do our best." Her job-related questioning over with this man, she thought it reasonable to ask about his odd phrasing. "Now—why do you keep calling me Lady?"
"I can't think of any other good term, Lady."
"Interesting," Cortin said slowly. "I have plenty of titles, yet you pick one of the few I can't claim. Who or what do you think I am?"
"Not think, Lady Protector—I know." The man knelt, bowing his head. "I've just confessed to the Priest-Captain—may I have Your blessing?"
Cortin looked at Odeon, feeling a twinge of dismay. This man honestly believed she was the Protector, not just His Herald—and that was a frightening idea, one she wanted to deny. Odeon was nodding slightly, though, and Jeshua had told her not to deny it if she were called either Herald or Protector—so she blessed the man, then raised him to his feet, disturbed by the expression of open worship on his face. If she couldn't deny being the Protector, she supposed she'd have to learn to live with that attitude—but she didn't think it would be easy.
"One last favor, Lady, if You don't mind?" the man said hesitantly.
"What is it?"
"I'd … like to pay You the proper respects, if I knew how. The right ceremonies, any special devotions … You know."
That was something Cortin could understand and agree with; even if the man was misdirected, piety was important to the Protector's success. And if one Aspect told her not to deny being its object, surely the Triune would take it as it was intended … She turned to Odeon. "Will you and Lieutenant Chang see to that, Captain?"
"With pleasure, Excellency," Odeon said, then turned to the man. "Want a cartridge, until Lieutenant Chang and I can brief you? I usually carry a couple of spares."
"Cartridge? Oh!" The man's initial puzzlement turned to eagerness. "Yes, Captain, please. Does that mean you're Her priest as well as Jeshua's?"
"Lieutenant Chang and I, yes; Her priests'll generally be working in pairs." Odeon dug into a pocket and handed the man one of Joanie's holy-medal equivalents. "This isn't as helpful as the Communion of Promise, of course, and certainly not up to the Sealing, but we'll get those to you too, as soon as we can."
"I appreciate that, Father." The man turned to Cortin, genuflected. "Thank You, Lady."
"My pleasure," Cortin replied—realizing, to her surprise, that it really was. She turned to Bain. "See that he and the rest who turn out to be press-ganged are interviewed, thoroughly but courteously, then interned according to the terms Colonel Bradford and I discussed."
"Of course, Excellency." Bain turned to the man. "Shall we go? Her Excellency has a lot of work to do."
As they left, Cortin signalled for the next prisoner to be brought. This one also turned out to be a conscript, but the next two were actual Brothers, and the one after that looked like Shannon, though his eyes told her he wasn't; he was the leader, despite his attempts to deny it. She had him held separately, to be taken to the Lodge, then continued the evaluation.
She'd lost count of how many she'd questioned, but only a few remained in the holding pen when she realized she'd seen this one before, in far different circumstances. Smiling grimly, she rubbed the backs of her hands as though the Seals on their backs were still scars.
"Colonel?" Odeon said softly.
"He helped put the originals there," Cortin said, just as softly. "I recognize him; I want him to recognize me too, and I look a lot different from the way they left me." The man's face was burned as deeply into her mind as the Brothers' marks had been into her hands; while this one hadn't been the leader, he'd had no hesitation in taking part in the massacre, or in helping to beat, rape, and maim her. She planned to really enjoy this first truly personal part of her revenge, she thought as the guards brought him to a halt facing her. "You know me," she said, making sure he saw the backs of her hands. "You helped inflict the originals of these, among other things; I'm sure you remember."
The Brother's lip curled. "I remember all right, Bitch. Next time you won't get off that easy—the Raidmaster says we're going to have real Inquisitors of our own soon, with His Holiness' blessing—so we can free the Systems of you and your blasphemies!" He grinned at her, not pleasantly. "And dear God, how I'd love to see them playing with you!"
"If you enjoy threatening, go ahead," Cortin said, a little surprised at herself. She'd thought she might be frightened if—or rather when—she came to confront her torturers again; she was pleased to find that this time, at least, that wasn't the case. She was more disturbed by the idea of trained terrorist Inquisitors working with Shayan's backing. At the moment, though— "I doubt you'll be around to know if your threats are realized, much less enjoy the results. Lieutenant Pritchett?"
"Yes, Excellency?"
Odeon's voice interrupted, urgently. "By Your Excellency's leave!"
Cortin glanced at him in surprise. "What is it, Captain?"
"This is one of the Brothers I also have a personal matter to settle with, Excellency. A severe beating of someone I love, in addition to the other things done to her."
