The Alembic Plot Part 7

Cortin glanced at Illyanov, who shook his head. "No, it doesn't look like we'll need you. Go for it, Mike--and put in my application while you're at it; I don't want to take any chances on getting overlooked.

I should have enough practical experience to qualify as a specialist by the time the group is activated, especially if the Brothers maintain a several-month interval between horror raids."

"I'll do that." Odeon turned to Illyanov. "Is there a phone in there I could use for an hour or so?"

"Yes, in the Inquisitors' lounge. I will have you admitted there as my guest."

"Thanks."

When they got inside the building, Illyanov showed Odeon the lounge and introduced him to the three Inquisitors it held, then he and Cortin went to the Records Section. The clerk there was a young private, who looked to Cortin as though he might possibly be a full week out of boot camp; he was certainly still new enough to the job that he showed apprehension at the sight of an Inquisitor's badge. "Yes, Major?" he asked.

"I wish to see the records of all prisoners being held for third-stage interrogation."

"I'm sorry, sir," the young private said, obviously nervous. "As of the first of the week, all those not currently undergoing questioning are being saved for Inquisitor-Captain Cortin's evaluation."

Inquisitor-Captain, Illyanov noted, not Inquisitor-Trainee. Yes, things were being accelerated for her, indeed. But if Colonel Bradford thought it best that she be treated as fully qualified by Detention Center staffs, there had to be a reason; he would go along. "Captain Cortin and I are currently acting as partners," he said. "However, you must keep your records in order, must you not?" He turned to Cortin.

"If you would identify yourself for this young man, Captain, we can proceed."

"Of course, Major." Cortin dug out her ID, the first time she'd used it since before going into the convalescent hospital, and had to hide her surprise as she showed it to the clerk. Besides the standard Enforcement Service card, the little folder held an Inquisitor's badge!

Keeping her voice level, she said, "Now, may we see those records?"

"Yes, Captain--it'll only take me a moment." While he went to the files for them, Cortin gave Illyanov a curious look, got only a slight shrug in return, and took a closer look at her ID. It was the one she'd had since making captain, yes--there was where the pen had spluttered while she was signing it--but it had been altered. Very skillfully altered, by someone who knew precisely what he was doing, and according to it, Illyanov was right; she wasn't in full uniform.

Or . . . was she? Surely she would have noticed an SO patch on her sleeve! She snuck a quick glance, and was relieved to see nothing there. At least it didn't look like she was going either blind or insane!

"Here you are, Captain," the clerk said, handing her a small stack of folders. "If you want to go through them here, you can use that desk by the west door."

"Thank you." Cortin took them, going to the desk and seating herself, then opening the first one--but her mind was on the additions to her ID. She took out the folder again, staring at the badge and the Special Operations stamp. "What's going on?" she asked Illyanov in a low voice. "Why do I get a badge while I'm still in training, and why sneak it all in on me like this?"

Illyanov thought for several moments, frowning. At last, keeping his voice as low as hers had been, he said, "Unless you wish to attribute it to Colonel Bradford's well-known and decidely peculiar sense of humor, which I consider likely, I do not know. The speed can perhaps be explained if he has information not generally available about an upcoming raid, though I would have expected that as your instructor I would have been informed when you were granted a Warrant--out of courtesy, if nothing else--but I can think of no logical reason for him not to inform you."

"Neither can I, so I guess you're right about it being his sense of humor." Cortin put the ID away and began studying the prisoner records. They seemed to be arranged in reverse order of capture, which made sense; the ones deemed to have critical information had already been removed, so the ones on top would be the ones who had been here longest, already softened up by the first stages of interrogation.

When she opened the last folder, she bit back a curse, then, at Illyanov's startled glance, said, "I think I just found out why the badge." She turned the folder so he could read it easily. The subject was a deserter, who had compounded his crime by joining the Brotherhood, but was so new to it that he was believed to have no significant information. "Bradford's making sure I don't do what this plaguer did. I told you he was reading more than I wanted to tell him--he had to know I'd never join the Brotherhood, but he also had to know I'd go after them, either legally or as a rogue. And that I'd much rather do it legally."

Illyanov nodded. "I read the same things, of course. I did not, however, realize that his desire to keep you in Enforcement was great enough he would have all practical training waived--even for one who had made perfect scores in all the theoretical material."

"You didn't tell me that!"

"I did not wish to make you over-confident. That, however, is no longer a consideration; if you are to function independently, with little or no notice and limited practical experience, you should be as certain as possible of your ability to do so." He smiled. "As I did tell you, you were most promising. Motivation and hard work have let you live up to that promise so far; I see no reason to doubt that you will continue to do so. But now, Inquisitor-Captain Cortin, you have an interrogation to conduct." He gestured at the folders. "Logic will tell you to choose one who has been through preliminary questioning, and your emotions will tell you to choose the rogue-turned-Brother.

