The Alembic Plot: A Terran Empire novel

4b. Mike Odeon's First Mass

Odeon smiled as he entered the Detention Center chapel's small sacristy to prepare for his First Mass. He'd gone to Mass every day it was physically possible since childhood, made Spiritual Communion otherwise, and he'd thought himself long since resigned to not being the celebrant. That resignation, he realized now, had been only superficial; the anticipation he felt as he took out the stole Bradford had given him made it clear he'd never really given up hope of actually going to the altar.

He studied the stole, glanced from it to the vestments hanging up, and smiled again. He'd like to wear those, but it didn't seem too likely he would; except in very unusual circumstances, Bradford had told him, a Strike Force priest would remain in uniform, his only vestment the stole. Odeon kissed the piece of cloth, then murmured the proper vesting prayer as he put it around his neck.

The congregation and a server were waiting when he entered the main part of the chapel, so he contented himself with a brief introduction to the latter before turning to the altar. Since he hadn't had any formal liturgical training, he was a bit apprehensive about how well he'd be able to perform the ceremony, but his apprehension vanished as soon as he blessed himself for the opening prayers. He was filled with a sense of rightness and certainty, feeling himself absorbed in an awesome Presence that would give him flawless guidance. He gave a silent prayer of thanks, then lost himself in the glorious joy he'd always imagined saying Mass would be. Joy became exaltation at the Consecration, lasting until he finished giving Communion, then returning to the lesser joy until he finished the final prayers.

When he returned to the sacristy and removed his stole, it was with another prayer of thanks. That sort of direct guidance wasn't normal, he knew, and he had no idea why an undistinguished Enforcement Service officer would be granted such an exceptional—and marvelous!—grace, but he certainly wasn't going to reject it. He also wasn't going to bring the subject up, he decided. He wouldn't lie about it, of course, if anyone noticed and asked, but he didn't care to make any claims that might get him investigated by Church authorities. It wasn't that he had anything to hide; he'd committed few sins beyond the chronic mild profanity he couldn't seem to break himself of, despite his intentions—and he'd confessed those and gotten absolution, especially before saying Mass. He was definitely no saint, though, and with Cardinal McHenry in charge of investigating miracle claims, he'd just as soon avoid even a suspicion of claiming anything unusual.

16a. Shayan

Shannon's stomach churned in sick disgust, and he found it hard to keep from vomiting. He'd known that she'd be given a dozen helpers roughly equivalent to his doubles, so he hadn't been surprised when she, as acting Protector, was helped to set her seal on the first two, or when they passed it along to others. He hadn't even needed to eavesdrop; that was such a potent use of power it was impossible for anyone with the slightest degree of sensitivity to miss.

So, unfortunately, was the revolting spectacle going on in Harmony Lodge. It was positively obscene! He'd done humanity a favor, letting it couple without real involvement being necessary; why couldn't the Adversary have left it at that until after the decision point?

It did have one advantage, he conceded grudgingly, an advantage he was astonished the Adversary would yield—though since this wasn't truly a conflict, perhaps the advantage was also illusory. When they were broadcasting those repulsive emotions to each other and at him, they were also broadcasting information—especially in the throes of unity. For the first time since he'd decided it was no longer safe to eavesdrop, he knew Cortin's thoughts and intentions—and knew them more thoroughly than if he'd managed to plant a spy in her private office.

Shannon sighed in relief as the broadcast stopped. He'd have to find some way to screen those emotions, without losing the information carried with them. Damn the weaknesses of human bodies! In one of his own forms, or able to use his powers, he wouldn't be affected so severely—if he were affected at all. The obvious way to avoid the worst of her excesses was to have sex himself, properly isolated from his partner's feelings; was there anyone here who could serve the purpose?

Too bad he'd had to leave Victor on St. Michael, but his aide was needed to deal with the Brothers there while he set up the Dmitrian operation that, if the crucial decision was made incorrectly, would trigger a Systems-wide conflict.