So that was his personal reason for joining the Strike Force! It'd taken her long enough to learn it, Cortin thought, since she hadn't thought it a good idea to ask him. "In that case, Captain, yours had best take precedence. Just make sure, please, that he isn't damaged too badly for questioning."
"No worse than second stage," Odeon promised. He'd like to do more, but he wouldn't interfere with either her job or her revenge. "Lieutenant Bain has agreed to monitor, to assure that."
"In that case, he's in your custody; secure him in Suite Bravo when you're finished, and inform me. Lieutenant Pritchett, please provide any assistance Captain Odeon requires."
"With pleasure, Excellency." Pritchett reached out a big hand and pulled the Brother toward him, grinning widely. "Come with me, little man. We've got some real interesting plans for you." He turned to Cortin. "We'll turn him over to guards for the trip to the Lodge, Your Excellency, then be right back."
"Very good, Lieutenant." When they left, Cortin continued the separation, but her primary concern remained her former tormentor and what he'd said about the Brothers soon having real Inquisitors of their own. They'd always had amateur Inquisitors, of course, and occasionally—temporarily—a real one who'd gone rogue. That was something else she'd definitely have to question him about, but just the information she had so far was enough to disturb her deeply. Civil Inquisitors were necessary to investigate, and in many capital cases punish, crime. That was difficult enough, sometimes, even though crime for the most part was objective, not dependent on intent. Sin, on the other hand, was dependent on intent, and the ancient Terran Holy Inquisition had proven that religious Inquisitors were more likely to drive people away from God than bring them to Him.
Which, she thought grimly, would serve Shayan's ends perfectly. She couldn't be certain why he wanted souls, but the fact that he did was beyond question. Any people his Church Inquisitors drove away from God would end up as his subjects in Hell—and if they were effective enough at that, there could be an Infernal population explosion.
Population explosion. Cortin frowned at that thought. If they were accepted, Families could, and hopefully would, provide that sort of increase in the Systems. Which would give Shayan a chance at the larger number, which would explain why there'd been nothing from the Vatican objecting to that part of what she was trying to do. Her theory might be wrong, she acknowledged, but it felt right, and she knew nothing that would contradict it. At least it was some sort of explanation, better that the total lack she'd had before.
Cortin joined her team for the return to Harmony Lodge, riding in a command van for what felt like the first time in years. It took longer than the Fleet helicopter would have, but by the time they got home, she'd been fully briefed on the action, and her opinion of Blackfeather had gone up several notches.
As they entered the outskirts of New Denver, she turned her attention to the reporter. "The convent raid ends the cover on the Strike Force, Sara. Their Majesties agree that news should be broken by a Sealed representative; as the only Sealed member of the press, and the only reporter who was there, you're the logical one to do so. At my request, you'll also be allowed to do the first stories about the existence of Family Cortin and the new Archduchy; no other reporters will be officially briefed until tomorrow morning. That should give you adequate time, I think."
"More than adequate," Blackfeather said. "Since I knew I'd be able to publish soon, those two stories are already written—but I hadn't expected that much of a lead. Thanks!"
"You've earned it. And thank you for saving Chuck's life."
Blackfeather shrugged. "I've changed my opinion of Enforcement, Colonel. Before Mike did what he did for me, I'd probably have enjoyed watching a trooper die, though I can't be sure since it never came up. I'm glad to find out that now I'm not like that." She shook her head, her expression rueful. "It seems my attitude's become exactly the opposite of what it was, in fact. I used to defend the Brothers, you know."
Cortin nodded. "I know, and say the troopers who were hurt or killed fighting them deserved what they got. The only thing I could find in your favor then was that you believed what you were saying."
"I couldn't do that now," Blackfeather said. "It's not just seeing Brothers and troopers in action for the first time, though that did help crystallize my new feelings. Mostly it's seeing the Family being a family, seeing the Special Ops troopers I thought were the worst playing with kids and kittens, and … well, the part I'm not going to be able to write about because no one who hasn't at least been around it could possibly believe it. But being troopers—especially an Inquisitor—gives you a whole new kind of understanding."
"You liked being part of Dave, in particular?"
"Oddly enough, yes." Blackfeather hesitated. "They're all good men, but there's something special about Dave … something I have a hard time describing, even if I am a reporter. A special kind of idealism, maybe … tougher, not that any of them are soft …"
"I know what you mean," Cortin said, glancing around at the rest of the team and getting nods. Unity during sex was most intense between man and woman, but it was there between any Sealed; they'd all felt what Blackfeather was talking about, with her, Bain, or both.
"He reminds me of Larry, in a way," Blackfeather went on, surprising them. "So do you. Because in his own way, he's an idealist too—even though I'm not sure he knows that, or would believe it. An idealist who's turned cynical, soured against just about everything—but I believe there's still a tiny bit of him that wants the same things we do."
