The Alembic Plot: A Terran Empire novel

  Produced by Al Haines

  +------------------------------------------------------+ | This work is licenced under a Creative Commons | | Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 | | Licence. | | | | https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ | +------------------------------------------------------+

  THE ALEMBIC PLOT

  A Terran Empire Novel

  by Ann Wilson

  Copyright (C) 1992 by Ann Wilson

  CONTENTS

  1. Injury 2. Hospital 3. Center 4. Ordination 5. Azrael 6. Tony 7. Dave 8. Ambush 9. Surgery 10. Dream 11. Dinner 12. Flight 13. Chuck 14. Bradford 15. Demon Drops 16. Marriage 17. Family 18. Revelation 19. Invitation 20. Lesson 21. Anguish 22. Sara 23. Raid 24. Revenge 25. Discussion 26. Imperial Contact 27. Interim 28. Aboard the Lindner 29. Arrival 30. Interview 31. Explanation 32. Briefing 33. Discussion 2 34. Transformation

  1. Injury

  St. Thomas, Monday, 17 June 2571 CE

  Captain Mike Odeon cursed in angry frustration as he climbed out of hiscommand van into a late fall New Pennsylvania evening and signalled hisSpecial Operations team forward. They were too late.

  Well, too late to catch them in the act, he amended silently. Thislooked like one of the hit-and-run attacks the so-called Brothers ofFreedom specialized in; with local Enforcement men already on-scene,the Brothers would be long gone. But they would catch the bastardswho'd attacked this Royal Enforcement Service convalescent hospital,sooner or later. Motioning his second-in-command to him, Odeon gavethe routine orders. "Check for anything the attackers might have left.Odds are you'll only find bodies, but do your best while I talk to thelocals. Call me on Channel One if you do find anything."

  "Yes, sir." Odeon's sergeant led the other three team members into thebuilding; Odeon himself looked around, and was pleased to find he knewone of the locals.

  He waved. "Rascal! Over here!"

  The local returned his wave, jogged over, and saluted. "Mike! I mean,'Captain Odeon, sir.'"

  "Mike's fine," Odeon said. "You haven't touched anything?"

  "Huh-uh. Saw the marks the Brothers'd burned into a couple of thewalls inside, and backed off right away to call in the Royals." Rascalspat. "Damn Brothers! Didn't expect Special Ops, though."

  "You'll get SO any time the Brothers are involved, from now on," Odeonsaid. "That came straight from His Majesty not five minutes after wegot word they'd hit a hospital. It doesn't look too bad from here,though."

  "From here, no. But, Mike . . . I hope your men have strongerstomachs than mine turned out to be."

  Odeon scowled. "It's that bad?" Rascal Anderson had been inEnforcement for almost fifteen years, nearly as long as Odeon himself;it would take more than the aftermath of ordinary violence to make himsick.

  "Worse," Anderson said. "Mike, it looked like . . . like a crossbetween a battlefield and a mass third-stage interrogation."

  "Dear God." Odeon bowed his head in a brief silent prayer for thevictims, then looked up. "We'll find the bastards who did this, andmake sure--"

  His beltcom interrupted him. "Sir, we've found a survivor. ID saysCaptain Joan Cortin, Royal Enforcement. Boris is working on her, buthe says she'll need a lot more help than he can give."

  "She'll get it," Odeon snapped. Anderson was already signallingurgently for the medics, who'd been waiting to bring out what everyonewas certain would be only dead bodies. "I'm on my way. Set for homer."

  "On homer, sir." The sergeant's voice was replaced by a series oftones, increasing in pitch and speed as Odeon more than half-ran intothe hospital and through the corridors.

  The scenes he passed were as bad as Rascal had suggested, and Odeon'sstomach needed stern control to prevent rebellion. Doctors, nurses,patients, the service staff--all had been bound, then brutallymurdered. The stench of gutted bodies was enough, even without theblood and corpses, to stagger anyone.

  It wasn't long until he reached his men. Two of them were checking forother survivors while Boris and Sergeant Vincent knelt over the inertform that had to be Joan Cortin. Vincent was giving her Last Riteswhile Boris tended to her physical needs, his posture evidence of hisintense concentration, and Odeon thanked God again that the St. Dmitriexchange troop he'd drawn for his team was so damn competent. He'dlove to take his whole team to that world for a bit, he thoughtirrelevantly. He'd worked with a Dmitrian team once, here on St.Thomas, and thought everyone in SO should have that experience.