And Sara was too valuable to get involved in the conflict, even so marginally. Drugs, then—they were no more acceptable for his image, but they didn't require a partner, and he should have no trouble getting some from the pharmacy unobserved.

Damn, she was starting again! Degas this time, with Illyanov at her other breast eager for a chance at her—information or not, if she was going to keep this up, he had to find shielding! Worse, there was another couple starting at it, broadcasting less strongly but no less sickeningly—that unspeakable Piety and a big black she thought of as Tiny. Cursing in an effort to keep his mind clear, he hurriedly left his office to get the drugs he needed.

20a. Decision

Monday, 16 March 2572

Shannon had sent Blackfeather home to get ready for her trip, and was distracting himself from her loss by studying. He hadn't wasted his time in Odeon's mind; besides teaching the priest how to remove the compulsions he'd put Sara under—and, more pleasantly, just how much agony a human could be subjected to with the proper support—he had extracted considerable information.

Most of it was useless, though some was mildly interesting; it was Cortin's fears that intrigued him. She was primarily afraid of the confrontation—decision point, actually, which concerned him as well, though for different reasons—but there was fear for her people, for the Church, and of what he would do about the Families.

Shayan sighed, feeling all too human in his frustration. He had enjoyed Odeon's pain, no question about that, but the tempering did mean the confrontation both he and Cortin dreaded was less than half a year away.

Which meant he had his own choice to make, right now. Just how badly did he want to live?

There was no guarantee he would, of course, even if Odeon made the correct choice; there was no guarantee any life at all in this universe would survive the invasion that was to come. It had been easy enough, four centuries ago, to promise cooperation—but he'd had private reservations, cooperating on the surface while continuing to pursue his own goals and pleasures.

Now, though, with the decision point so close and the invasion to follow shortly afterward, that no longer seemed adequate. To improve his odds, he'd have to go further. As much as the idea galled him, he'd have to put aside his own agenda until things returned to normal after the invasion—if they did—and cooperate to the best of his ability.

That would be tremendously difficult. Even his grudged cooperation hadn't been easy … He took a deep breath, sighed again. Life was more important than the pride that had been his downfall; he'd do what was necessary to preserve that life now, and worry about pride later. If Odeon made the correct decision and the invasion resulted in war rather than simple massacre, faith and worship would be far more important weapons than ships and disruptors; he'd have to begin actively promoting both, even though he didn't share either.

He took time to grimace at that repulsive thought, then he settled down to work with the information he'd gotten from Odeon. What should his—and the Church's—official position be? Positions, rather, with this Communion of Promise Cortin had instituted at Odeon's urging. That, unlike the Sealing he couldn't officially know about, was both public and taking place in church, though not—quite—as part of the Mass.

He would be expected to condemn both that and the Families, as Cortin anticipated—but should he? It was a delicate question, since his first priority had to be doing what little more he could to prepare Odeon for his critical choice, working through and around Cortin while awaiting the Protector-to-be's arrival. Then came the propagation of faith and worship.

He smiled slowly. He might be able to derive some amusement, if not pleasure, from this full cooperation after all, if he did it properly. He'd never been accused of moderation, for excellent reason, and saw no reason to change that particular aspect of himself.

Back Cortin and her team—now become a Family—to the hilt, then. That would serve both his modified purposes, with the side benefit of confusing the Sealed ones, who knew his identity, no end. Since the only thing he could know about by normal means right now was the Communion of Promise, and he wanted to make the greatest impact he could on the Sealed ones, he'd simply announce he was studying the prophecies and would issue a decision later; conditionally, he'd allow them to continue.

As for the Families and Strike Force, he could undoubtedly trust Sara to publicize them as soon as she was permitted to, probably after the convent raid. That would be good timing, since the raid's aftermath would provide Odeon and, incidentally, Cortin, the last of his pre-decision lessons. He'd contact them after Sara's stories were published, invite the Protector's Herald and acting Protector to concelebrate Mass—though since he was now helping her, perhaps he shouldn't mention the Protector role. Nor would he have to be concerned about her powers any longer, since her truthsense would assure her he was no longer—for now, at any rate—a threat.

