sterile, which meant she was eligible for Special Ops!

Granted that he didn't like either the fact or what had caused it, she was eligible, and he was positive that—given the cause—she would want to 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 Ops as she had been in regular Enforcement work. He endorsed the discharge recommendation with a combined request, for waiver and transfer to Special Ops, then decided to tackle some paperwork he'd gotten behind on.

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

"Better than I expected," Egan said, taking her desk back. "The operation was as successful as any I've performed." She raised a hand cautioningly. "That doesn't mean it's good; it isn't. It's just as good as it can be. She'll be in the pain I told you about, and the disc is still subject to popping, but it could've been far worse." Egan rubbed her eyes before going on. "Otherwise, I would say she will 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. "I hadn't expected that, but it fits."

"Fits how?" Egan asked in near-exasperation. "I cannot for the life of me imagine why she would want to live with such reminders, as well as the 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 wants revenge. I'd say she intends to kill Brothers with them. And I'm trying to get her in a position to do just that."

Egan stared at him, appalled by the pleased anticipation in his soft voice and pale eyes. She'd known all her life that Enforcement people—especially those in Special Operations—were killers, but this was the first time that knowledge had actually frightened her. "Yes … is there anything else?"

"Only one." Odeon retrieved his briefcase, preparing to leave. He hadn't intended to disturb the doctor, but if she had any acquaintance with Enforcement at all, and was that easily upset, she should have known 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. It doesn't bother me." It was enough for now to know his Joanie was doing as well as humanly possible. "Thank you for your efforts."

To meet Lawrence Shannon: 1a. Raid Master

2. Hospital

St. Thomas, Thursday, 20 June 2571

Odeon was still perplexed by the previous afternoon's odd meeting when he got to Joanie's room the morning after her surgery. The door was open, but he tapped on it and called her name anyway.

"Mike!" Cortin hoped he could hear the welcome she tried to put in her voice. "Come in, please!" She watched him approach, holding back tears. Mike had been her ideal since the day she'd met him, and she'd done her best to live up to his example of cool, impartial professionalism. He was an outstanding officer, an exemplary son of the Church; he certainly wouldn't come apart, so she had to conceal her anguish. She couldn't forfeit his respect for her by collapsing, even though the Brothers had maimed and perhaps crippled her.

He entered, smiling as he saw her. Her head and hands were bandaged, along with most of one arm; her face had half a dozen cuts and bruises not worth bandaging; and her ribs had undoubtedly been strapped tight under her hospital gown, but— "You're looking a lot better than you were the last time I saw you. How do you feel?"

"Right now, I mostly don't. They've got me so heavily doped up it's a miracle I'm awake and coherent. At least I hope I am. Coherent, that is; I know I'm awake."

"You sound fine to me," Odeon assured her. He leaned over, kissed her forehead. "Ready for my report?"

"Not until you do better than that," she said. "I know you can, and as far as I can tell, my mouth is all right."

"As good as ever, but I don't hug people with broken ribs." He kissed her as thoroughly as he thought possible without hurting her, then pulled up a chair to sit beside the bed.

Her first question gave him an unpleasant shock. "Have you put me in for Special Ops?"

"What?" he said, trying to stall. Dammit, she wasn't supposed to know she was eligible yet!

Cortin sighed. "I don't need a doctor to know I've been spayed, Mike. The incision in my belly, after what the Brothers did to me, makes it obvious I'll never have a family. It was unlikely before; now it's simply impossible. You can thank God I'm on sedatives right now, or I'd probably be a raving maniac. So answer the question."

"I have, yes. I found out day before yesterday that you'd be eligible, took the paperwork to Headquarters yesterday as soon as Doctor Egan told me you'd made it through the surgery with a reasonably good prognosis, and started to walk it through." He paused, frowning.

"And?"

"I don't know," Odeon said slowly. "Personnel didn't seem too interested in doing anything about the waiver request at first, until I raised my voice a bit." He chuckled briefly. "It seems office workers are more than a little apprehensive about an upset Special Ops man. At any rate, once I convinced them to do more than glance at the forms, I was very politely escorted to a private office—which is where it gets odd. Joanie, there was a colonel of His Majesty's Own there!"

"His Majesty's Own!" Cortin said, impressed. "So what happened?"

"Not much—which is what bothers me." Odeon frowned. "He took the forms, read them, nodded once, and told me not to tell anyone including you about the meeting. I asked what was going on, told him I had to tell you something—but the only thing he'd say was that it was a classified project, that you'd be given serious consideration, and that he'd be in touch as soon as the decision was made. Typical bureaucrat talk—but the oddest thing is that I believe him."

"Did he give you any idea of when?"

Odeon shook his head. "No—but I'd guess not more than a few days. Full colonels don't work for long in bare-bones offices without even carpeting."

"True, especially when they belong to His Majesty's Own. And I've got a couple of months before I'm well enough I have to make a final decision—I presume I am eligible for a disability discharge?"

"Yes, of course, at full pay. But I don't like what I think you're getting at. Joanie, don't do anything you'll regret."

"I don't intend to," Cortin said quietly. "I know what I have to do, though. If I can stay in and do it, that's best, of course. If I have to get out, though, I'll do that instead. One way or another, Brother Lawrence Shannon and the rest of them on that raiding party are gone—and so are any Brothers who get in my way to them." She looked at her bandaged hands for a long moment, then back up at him. "Which I'm sure you guessed when Egan passed along the information that I was keeping their marks."

Odeon nodded. "Partly—that you'd go after them. Not that you'd consider going rogue to do it." Enforcement took superlative care of its members and their families, if they had any … but when a trooper went bad, all its resources went into hunting and then killing him. Or her. Odeon had participated in three of those hunts, hating the necessity but as grimly determined as any to rid the world of them. Dammit, Enforcement troopers