  "How is she?" he asked, joining the medic. If the ID said "JoanCortin," he'd have to accept that evidence; he certainly couldn'tidentify the woman he knew so well in this bloody, mangled body.

  "Not good, Captain." Boris' English had a heavy Dmitrian accent, butOdeon had no trouble understanding him. "Badly beaten, raped--morethan once, I believe--and she appears to have a spinal injury. TheBrothers of course burned their mark into her hands, but that isminor." He looked up with a frown. "I regret having to tell you,Captain. She was your protego, was she not?"

  "Yes, and she's still my friend." Odeon stood, making way for theother medics who promptly began working on the unconscious woman. Sothe Brothers had burned their circled-triangle mark into Joanie'shands, had they? That didn't happen often, but he was no moresurprised than Boris had been that they'd given her that distinction.Not even all Special Ops officers rated that mark of the Brothers'special hatred, and why Joanie did was something he couldn'tguess--she'd never been on an anti-Brotherhood operation, that he knewof--but they'd taken a special dislike to her for some reason none haddivulged even under third-stage interrogation, calling her "the damnedEnforcement bitch" in a tone Odeon himself reserved for those who hadbegun the Final War. Maybe they hated her just because she was theonly active-duty female Enforcement officer. At any rate, they hadmarked her--and she was the first he knew about to survive the torturethat accompanied the mark's infliction.

  He watched the medics work, his thoughts going back. It'd started. . . what, twelve years ago? Yes, that sounded about right. A smalltown here in New Pennsylvania--and not too far away, if he rememberedclearly. He'd been on light duty, wounded in his first fight with theBrotherhood and counting himself lucky to be alive. It had left himwith a scar across his right cheek, cutting into his mouth and chin,but it had left five others dead, three disabled.

  The scar had upset the young men he was interviewing; most had staredfor a few seconds, then looked away. Well, they hadn't been verypromising anyway. Recruiting trips to out-of-the-way small towns likethat Boalsburg were mostly for show rather than out of any realexpectation of finding good Enforcement candidates.

  The last applicant's folder had brought a smile. Joan Cortin . . .Not many women applied for Enforcement, and even fewer qualified. Heremembered thinking it probably hadn't been a serious application; morethan likely, she just wanted to meet the "romantic" Enforcementofficer. Odeon hadn't minded; he'd been rather flattered, if anything.He'd opened the folder and scanned it, intending to make it look goodbefore he turned her down.

  There'd been only one catch. Grades, psychoprofile, and physical statssaid she did qualify--and at well above officer-cadet minimums. He'dwondered if she knew.

  She hadn't. Her application had been the ruse he'd guessed; sheadmitted that immediately, without either staring at or avoiding hisscar. She thought it added to his appeal, which hadn't hurt hisfeelings at all. It'd been rather enjoyable convincing her that shereally was Enforcement-officer material, and he'd taken real pleasurein waiting until she was leaving--and her former schoolmates couldhear--to tel
l her when she'd be picked up by an Enforcement trooperwho'd drive her to the Royal Academy.

  He'd been there for her graduation, too, proud that one of his recruitshad been at the top of the class, commissioned First Lieutenant forthat achievement. He'd given her her first salute, then staggered assixty kilos of enthusiastic female officer jumped him for acongratulatory kiss.

  Remembering that kiss--and the night that followed, the otherslater--Mike Odeon rubbed the scar crossing his lips. It hurt to seemedics working over her, hear them sounding pessimistic. Her injuriesseemed to be even more severe than Boris had said at first, and she'dbeen weak to begin with, just recuperating from one of the unnamedplagues that had devastated the Kingdom Systems during the Final War.The plagues were no longer common, hadn't been for over a century;Joanie had simply had the bad luck to pursue a gang of horse thievesinto a still-contaminated area.

  The medics were putting her onto a litter, careful to support her back.As they picked up the litter, her eyes flickered open and she looked inOdeon's direction. "Mike?"

  A gesture stopped the medics. "What is it, Joanie?"

  "Don't let 'em kick me out . . . while I can't fight back. I've gotta. . . get the bastards who did this . . . Mike, promise . . ."

  "I promise, Joanie. I'll do everything I can, you know that." Hewaved the medics on, looking after them, then turned to his second."Find anything useful, Sergeant?"

  "Afraid not, sir. They're too damn good at covering up. We won't havea thing, unless Captain Cortin's able to give us some descriptions."