And what about the Brotherhood? It had served him well, his doubles and Victor in particular, increasing the population of his realm quite nicely. That, however, was no longer his objective—worked against the faith-and-worship weapon system, in fact. He'd have to order it disbanded, urge the members to repent their sins and return to the Church and sacraments. They'd still have to pay the worldly penalty for their crimes, but as long as they ended up in Purgatory rather than Hell, they could still contribute. Again, not until after the convent raid, and he'd have to work through one of his doubles.

Unfortunately, he'd also have to change his plans for the Imperials once that crucial contact was made. It would have been pleasant to torment them, make them special targets—but that would be counterproductive.

Ah, well, life over pride, he reminded himself. And he'd wasted enough time; he had an audience to conduct, then he should see what he could do about special devotions that large numbers of people would find attractive.

23a. Waiting

Thursday, 26 March 2572 (Morning, New Rome)

Shayan smiled as he read the New Roman Times while eating breakfast. Sara had done excellently; these stories gave him all the details he needed to take action. The Strike Forces, the Sealing, Cortin the Herald and acting Protector being hailed as Protector despite her own disbelief in the role, a liturgist working on services to her—she undoubtedly hated that—yes, there was plenty revealed openly now for him to take action on. Not just yet, though; his announcements would have more impact if he made them with the Herald's knowledge and approval, perhaps even in her presence.

It was too early, in New Denver, for her to even be awake, and Odeon had to learn one thing yet today, so he shouldn't make contact until they were done for the day. Since he'd decided on full cooperation, he no longer needed to fear waking her powers prematurely; that would take her perceiving a threat, and he no longer provided even a minimal one. So he would be able to observe, then phone her when she had her prisoner settled for the night.

Or should he mind-call her, thus giving her the limited telepathy three in her Family already had? Since it would also let him sense her feelings at his unexpected support, that was an attractive thought. He had a couple of hours yet before she woke, then several more until she called it a day, and he had work of his own to do; he'd decide what method to use when the time came.

27a. At Harmony Lodge

The next three weeks went by both too quickly and too slowly for Cortin's taste. It took the Imperials only a couple of days to find a plague vaccine, but they were unable to find a cure; according to their medical people, it caused permanent physical changes. That was fine with Cortin. She'd put a lot of time and effort working for the social changes the plague had made necessary; she had no particular desire to have that work wasted, and she wanted even less for her Family and herself to go back to their pre-plague selves.

To Cortin's amusement, when Conley was introduced to the rest of the Family she developed an almost instant crush on Tony Degas, the most classically handsome of the Family men. That, since Degas enjoyed the attention, kept them both busy while Cortin was working, and often afterward.

There were only two untoward incidents during the three weeks before Medart's arrival. The first was the arrival of a prisoner for execution, which wasn't at all unusual in itself—but the interrogation report she got with him didn't feel right, and the prisoner had been muted, which, with the other, could mean someone didn't want her questioning him. She didn't normally do that with execution subjects—they'd been questioned and sentenced before coming to her—but she decided to delay executing this one until Medart arrived. Mike said the Empire had something called a mind-probe, and thought it likely a battle cruiser would have one, unlike a scout; with that, she should be able to question the prisoner and get responsive answers.

The other was an attack on half a dozen Imperials and two Strike Force troopers on the way back from town, by twice that many Brothers of Freedom. There were casualties on both sides, but to Cortin's unconcealed delight, no fatalities on either. She left interrogation of all but the leader to the Detention Center's staff of Inquisitors, since they were unlikely to be either knowledgeable or particularly difficult to break. Even the leader wasn't too promising, given the Brotherhood's secretiveness, but Cortin took him anyway; these Imperials were her responsibility, and she wanted to personally punish the one in charge of harming them.

