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

He'd only flown twice before, with the exception of command-van copter-lifts, so he slept lightly when he did sleep, then took advantage of a rest stop to work the kinks of too much sitting out before the second leg. Back aboard, he listened to the engines and tried to doze off again. The throbbing roar they made was monotonous enough to be dulling, but too loud to be soothing …

Rather to his surprise, the second landing woke him up. He hadn't realized he'd managed to sleep again, and he grinned at himself as he exited the aircraft.

The air here smelled as fresh and clean as the newly-fallen snow, so good it'd be a shame to waste it. Odeon waved away the SO car that pulled up, walking to the terminal instead. By the time he'd made arrangements for a room in Visiting Officers' Quarters, his luggage, the single small bag that, with what a command van held, was enough for an SO man for half a month, was waiting. He claimed it, made his way through 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 was stabilized; 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 heard the four sharp knocks on his door that meant official business. With a muttered "Damn," he turned the water off, wrapped a towel around his waist, and went to the door. Couldn't a man even get a shower without being interrupted? "What is it?" he asked the young man in Medical Corps green when he opened the door.

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

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

The tech extended the clipboard. "Captain Cortin has asked that you be the 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. He should have expected this; trust Joanie to think of his leave time, have him assigned to what he would be doing anyway. Then he frowned at the length-of-assignment block: Indefinite. That was bad, tended to indicate Boris' field diagnosis of spinal injury was right. He found the signature block, wrote his name in the small precise script he was continually kidded about. "Is there any word on her condition or when she'll be here?"

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

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

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

By the time the briefing was over an hour later, the only things Odeon was 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 she was attractive. Bernette Egan, she'd introduced herself—a neurosurgeon.

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 skin the color of rich chocolate as she looked up at him with a smile. "You would like a summary in plain English, Captain. Correct?"

Odeon found himself returning her smile. "Yes, ma'am, if you wouldn't mind. You'd tell Joanie—Captain Cortin—and she's made me her advocate."

"Indefinitely, yes. I saw the form. Come to the coffee shop, where we can 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 the briefing room. "The coffee shop isn't far."

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

Mike Odeon didn't understand why he felt so strongly about Joan Cortin and 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 slept with others; he'd led the team that rescued her, but he'd done that before, too. Maybe it was because the other incidents had all involved different people, maybe it was because none had reacted as positively to him on first meeting … he didn't try to analyze it. He was in Special Operations; analysis was for Intelligence. He simply accepted facts as he found them.

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

"To begin with, most of her injuries are what I understand you Enforcement people call minor. Fractured skull, three broken ribs, assorted cuts, burns, and bruises." Egan frowned. "However, her spinal 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'd met Joanie, Odeon hadn't minded that the red crossed daggers of the SO patch on his sleeve meant he was sterile; his parents had both had plague-derivatives that made it inevitable, and it was a fate he shared with almost a third of the Kingdom Systems' population. That patch also meant he was one of those trusted to protect his Kingdom and the Systems from their most dangerous enemies. No one able to have children was allowed into SO since the average life expectancy was less than 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." Egan looked at the grim, scar-faced man across from her, uncomfortably aware that he was both upset and a trained killer. That she knew he was a devout 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, that if 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 badly injured by them that the doctors in Middletown were forced to do an emergency 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. "You know 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 caused one of those discs to swell and 'float,' or pop out of position from time to time. The swelling may subside, but if it does not—which is most likely—Captain Cortin will be in constant pain. Either way, when the disc pops, she will be in agony to match anything a