  "All right. Call in a specialist squad from New Denver; they may beable to find some kind of evidence. Fingerprints, footprints,identifiable bullets--damn, but I wish we had what the prewars had!"

  "Able to identify a culprit from a speck of blood or a hair?" SergeantVincent laughed bitterly. "Hell, if we could do that, we'd have theBrothers under control in six months."

  "Yeah." Odeon tried to hide his frustrtion. "No use playing what-if,though; we could do that forever. Let's get back to HQ."

  Silently, respecting their leader's mood, the Special Operations teamreturned to their command van for the copter-lift back to theirMiddletown headquarters. It wasn't until they were landing that anyonespoke. "Captain?"

  "What is it, Boris?"

  "I spoke with the physician, sir. Captain Cortin will be stabilized atthe local clinic, then sent to New Denver for surgery. You are due forleave, are you not?"

  "Yeah, and I intend to take advantage of it. Two years' worth ofaccumulated leave ought to give me time to help her stay in."

  * * * * *

  Leave arrangements weren't difficult to make. Special Operations teamstended to stay together, but casualties were high; anyone could bereplaced quickly. By mid-morning the next day Odeon had finishedbriefing his temporary replacement, and by noon he'd used his SpecialOps identification to get aboard a plane to New Denver.

  He'd only flown twice before, with the exception of command-vancopter-lifts, so he slept lightly when he did sleep, then tookadvantage of a rest stop to work the kinks of too much sitting outbefore the second leg. Back aboard, he listened to the engines andtried to doze off again. The throbbing roar they made was monotonousenough to be dulling, but too loud to be soothing . . .

  Rather to his surprise, the second landing woke him up. He hadn'trealized he'd managed to sleep again, and he grinned at himself as heexited the aircraft.

  The air here smelled as fresh and clean as the newly-fallen snow, sogood it'd be a shame to waste it. Odeon waved away the SO car thatpulled up, walking to the terminal instead. By the time he'd madearrangements for a room in Visiting Officers' Quarters, his luggage,the single small bag that, with what a command van held, was enough foran SO man for half a month, was waiting. He claimed it, made his waythrough shift-change traffic to the VOQ, and checked in.

  He went to his assigned room, intending to shower and get a few hours'rest. Boris had said Joanie would be brought here once she wasstabilized; that could be today, if the doctors decided to fly her in,or up to a week if they decided she could tolerate surface travel.

  He'd just gotten the shower temperature right, though, when he heardthe four sharp knocks on his door that meant official business. With amuttered "Damn," he turned the water off, wrapped a towel around hiswaist, and went to the door. Couldn't a man even get a shower withoutbeing interrupted? "What is it?" he asked the young man in MedicalCorps green when he opened the door.

  The medtech looked at the clipboard he held. "Captain Michael PatrickOdeon of Royal Enforcement Service Special Operations?"

  "Serial 263819. Yes." Odeon swore to himself. Formal identificationmeant the leave he'd planned to use helping Joanie was over, in favorof some special duty.

  The tech extended the clipboard. "Captain Cortin has asked that you bethe one to represent her interests while she is under treatment, sir.Would you sign here, please?"

  Chuckling, Odeon took the clipboard and scanned the form it held. Heshould have expected this; trust Joanie to think of his leave time,have him assigned to what he would be doing anyway. Then he frowned atthe length-of-assignment block: Indefinite. That was bad, tended toindicate Boris' field diagnosis of spinal injury was right. He foundthe signature block, wrote his name in the small precise script he wascontinually kidded about. "Is there any word on her condition or whenshe'll be here?"

  "She will be on a special medevac flight from Middletown, sir, due inat 1815. I was told nothing of her condition. By your leave, sir?"

  "Dismissed, Tech." Odeon closed the door and went to finish hisinterrupted shower. She wasn't due in for another ten hours; he hadtime to clean up, nap, and eat before he went in to speak to herdoctors. By then, they'd know exactly what was wrong with her, andhave some idea of what could be done for her.

  * * * * *

  Two hours before the medevac plane was due to land, Odeon was in one ofNew Denver Municipal Hospital's briefing rooms. There were half adozen nurses, twice that many technicians, and several doctors inaddition to the one behind the lectern.

  By the time the briefing was over an hour later, the only things Odeonwas sure of were that he hadn't understood more than one word in three,and that the doctor in charge of Joanie's case was as competent as shewas attractive. Bernette Egan, she'd introduced herself--aneurosurgeon.