And she did get some useful information from him. The Brotherhood's still-anonymous new leader was no fonder of the Empire than she was, but instead of bowing to the inevitable and making the best of it, he vowed to destroy all he could. Killing Imperials was to take priority even over killing Strike Force members, including Cortin the Bitch herself. When Cortin passed that information along and it reached the public, the general attitude toward the Imperials became more favorable; for most people, anything the Brotherhood wanted to destroy must have its good points.

30a. Torture (Cortin's point of view)

Cortin was conducting the first part of her preliminary examination when Odeon interrupted. "Someone in the observation room, Excellency."

She turned that way. "Colonel Bradford?"

"Yes," Bradford replied over the intercom, "with Ranger Medart and Lt. DarElwyn."

"If you'd care to, you're welcome to join me in here." Normally, she wouldn't permit anyone except Mike or another Inquisitor to be in the same room while she was working, but these were unusual guests. And there was something particularly appealing about the Sandeman …

"The interview went all right?" she asked, as soon as the three entered.

"Quite well," Bradford replied. "I'll get the operation moving as soon as I get back to my office."

"Good—thanks, both of you." Cortin turned back to her prisoner, still addressing the observers—primarily, for some reason she didn't understand, Keith. "This one's nothing special, except in the number of his crimes and the fact that he wanted witnesses until he got to the last victim in each series. It was the rapes that were his particular thrill; the murders were enjoyable, but more of a side effect. So I'll be concentrating on the punishment for rape."

She continued with the preliminaries, both enjoying herself and trying to evaluate the Sandeman as well as she could when her primary attention had to be elsewhere. He, unlike Odeon and Medart, seemed to have a true appreciation of her intent, which she wouldn't have expected—but which she found highly gratifying. It was several hours before she was satisfied with the prisoner's general condition: his entire body except the genital region so bruised or abraded that even a light touch brough curses.

She stepped back to survey him, then smiled at her audience. "That takes care of the preliminaries; now we can get to the real punishment." She went to a cabinet, removed a vial and syringe.

"This is eroticine," she said, forcing the liquid in the vial down her prisoner's throat. "In small doses, it's a male aphrodisiac. In larger ones, like this, it forces an erection and increases semen production by several hundred percent. He has no way to stimulate orgasm, so that is forced out by simple hydraulic pressure—quite uncomfortable, I've been assured. This dose is oral, so he'll be that way for about twelve hours." She picked up a syringe, cleared it of air. "And this is algetin, a pain-enhancer that's most effective on swollen tissue such as an erection. It's a combination I think particularly appropriate for a rapist."

"An intriguing combination," Keith said. Moments later, when the prisoner's erection firmed and grew moist, she saw curiosity. "Is that wetness normal, or is it a drug effect?" he asked.

"Neither, Lieutenant; it's a side effect of the satyr plague."

"I see." Keith paused, cocking his head. "You said he can't bring himself to climax, Excellency, and this does seem effective—but what would happen if he did? Would it be a temporary relief, or would the algetin make it as much an agony as it usually is a pleasure?"

Cortin stared at him in astonishment. That was the sort of question she'd expect from an Inquisitor-Trainee, not an Imperial Marine! After several seconds, she said thoughtfully, "We're cautioned against it in training, since it's presumed orgasm would bring relief; if anyone had experimented and found otherwise, it should've been reported in the professional literature. Since I've never read about such an experiment, I doubt it's ever been tried—but now that you suggest it, the idea seems plausible. If you'd like to try, Lieutenant, be my guest."

"No," Medart said firmly. "He can observe, since this is within your law; taking part would go against a number of the laws that govern the Imperial military." He turned to the Sandeman. "What's wrong, Lieutenant? You're not acting like any warrior I've ever met—including yourself, a couple of days ago."

"I feel fine, sir—I'm just not embarrassed by his display, the way I'd have expected, and I … admire Colonel Cortin's work, which I wouldn't have expected at all."

"Just how strong is this admiration, Lieutenant?"

Keith looked from Ranger to Inquisitor and back, his expression answering Medart's question before he spoke. "Strongly enough that if I thought there was any chance of acceptance, I would offer her my fealty."