Chang gave the reporter an appraising look, then turned to Cortin. "I believe we may have a truly virtuous person among us, Joan. Not merely sinless, but virtuous—willing to believe the best of people, which I find surprising for a reporter."
"I doubt I'll be a reporter much longer," Blackfeather said. "What Sis calls a virtue isn't, in my particular field; once I've filed these three stories, backing Enforcement, the Families, and Colonel Cortin, I fully expect to be fired. So would any of you happen to know of any job openings for an ex-reporter?"
"How about historian?" Odeon asked. "We need one, with a reporter's training, while it's still early enough to get an accurate account of what's happening. The First and Second Testaments were written by groups, edited by others, and translated by still others; after that many opportunities for intentional or accidental change, we might not know what the originals really said." He made a wry face. "Yes, I believe everyone involved was inspired. As investigators, though, we all know humans are fallible—with or without inspiration. But they didn't have modern publishing; given a press run of ten or fifteen thousand, by one writer and in the original language, there'll always be a totally genuine version somewhere."
To Odeon's surprise, Blackfeather snickered. "You've got your historian, Mike—but if you believe a press run as low as ten or fifteen thousand, it's sure clear you're no publisher! On this particular subject, especially with Colonel Cortin involved, go up a couple of orders of magnitude. A million or million and a half copies wouldn't be an unreasonable estimate of sales, even at a price double or triple that of a standard book. A copy she autographed would be worth … well, even my imagination isn't quite that wild!"
"Even better," Odeon said.
"You do know, though, that it'll mean interviews to get everything you remember that has anything to do with Joan—and that the result won't leave you much, if any, privacy. You don't get a major social revolution by hiding the sort of personal behavior you're trying to encourage—even though other people may choose to do so."
"Sis and I figured as much," Odeon said. "We talked it over, between us and with the rest of the team, and it's necessary. There's going to be a lot written about what we're doing, one way or the other, and we're agreed one of them has to be accurate. So you'll get full cooperation."
"Including an Inquisitor's help," Bain said. "Colonel Bradford's the best you'll find at the memory-enhancing techniques we use with cooperative subjects, but I'm no slouch; you may get more information than you can use."
"More than I can include, maybe," Blackfeather said, "but not more than I can use, if only as background." She turned to Cortin. "What about you, Colonel?"
Cortin grimaced and looked pleadingly at Odeon. "Do I have to, Mike?"
"You're my Family head, Archduchess, and Commanding Officer, not to mention the Protector's Herald; I can't say you have to. But I'd recommend it pretty strongly."
Cortin sighed. "Mike, for someone who claims to be a subordinate, you
give the most convincing orders … all right, all right, I'll
cooperate." She turned to Blackfeather. "I will, too. But I don't
promise to like it—and you probably won't like what you hear if you
think you need to go into what I do in my interrogations."
"I'd rather not, but I probably will." Blackfeather made a face. "Being both Larry's mistress and several Enforcement officers has given me a new perspective on that, too. Especially, as I may have mentioned before, being Dave."
Several of the team chuckled. "You did," Bain said, "and it was flattering—but if you want to be two of the best in the business, ask Brad and Ivan. I'm good, or I wouldn't be on Team Azrael; those two are second only to Joan."
"I'll have to ask, then, next time I see them," Blackfeather said.
"That should be tonight," Odeon said. "I invited Brad, and he said he'd pass it on to Ivan; if they possibly can, they'll both be at our home Communion service."
Blackfeather smiled. "Good!" Then she sobered, turning back to Cortin. "I don't like to mention this, Colonel, and I'll like getting involved with it even less, but the history should definitely include your work, too."
Cortin was silent. Blackfeather was right, inarguably so; the Protector whose Herald she was embodied Justice as well as Love, and Justice wasn't always pleasant. It could be, of course, when rewarding virtue, but punishment was usually pleasant only to the punished's victims or their survivors—never to the punished, seldom to observers, and only through God's Mercy was it satisfying to the punishers.
"Very well," she said at last. "You may have access to the films of my interrogations, and observe any you think necessary from now on. But I have to warn you, you won't find any of it enjoyable."
"I don't expect to," Blackfeather said. "My job's gotten me into unpleasant situations before, though, and I can cope. I think I should start with the one you and Mike have personal reasons to work on."
"You know our reasons?"
"I'm sure of yours—it was in the news enough—and I can guess at Mike's, yes."
"As you wish, then," Cortin said. "It's too late to get started tonight, though, and Brad and Ivan should be here any minute. Why not get your stories filed, then we'll take the rest of the night off?"