  He went up to her as the others began leaving. "One moment please, Dr.Egan, if I may."

  She tilted her head to one side, crisp gray curls contrasting with skinthe color of rich chocolate as she looked up at him with a smile. "Youwould like a summary in plain English, Captain. Correct?"

  Odeon found himself returning her smile. "Yes, ma'am, if you wouldn'tmind. You'd tell Joanie--Captain Cortin--and she's made me heradvocate."

  "Indefinitely, yes. I saw the form. Come to the coffee shop, where wecan be comfortable, and I'll be happy to tell you everything I can."

  "As you wish, Doctor. I'm buying."

  "As you wish, Captain." Egan smiled again, gestured him out of thebriefing room. "The coffee shop isn't far."

  The short walk didn't give them time to talk, but Odeon had understoodone key item: Joanie had gotten treatment quickly enough that none ofher injuries now threatened her life. Some were serious, yes--maybedamn serious, especially the spinal injury--but she would live!

  Mike Odeon didn't understand why he felt so strongly about Joan Cortinand her welfare; all he knew was that he did. He'd recruited her,sure, but he'd recruited others; he'd slept with her, but he'd sleptwith others; he'd led the team that rescued her, but he'd done thatbefore, too. Maybe it was because the other incidents had all involveddifferent people, maybe it was because none had reacted as positivelyto him on first meeting . . . he didn't try to analyze it. He was inSpecial Operations; analysis was for Intelligence. He simply acceptedfacts as he found them.

  Odeon let Egan choose pastries while he drew coffee an
d paid thecashier. Once they found an empty table and settled themselves, hesaid, "Okay, Doctor. Tell me."

  "To begin with, most of her injuries are what I understand youEnforcement people call minor. Fractured skull, three broken ribs,assorted cuts, burns, and bruises." Egan frowned. "However, herspinal injury is serious even by your standards, and . . . Captain,did she plan to have children?"

  'Did,' not 'does,' Odeon thought grimly. "Yes, Doctor." Until he'dmet Joanie, Odeon hadn't minded that the red crossed daggers of the SOpatch on his sleeve meant he was sterile; his parents had both hadplague-derivatives that made it inevitable, and it was a fate he sharedwith almost a third of the Kingdom Systems' population. That patchalso meant he was one of those trusted to protect his Kingdom and theSystems from their most dangerous enemies. No one able to havechildren was allowed into SO since the average life expectancy was lessthan a year . . . "As soon as she found a suitable--and fertile--man.What was it, the rape?"

  "Multiple rapes, and not all with . . . natural equipment." Eganlooked at the grim, scar-faced man across from her, uncomfortably awarethat he was both upset and a trained killer. That she knew he was adevout man as well was little help; Church and state both 'overlooked'acts from Enforcement people that they would condemn in anyone else.It seemed reasonable to assume Odeon and Cortin had been lovers, thatif he'd been fertile he would have been the father of her children."Captain, it pains me to have to tell you this, but she was so badlyinjured by them that the doctors in Middletown were forced to do anemergency hysterectomy, simply to save her life."

  "Does she know?" Odeon kept his voice level, but with effort.

  "Not yet. She should be stronger before she is given any more shocks."

  Odeon nodded; that made good sense. "What about her spine?"

  Egan breathed a silent sigh of relief at the change of subject. "Youknow it has what are called discs?" At his nod, she went on. "Good.According to the medevac doctor, a sharp blow to her back has causedone of those discs to swell and 'float,' or pop out of position fromtime to time. The swelling may subside, but if it does not--which ismost likely--Captain Cortin will be in constant pain. Either way, whenthe disc pops, she will be in agony to match anything a third-stageInquisitor can do."

  "I gathered from the briefing that you plan to try surgery. What'reher odds?"

  "Not good," Egan admitted. "I can't be sure until I examine hermyself, but we have had little success in correcting a floating disc.There is an alternative procedure, spinal fusion--essentially weldingpart of the spine together so the disc can't pop. She will still hurt,and it will limit her mobility somewhat; the only advantage is thatshe'll be spared the agony of the disc moving out of place."

  "That sounds like grounds for a disability discharge." Odeon sippedhis coffee and made a face, trying to lighten his mood a bit. Hewasn't that fond of coffee to begin with, and this certainly wasn't thebest he'd had. "Do hospital coffee shops have to boil this stuff?"