Cortin looked at him thoughtfully, then smiled. "If that means what I believe it does, Lieutenant, you'd be in no danger of refusal."

Keith returned the smile, then acted on her promise and knelt. "Colonel Joan Cortin, I wish you as my chosen lady, if that should be your will. I offer all that is in me to give: body and mind, will and honor, whatever courage is mine. And death itself may not deny the service I offer, in whatever afterlife is to come."

Cortin had no idea of the words a Sandeman would use in such a position, but she doubted if Keith would care. She extended her hands, smiling again. "I accept your service and yourself with thanks, warrior."

Keith took her hands and rose, then bowed to her. "You do me great honor, Thakur."

"The honor is mine," Cortin replied. "Are there any formalities that need to be taken care of?"

"I'll handle those when we finish here," Medart said. "His release from service, back pay and allowances—but it'll be up to you to notify his clan and make arrangements for his tattoo."

"When we're done here, as you say." Cortin turned to her new sworn man. "To give you a status recognized here, I'm commissioning you a Royal Enforcement Service officer. Now, would you like to test your theory?"

"Very much, Thakur." Keith paused, then continued apologetically. "I'm afraid I don't know how, though. One of our strongest customs forbids any same-sex physical intimacy. Since it seems yours doesn't, that no longer applies to me, of course—but the fact remains that I have no such experience."

Cortin chuckled. "That can be remedied easily enough, if you decide you want to, but for your present purposes you don't need experience. All you have to do is take hold of him, snugly enough to provide a friction surface but not tight. The eroticine will make him take care of the rest."

"That sounds simple enough." Keith reached for the prisoner.

Cortin watched critically as her new sworn man began his experiment. It went against conventional theory—but then one of her more spectacular successes had come from the use of a hallucinogen, a procedure theory said was useless.

Hmm, that was interesting … Keith had told her, truthfully, that he had no sexual experience with men, but he was starting manipulation as effective as she'd ever seen. That surprised her almost as much as the fact that he had time to—with such a strong dose of eroticine, she'd have expected the prisoner to erupt within seconds.

She wasn't quite sure what he'd meant by saying his people's strongest custom no longer applied to him—his oath, it had to be—but if he could get the idea this quickly, and implement it, she was willing to bet he'd enjoy the other parts of homosex. It would be almost as nice seeing him enjoying himself with Mike or one of the others as it would be enjoying him herself— She told herself firmly to stop daydreaming. She had no idea if his oath covered sex with his chosen lady—she suspected it could if she wanted it to—but either way she was supposed to be evaluating a new technique, not thinking about who to take to bed.

Wait a minute—that was a smile on the Sandeman's face as the prisoner's show of pain increased! Keith was actually enjoying his first attempt at third stage, something so rare she knew of only three others beside herself who'd done so. Mike had been ill at first just watching her work, had taken a week to get where he could help at all, worked as her assistant only because she needed him. Keith could free him of that unpleasantness. Get the Sandeman some training to go with his talent, and he'd be awesome … Very good, he was able to keep stimulating the prisoner as movements grew frantic, gasps and cries turning to screams of agony as semen spurted—dear God, what an Inquisitor Keith would make!

Keith turned to his chosen lady. "Was that satisfactory, Thakur?"

"Most satisfactory," Cortin said with unconcealed admiration. "You've just given me—all Inquisitors, once I get it published—what promises to become an extremely useful standard technique, especially with rapists. I'll see you're given full credit, of course." She smiled at Keith. "You've also changed my plans for him. That degree of pain, administered repeatedly, can be lethal—and I can't think of a more fitting end for a rapist. We'll let him drip overnight, then give him a fresh dose and see how many times he can take what he forced on others. What do you think?"

Keith looked flattered that she asked his opinion, but … "I don't share your expertise, Thakur, so my opinion may not be valid. Still, it sounds appropriate to me."

