The Alembic Plot Part 4

"Dalmaine's Practical Interrogation Techniques, Gray's Anatomy, and Wu's An Inquisitor's Manual of Pharmacology. Major Illyanov sends his regards, and asked me to tell you that his evenings are free if you think some tutoring would help."

"I'll take him up on that, gladly." Anything to help keep her mind off her pain and loss . . . "Though I'm surprised to find him so willing to help."

"I think he's pleased that you're interested in his specialty," Odeon said. There were no prohibitions against a woman becoming an Inquisitor, any more than there were against them entering whatever other field they chose--but the fact remained that very few women chose Enforcement, and to the best of his knowledge there had never been a female Inquisitor. "Want me to ask him to come over tonight?"

"Yes, please."

Cortin had started reading as soon as Mike left, not long after lunch, and halfway through the first chapter of Dalmaine's book, she was totally absorbed. He gave a brief overview of the basic first-stage techniques taught at the Academy, then continued with the psychology of willing witnesses and how to help them remember pertinent facts.

Cortin recognized several of the so-called lieutenant's techniques, nodding as increasing knowledge let her appreciate his skill more fully. The next chapter started to deal with reluctant cases, and within ten pages Cortin had the other two books open and was referring back and forth. Supper came; she ate it mechanically, with no idea when she was finished of what she'd eaten, as she kept studying.

She jumped when a hand covered her page. "What--!"

"I apologize for interrupting such intense study, Captain Cortin, but I have been trying to attract your attention for several minutes." The tall, attractive man in Enforcement gray, with St. Dmitri collar insignia and major's leaf, bowed. "Major Ivan Petrovich Illyanov.

Your instructor--and delighted to have such an attentive student. How far have you gotten?"

When Cortin told him, he smiled. "Excellent progress. Now we see how well you have absorbed what you have read." He began questioning her--without any of the memory-enhancing techniques, Cortin noted--nodding or frowning occasionally at her responses. He made her work, and she did so enthusiastically, disappointed when he finally called a halt.

"You cannot learn a year's course material in one night," he said drily. "Though at this rate you may well do so in a month. The cla.s.sroom material, at any rate." He touched a bandaged hand. "May I see?"

"Of course. Uh . . ."

"'Uh' what?" Illyanov asked, gently unwrapping the bandage.

"Mike--Captain Odeon--told you why I want to learn this?"

"He did indeed." Illyanov paused, smiled at her. "I doubt there is an officer in any Enforcement service on this world of ours, perhaps anywhere in the entire Systems, who does not know of Captain Joan Cortin and her ordeal. It should please you to learn that anti-Brotherhood operations are currently overwhelmed with volunteers sworn to avenge you. Although that has driven the Brotherhood to ground, so I fear I must tell you we are having no more real success than before."

"I am pleased--and flattered," Cortin said. "It never occurred to me that there'd be that much of a reaction."

"But you are also pleased there will be some left to hunt when you recover." Illyanov finished undoing the bandage, nodded approvingly at the burn. "A good move, keeping these. You did it on instinct?"

"Yes. They're obscene, disgusting--a worse violation than the rape, by far--but it didn't seem right getting rid of them. Though I probably will, eventually."

"You will not show them at all times, then?"

"No--I plan to wear gloves except when I'm on a hunt."

"Remove them also during an interrogation, I would suggest." Illyanov smiled, replacing the bandage. "You have not yet reached that point in your studies, so you cannot be expected to know the psychological impact, but such touches can appreciably increase your odds of success.

Terror is often more persuasive than pain."

"I will, then. Thank you." But she'd still use the pain . . .

"The pleasure is mine." He stood, bowed again. "Until tomorrow, then?"

To see more of Shannon: 2a. Musing

3. Center

Late July 2571

As Cortin recovered and the pain in her body eased to what Egan a.s.sured her was the best she could expect without further surgery, the burns on her hands took top priority, as she'd expected, on her list of personal grievances against the Brothers. Any trooper they--or most terrorist groups, for that matter--captured, was certain to be brutally beaten, and usually raped. Coming out alive was the best one could hope for, and she'd managed that. The experience would leave psychological as well as physical scars, she was certain, but like all officers and any enlisted personnel who wanted it, she'd gone through extensive training and conditioning of both types in case she were subjected to terrorist captivity and mistreatment, and she was confident the experience wouldn't have any lasting effect on her. Except, probably, the desire for revenge; that, she had no doubt, would last until she'd personally done justice on her attackers. Especially Brother Lawrence Shannon.