  "You get used to it," Egan said. "Yes, that is grounds for discharge,and at full pay. I will have to examine her myself, as I said, but ifDr. Franklin says it's a floating disc, that's exactly what it is.I'll send her discharge recommendation in to Enforcement HQ first thingtomorrow."

  "No, Doctor, you'll give it to me for endorsement." Odeon saw herbeginning objection, and raised a hand to forestall it. "She doesn'twant a discharge; my endorsement will request a waiver. And she won'twant her mobility limited, since it would hamper her in her work. Sono spinal fusion, we'll just have to hope that other operation youmentioned works."

  Egan frowned, concern for her patient overcoming her apprehension."You're a harsh man, Captain Odeon, even harsher than I expected fromone of your profession. Do you know what you're condemning her to?"

  "I know what you just told me, yes. But I also know the last thing sheasked me was to help her stay in. I am her advocate, Doctor; untilyou release her, my word goes."

  "Unfortunately, it does," Egan said with a sigh. "But then she cancountermand your orders."

  Odeon half-bowed in his seat. "That's right, Doctor, and I hope to Godshe does. I don't want to see her hurting, but she asked me not to lether get kicked out while she couldn't defend herself. I'm doing forher what she would do for me if our positions were reversed."

  Egan looked at him for several moments, silent, then she nodded. Shewas beginning to understand, she thought. His grim harshness was real,but it concealed equally real concern for the woman he represented."As you say, Captain. Be sure Captain Cortin will have the best care Ican give her."

  This time Odeon stood to bow and answer, formally. "My thanks, DoctorEgan. When may I see her?"

  "Tomorrow afternoon," Egan replied. "I have her scheduled forsurgery--whichever procedure you decided on--at 0800. I assure you shewill be given only those drugs which are absolutely necessary."

  "My thanks again, Doctor." Odeon gave her a sketchy salute. "Ifyou'll excuse me, I have to pick up some forms." At her nod he left,grateful for her last assurance. It was almost a hundred years sincethe Final War--not the nuclear holocaust the prewars had dreaded; therehad been only a few atomics used, and most of those were relativelyclean neutron bombs. The primary weapons had been biological; it wastheir devastation that had wiped out over fifty percent of theKingdoms' population, and the passage of time hadn't removed theremainder's sudden overwhelming aversion to "unnatural substances"imposed on the body. Drugs were used, sparingly, by doctors--and notso sparingly by Enforcement Service Inquisitors.

  * * * * *

  The next morning Odeon woke at dawn as he usually did, but instead ofrising at once, he rolled onto his back and laced hands behind his head.

  Joanie. She hadn't been beautiful when he first met her, so she neverhad been. That suited him well enough; he didn't like the prewarstandard of beauty that still prevailed in many places. Beauties weretoo fragile, didn't have the strength of a real woman the way Joaniedid. Tall skinniness was fine in a paid-woman, but Joanie'scompactness was better. Stronger and more suitable for an Enforcementofficer or a mother, anyway-- He pushed that thought aside. Joaniemight be able to stay in Enforcement, but she'd never be a mother.

  He tried to remember her as she had been, 165 centimeters and maybe 59kilos, mostly muscle, of vigorous womanhood. But it'd hurt to see herlying broken and bloody on the hospital floor, her short dark hairstiff with drying blood; he couldn't get that image out of his mind, sohe made himself study it instead, trying to bring out anything hehadn't consciously noted then.

  There wasn't much. The hospital hadn't been all that different fromother Brothers of Freedom raid points, except in being a hospital, itsoccupants even more helpless than most. The only oddity was that theyhadn't made sure of the woman they'd marked. Possibly Rascal and hislocals had arrived before they were able to.

  Odeon grinned wolfishly at that thought. Joanie was alive, and shewanted revenge. That kind of personal motivation wasn't reallynecessary, but in going after terrorists like the Brothers it didn'thurt; some of the things necessary in anti-terrorist sweeps were hardto stomach. And the Brothers were the worst of the terrorists, as wellas the most wide-spread; they had units in every one of the Systems,while most groups were restricted to one or two.

  He was getting off the subject, though, he told himself sternly. He washere to protect Joanie's interests, not worry about the Brothers. Andif he was going to do that, it might be a good idea to get up.

  He glanced at the clock, then almost tangled himself in the sheets inhis hurry to get out of bed. It was almost six-thirty! If he didn'tget a move on, he'd be late for seven o'clock Mass!