"So be it, then." Cortin smiled at him, approvingly. "Would you like to help? You seemed to enjoy yourself as much as an Inquisitor would, and Mike doesn't have that particular quirk; he helps because he loves me, not because he likes the work."

Keith hesitated briefly before answering. "It surprises me, Thakur, that I did enjoy it. But I would not displace Captain Odeon from something that brings you two close."

Cortin looked at her second in command. "What do you think, Mike?"

"If he wants it, he's got it," Odeon replied promptly. Turning to the Sandeman, he went on. "As she says, I don't have the mental quirk that lets me like hurting people; I'd be glad to get out of the job."

"It seems I do," Keith said. "At least since she wants this one to hurt, I took a great deal of pleasure in causing him as much pain as I could."

"It's all yours, then," Odeon said promptly. "With my thanks, by the way—which I'll demonstrate later, if you want."

"In the meantime," Cortin said, "I'm hungry. Let's go up to supper."

30b. Torture (Medart's point of view)

The scene through the observation room window wasn't as bad as Medart had expected. Or not as bad yet, he cautioned himself; it appeared that Cortin was still conducting her preliminary examination.

What she'd called the third-stage room resembled, more than anything else Medart could think of, a twentieth-century operating room, with cabinets of supplies and equipment, monitoring machinery, even a surgical table. But operating rooms didn't have chains hanging from the ceiling, and patients weren't held spreadeagled, naked, between those and eyebolts in the floor.

A couple of minutes after they entered, Odeon glanced toward the observation room, raised a hand in acknowledgement, and said something to Cortin. She turned toward them. "Colonel Bradford?"

"Yes," Bradford said, "with Ranger Medart and Lt. DarElwyn."

"If you'd care to, you're welcome to join me in here."

"Thank you, Excellency." Bradford switched off the intercom and turned to the others, looking surprised. "That's a first; she doesn't normally allow anyone in there except Captain Odeon or other Inquisitors. The disadvantage is that you can't avoid her prisoner's screams by shutting off the intercom."

"Even so," Medart said thoughtfully, "if an invitation's that rare, we ought to accept."

The three entered the larger room, which smelled of antiseptic—rather to Medart's bemusement. Why should Cortin care about infection in people she was torturing to death? He kept that question to himself, though.

"The interview went all right?" Cortin asked.

"Quite well," Bradford replied. "I'll get the operation moving as soon as I get back to my office."

"Good—thanks, both of you." Cortin turned back to her prisoner, still addressing the observers. "This one's nothing special, except in the number of his crimes and the fact that he wanted witnesses until he got to the last victim in each series. It was the rapes that were his particular thrill; the murders were enjoyable, but more of a side effect. So I'll be concentrating on the punishment for rape."

Medart tried not to pay too close attention to what she went on to do, sometimes with Odeon's assistance. He had to learn about this culture's less pleasant aspects as well as its more enjoyable ones, and he definitely had to learn all he could about Cortin herself; that didn't mean he had to like, or even approve of, what he found out.

This was one of those things. Medart couldn't reasonably argue against the criminal's execution; most societies, the Empire included, had death penalties for some crimes, and Medart himself had ordered or carried out a few. Those, though, had been quick; Imperial justice didn't demand vengeance.

Kingdoms justice did, and by the time Bradford left a few minutes later, Medart had no doubt Cortin enjoyed exacting that vengeance. Before he had to raise his mind-shield to protect himself from the criminal's pain, Medart got the feelings both she and Odeon were broadcasting. Odeon didn't like the work; he helped only because he loved Cortin, and there were things her own torture and maiming by the Brothers had left her physically unable to do, until Jeshua, and later Shayan, had healed those injuries. Medart caught a strong visualization of a seriously injured Cortin before Odeon forced his thoughts away from that subject.