She knew, from helping other victims, that rape normally demolished a woman's desire for s.e.x, sometimes permanently. In her case it hadn't; she wanted Mike as much as ever, and would have been glad to enjoy Major Illyanov, given the chance. It was a bitter irony that her training had left her with the desire, while the attack had robbed her of all capability. And it still seemed so pointless, when they'd been in the process of killing her!

Still, terrorists weren't known for reasonable behavior, or they wouldn't be terrorists. She'd simply have to live with the fact, she told herself grimly, of having the desire and not being able to do anything about it.

Bad as that was, though, it wasn't the worst. Nothing had prepared her for the Brothers burning their h.e.l.l-marks into her flesh; that was a totally unexpected violation! She wasn't being reasonable in keeping them, and she knew it; the reasonable thing would have been--was!--to have them covered with grafts. Much as they revolted her, though, the idea of having them removed still felt wrong. And Major Illyanov did think they'd be useful--so she'd settle for gloves.

As soon as she was free of the medical plumbing, she started exercising. The first day, she confined herself to her room, when no one else was there, to spare herself the embarra.s.sment of being seen unfit in public--but the room was too small for decent exercise, and she was in a hurry to get back to duty and the practical side of her training.

The next morning, too impatient to wait for visiting hours and Mike's help, she found a hospital robe in the closet. It was too big, but it didn't drag the ground and sleeves could be rolled up, so she put it on. That gave her her first honest laugh since the attack when she looked at herself in the mirror, but the robe did cover the hospital gown's open back, so she felt decently enough dressed to go out into the corridor.

When she opened the door, she was astonished to find a pair of troopers, obviously on guard. One of them, a sergeant she remembered meeting briefly several years ago, looked startled to see her.

"Captain Cortin! Is anything wrong, ma'am?"

"Nothing but a strong desire to recover enough to get out of here," she said, smiling at his grimace of agreement. "A mere captain doesn't rate an honor guard, and I haven't done anything to be arrested for, so how come you two're standing post?"

The sergeant--his name was Kennard, she remembered--chuckled.

"Scuttleb.u.t.t says you're still on the Brothers' wipe list. Colonel Nguyen has people like Corporal Redden here a.s.signed officially, and some of us figure they could use a little unofficial help."

"Um." Cortin gestured acquiescence, bemused. "I don't really think I need protection, but I have to admit it's rea.s.suring having you around.

Is there anything in your orders that says I can't go for a walk in the corridor?"

"Not a thing, ma'am," Redden replied immediately. "The detail I'm on is just to stay with you and keep you safe. Though Dr. Egan seems to think you'll be safe enough since it'll be a week or so before you're up to anything even a little strenuous--like going for a walk."

"Dr. Egan's a civilian," Cortin said, appreciating the men's sympathetic expressions. "You may have to catch me if I overdo, though."

"No problem," Kennard said.

"Good. Shall we go, then?"

The day Cortin could get to the far end of the hospital building and back without having to stop for rest, she got Mike to have her discharged--over Egan's protests--and help her move into the VOQ.

That evening after supper, Odeon went to her room. He'd been increasingly worried about her lack of apparent emotion; he'd seen others like that go into an abrupt withdrawal and become extremely depressed, sometimes even suicidal. Her interest in interrogation and desire for revenge would both help, but he was determined to give her a better reason to live.

When they were both settled comfortably with cups of her favorite herb tea, he grinned at her. "I meant to mention this earlier--you look a lot better in uniform than you did in a hospital gown!"

"I feel a lot better, too. Hospitals are all right, I suppose, but I'm a lot more comfortable in quarters. Not to mention wearing a gun."

"Of course you are," Odeon said, chuckling. In hospital was the only time an Enforcement trooper, officer or enlisted, was completely unarmed; even in bed, they always had a weapon within easy reach.

"Going to Ma.s.s tomorrow?"