  He made it, though with barely a minute to spare, and he found peace asusual in the familiar liturgy. There were still times he wished hiscall had been to the priesthood--he'd been raised in a monastery, bythe White Fathers, after his parents died--but for the most part, he nolonger missed the life too badly. The Fathers had comforted him
whenit became clear that his vocation was military rather than religious;enforcing civil order, they'd reminded him, was as important to humanwelfare as ministering to spiritual needs. And when he'd beencommissioned, directly into Special Operations, several of them hadbeen at the Academy to congratulate him.

  As he went forward to take Communion, Odeon found his thoughts going toJoanie. He shouldn't be thinking about her, not now . . . but hecouldn't concentrate on the Sacrament properly, even as he accepted andswallowed the Host. Well, the Fathers had taught him that if hecouldn't, despite his best efforts, maybe he wasn't supposed to--and itwouldn't be the first time something had resolved itself this way.Returning to his place in the small chapel, he said a brief prayer tothe Blessed Virgin as the Compassionate Mother for guidance. Surely,she would help the only officer of her sex in this dangerous vocation!

  * * * * *

  He was feeling better when he entered Egan's office half an hour afterMass was over. He hadn't found a solution, but he had become sure thatone would make itself known; he'd just have to find it.

  Egan wasn't there; she was already in surgery. But she'd left wordthat he could use her office while he waited, and he appreciated herthoughtfulness. An Enforcement officer in a civilian hospital waitingroom tended to make patients and visitors nervous; a Special Opsofficer tended to make the staff nervous as well, which bothered him.And a desk was far more convenient for doing paperwork than a lap.Odeon sighed as he picked up the form she'd left for him. It was herrecommendation for Joanie's discharge, as promised, and it made nobones about the seriousness of her injuries, or about the resultingsterility and constant pain.

  Frowning, Odeon read it again--and realized that here was at least partof his solution. Joanie was sterile, which meant she was eligible forSpecial Ops!

  Granted that he didn't like either the fact or what had caused it, shewas eligible, and he was positive that--given the cause--she would wantto apply, which could very well give her a bit of an edge staying in.And he was equally positive that she'd be as outstanding in Special Opsas she had been in regular Enforcement work. He endorsed the dischargerecommendation with a combined request, for waiver and transfer toSpecial Ops, then decided to tackle some paperwork he'd gotten behindon.

  It was several hours before Egan returned to her office, obviouslyfatigued, and collapsed into an armchair. Despite his anxiety, Odeontook time to get her a cup of coffee and let her drink some before heasked tensely, "How did it go?"

  "Better than I expected," Egan said, taking her desk back. "Theoperation was as successful as any I've performed." She raised a handcautioningly. "That doesn't mean it's good; it isn't. It's just asgood as it can be. She'll be in the pain I told you about, and thedisc is still subject to popping, but it could've been far worse."Egan rubbed her eyes before going on. "Otherwise, I would say shewill have a complete recovery, with no more than the usual scars.Except that she refused skin grafts for the brands on her hands."

  "Mmm." Odeon frowned, thought for a moment, then smiled slowly. "Ihadn't expected that, but it fits."

  "Fits how?" Egan asked in near-exasperation. "I cannot for the life ofme imagine why she would want to live with such reminders, as well asthe pain."

  "Not live with them," Odeon corrected. "You're thinking like a doctor,of course, but she's not one--she's an Enforcement officer who wantsrevenge. I'd say she intends to kill Brothers with them. And I'mtrying to get her in a position to do just that."

  Egan stared at him, appalled by the pleased anticipation in his softvoice and pale eyes. She'd known all her life that Enforcementpeople--especially those in Special Operations--were killers, but thiswas the first time that knowledge had actually frightened her. "Yes. . . is there anything else?"

  "Only one." Odeon retrieved his briefcase, preparing to leave. Hehadn't intended to disturb the doctor, but if she had any acquaintancewith Enforcement at all, and was that easily upset, she should haveknown better than to ask such a question. "When can I see her?"

  "Tomorrow morning, if you want to speak to her instead of just see her.You know the kind of equipment that will be hooked up to her?"

  Odeon chuckled. "It's been hooked up to me more than once, Doctor. Itdoesn't bother me." It was enough for now to know his Joanie was doingas well as humanly possible. "Thank you for your efforts."

  To meet Lawrence Shannon: 1a. Raid Master