After that image, Medart was surprised to find no trace of personal revenge in Cortin's broadcast. She was determined to exact vengeance, yes, but as she'd said, on behalf of the criminal's victims and their families. She got considerable pleasure out of it, but again it wasn't the type Medart would have expected. There was no sadism involved; what he felt from her was, in a sense, worse. Her emotions in causing the most prolonged and agonizing death possible were intellectual—the pride in skill and workmanship of any professional doing a challenging job to the best of @'s ability. As for the healing—Medart frowned to himself at that. Odeon seemed like the practical sort, yet he was firmly convinced that God and the Devil had cured Cortin. He'd have to get one of them past that reluctance to talk about religion, and given their differing attitudes, Odeon would be the one to work with. Later.

Keith, unlike Odeon and Medart, seemed to have a true appreciation of Cortin's intent and ability. Not, Medart told himself, that that was really unexpected; Sandemans considered it perfectly honorable to torture a captured enemy for information, and certain offenses against honor or custom demanded the offender's lingering death. But they were more direct about it; a beating was the usual method.

That, bloody as it was, seemed somehow cleaner than Cortin's cool, meticulous precision. It was several hours before she was satisfied with the prisoner's general condition: his entire body except the genital region so bruised or abraded that even a light touch brough curses.

She stepped back to survey him, then smiled at her audience. "That takes care of the preliminaries; now we can get to the real punishment." She went to a cabinet, removed a vial and syringe.

"This is eroticine," she said, forcing the liquid in the vial down her prisoner's throat. "In small doses, it's a male aphrodisiac. In larger ones, like this, it forces an erection and increases semen production by several hundred percent. He has no way to stimulate orgasm, so that is forced out by simple hydraulic pressure—quite uncomfortable, I've been assured. This dose is oral, so he'll be that way for about twelve hours." She picked up a syringe, cleared it of air. "And this is algetin, a pain-enhancer that's most effective on swollen tissue such as an erection. It's a combination I think particularly appropriate for a rapist."

Medart didn't agree that an aphrodisiac combined with a pain-enhancer was necessarily appropriate for anyone, but it was clear the Sandeman did approve.

"An intriguing combination," Keith said. Moments later, when the man's erection firmed and grew moist, he looked curious. "Is that wetness normal, or is it a drug effect?"

The question was so out of character for a Sandeman that Medart was shocked, but Cortin seemed to take it as a matter of course. "Neither, Lieutenant; it's a side effect of the satyr plague."

"I see." Keith paused, cocking his head. "You said he can't bring himself to climax, Excellency, and this does seem effective—but what would happen if he did? Would it be a temporary relief, or would the algetin make it as much an agony as it usually is a pleasure?"

Medart and Cortin both stared at him in astonishment, for different reasons. After several seconds, Cortin said thoughtfully, "We're cautioned against it in training, since it's presumed orgasm would bring relief; if anyone had experimented and found otherwise, it should've been reported in the professional literature. Since I've never read about such an experiment, I doubt it's ever been tried—but now that you suggest it, the idea seems plausible. If you'd like to try, Lieutenant, be my guest."

"No," Medart said firmly. "He can observe, since this is within your law; taking part would go against a number of the laws that govern the Imperial military." He turned to the Sandeman. "What's wrong, Lieutenant? You're not acting like any warrior I've ever met—including yourself, a couple of days ago."

"I feel fine, sir—I'm just not embarrassed by his display, the way I'd have expected, and I … admire Colonel Cortin's work, which I wouldn't have expected at all."

Neither would Medart, because of both his heritage and the Academy psych testing that weeded out people with such inclinations. That meant Cortin's peculiar Talent was going beyond influencing Keith to love her, it was giving him some of her personality quirks. The first was probably due to his lack of mind-shield; the second, since her Talent hadn't affected Odeon to anywhere near the same degree, was probably due to the Sandeman tendency to extremes. Medart hid a sigh. "Just how strong is this admiration, Lieutenant?"

Keith looked from Ranger to Inquisitor and back, his expression answering Medart's question before he spoke. "Strongly enough that if I thought there was any chance of acceptance, I would offer her my fealty."

Cortin looked at him thoughtfully, then smiled. "If that means what I believe it does, Lieutenant, you'd be in no danger of refusal."