However, you have been an Enforcement officer long enough to have learned to trust certain feelings; do any of them indicate which of these will give you the most useful information?"

Cortin moved her hands across the folders as if she could get her information that way, wis.h.i.+ng she really could. She had learned to trust her hunches--they had kept her alive more than once--but she was less certain of them in these circ.u.mstances. Finally, she picked two she thought ought to have more information than their records suggested: a thief suspected of exercising his skills for the Brotherhood and, though she admitted to herself it might be as much because of his betrayal of the Service as for any information, the rogue trooper. The thief had been through the preliminary stages; the rogue hadn't, formally, but the Special Ops men who had captured him had--justifiably, she thought--taken out some of their anger on him, so he'd been through a crude form of second stage as well.

"These two, I think," she said, handing Illyanov the folders. "The thief first; procedures on the renegade weren't exactly by the book, so I'd like to have a little experience before I start on him."

Illyanov nodded, gathering up the remaining folders. Cortin followed him back to the counter, glad that since he was the ranking officer, he'd be the one to give the orders; she didn't yet know what orders to give!

"Yes, sir?" the clerk asked.

"Have prisoner 829-A taken to Interrogation Suite Delta's third-stage room. Standard restraints, no special requirements."

"Yes, sir." The clerk relayed Illyanov's orders through an intercom, got an acknowledgement. "He will be waiting when you get there, sir.

Ma'am."

"Thank you. Shall we go, Captain?"

On the way to the interrogation suite, Cortin removed her gloves and tucked them in the back of her belt, then rubbed the scars on the backs of her hands. In a few minutes she'd start getting the first installment of her revenge for those, and the other hurts they stood for--and it felt good. Illyanov read her gestures and smiled. Most trainees were nervous about their first practical work, especially their first third-stage work. It was understandable enough--he could remember his own apprehension--but it was those who went into it with antic.i.p.ation, as Cortin was doing, who generally became the outstanding pract.i.tioners, those whose very names could be enough to persuade criminals to avoid their attentions by a full confession. It was a shame that if his speculations were accurate, she would be in the field much of the time, where she was likely to be killed, rather than at a Detention Center where she would be safe and her skills could be put to their best use. However, he chided himself, it would be better having her working within the law, anywhere, than it would be to have her outside it, not only useless but being hunted!

When they got to the suite and exchanged tunics for the coveralls that would protect their unders.h.i.+rts and trousers, Illyanov gave her a final caution. "Do not let your enthusiasm make you careless, Captain. Even a field interrogation requires both caution and precision."

"I'll be careful," Cortin a.s.sured him. "You've told me often enough that the line between persuasive pain and unconsciousness is a very fine one, and I don't intend to let him cross it."

"Very good." Illyanov smiled at her. "I will intervene only if you ask, or if you appear about to do something unfortunate. Shall we go?"

4. Ordination

St. Thomas, Tuesday, 23 July 2571

About mid-afternoon, Shannon was leaning back in his desk chair, planning the March raid that would supposedly mark the beginning of the Brotherhood's real push against the Kingdoms, when he sensed a use of power that had to be Cortin. It was weak, barely detectable, but undeniably there, and he swore viciously. Even the slightest deliberate use she made of her power might lead to more . . . did he dare check to see if it was deliberate?

That should be safe enough, he decided at last. It was far more difficult to detect a pa.s.sive use such as observing than an active one such as coercion or physical alteration, and Cortin's use was weak enough it might well be unconscious.

Despite his decision that the risk was low, he was cautious in extending his sensitivity toward her. When he made contact, though, he felt a sense of relief. Her use was unconscious, which meant there was no immediate danger.

He could have retreated then, but he was too intrigued; she was getting her first practical experience as an Inquisitor, and he couldn't resist the temptation to watch.

The subject was one of the Brotherhood's suppliers. Too cowardly to actually join the Brotherhood, but a skillful thief who could generally get what the Brothers wanted, and sold it to them at about half what he'd charge anyone else. It was a shame to lose him, but worth it to watch Cortin work on her first victim, whether she turned out to be the incomparable expert he expected if she had the nerve, or the total incompetent he expected if she didn't.

"Are you a Brother of Freedom?" she asked the prisoner.

"No."

Cortin nodded. "Then have you worked for them?"

"Not that, either."

"In that case, we can proceed. I don't suppose you'd care to answer my questions without unpleasantness?"

"I don't have anything to tell you."

"The choice is yours." Cortin picked up a scalpel, pausing at the expression on Illyanov's face. "Is something wrong, Major?"

"That is not the standard way of beginning an interrogation."

"It will be, for me," Cortin said. "I'll do whatever is needed to stop criminals, but I have no intention of hurting innocents."