Keith returned the smile, then acted on her promise and knelt. "Colonel Joan Cortin, I wish you as my chosen lady, if that should be your will. I offer all that is in me to give: body and mind, will and honor, whatever courage is mine. And death itself may not deny the service I offer, in whatever afterlife is to come."

Cortin extended her hands, smiling again. "I accept your service and yourself with thanks, warrior."

Keith took her hands and rose, then bowed to her. "You do me great honor, Thakur."

"The honor is mine," Cortin replied. "Are there any formalities that need to be taken care of?"

"I'll handle those when we finish here," Medart said. "His release from service, back pay and allowances—but it'll be up to you to notify his clan and make arrangements for his tattoo."

"When we're done here, as you say." Cortin turned to her new sworn man. "To give you a status recognized here, I'm commissioning you a Royal Enforcement Service officer. Now, would you like to test your theory?"

"Very much, Thakur." Keith paused, then continued apologetically. "I'm afraid I don't know how, though. One of our strongest customs forbids any same-sex physical intimacy. Since it seems yours doesn't, that no longer applies to me, of course—but the fact remains that I have no such experience."

Cortin chuckled. "That can be remedied easily enough, if you decide you want to, but for your present purposes you don't need experience. All you have to do is take hold of him, snugly enough to provide a friction surface but not tight. The eroticine will make him take care of the rest."

"That sounds simple enough." Keith reached for the prisoner.

Medart frowned as the Sandeman carried out his torture. It was hard to believe anyone, particularly a Sandeman, could change so drastically in such a short time. His mindprobe of Gaelan DarShona, thirty years ago, had given him the experience of briefly being a Sandeman warrior, so he felt, as well as knew intellectually, how deeply unacceptable Keith would have found his present actions before he came under the influence of Cortin's Talent. Seeing a man stripped as part of punishment was no problem, that was normal Sandeman procedure for particularly serious violations. But handling another man's genitals was enough to earn death in disgrace if you lived that long—unlikely, since it was far more likely to get you killed on the spot. And while warriors enjoyed fighting, would torture for information, and a chief would inflict slow death for serious violations of custom, they didn't get any real pleasure from doing it. Nor would Keith have, earlier—but it was clear he enjoyed what he was doing, now.

The Sandeman's smile grew as the prisoner's moves became faster, more urgent—and he climaxed in a prolonged series of spasms, screaming in agony.

Keith turned to his chosen lady. "Was that satisfactory, Thakur?"

"Most satisfactory," Cortin said with unconcealed admiration. "You've just given me—all Inquisitors, once I get it published—what promises to become an extremely useful standard technique, especially with rapists. I'll see you're given full credit, of course." She smiled at Keith. "You've also changed my plans for him. That degree of pain, administered repeatedly, can be lethal—and I can't think of a more fitting end for a rapist. We'll let him drip overnight, then give him a fresh dose and see how many times he can take what he forced on others. What do you think?"

"I don't share your expertise, Thakur, so my opinion may not be valid. Still, it sounds appropriate to me."

"So be it, then." Cortin smiled at him, approvingly. "Would you like to help? You seemed to enjoy yourself as much as an Inquisitor would, and Mike doesn't have that particular quirk; he helps because he loves me, not because he likes the work."

Keith hesitated briefly before answering. "It surprises me, Thakur, that I did enjoy it. But I would not displace Captain Odeon from something that brings you two close."

Cortin looked at her second in command. "What do you think, Mike?"

"If he wants it, he's got it," Odeon replied promptly. Turning to the Sandeman, he went on. "As she says, I don't have the mental quirk that lets me like hurting people; I'd be glad to get out of the job."

"It seems I do," Keith said. "At least since she wants this one to hurt, I took a great deal of pleasure in causing him as much pain as I could."

"It's all yours, then," Odeon said promptly. "With my thanks, by the way—which I'll demonstrate later, if you want."

"In the meantime," Cortin said, "I'm hungry. Let's go up to supper."