by Ann Wilson
She opened the field Mass kit she'd been issued and laid it out on thebureau, kissed the stole and put it around her neck, then blessedherself and began her First Mass. She was surprised at how easily shewas able to speak the Latin; even though she'd heard it almost everySunday since she was old enough to remember, she'd never seriouslytried to use it. She'd heard the Terrans had experimented with usingwhatever the local language happened to be, but that seemed almostsacrilegious; she couldn't imagine Mass without the solemnity andbeauty of Latin.
As she continued, offering her prayers and her pain to the figure onthe crucifix, the ceremony seemed to take on a life of its own, fillingher with a sense of rightness and peace. At some point Illyanov'svoice joined hers, taking over the responses; she accepted it withoutsurprise. Nor was she surprised, when the time came, to find severalmen in Enforcement gray kneeling for Communion.
It wasn't until she finished the service that she realized they wereall Inquisitors, or wondered how they came to be in a room she waspositive she'd locked the night before. When she asked, Illyanovchuckled and held up a key. "I did not think it fitting that you haveto celebrate your First Mass alone, so I spoke with Colonel Bradfordand received his permission to act as your server, as well as--since Iconvinced him it would be impossible to keep secret the fact of SpecialOperations priests, especially from Inquisitors when one of thosepriests is also one of us, for more than a few days--to invite severalof our colleagues." He introduced them, then said, "It is our pleasureto invite you to breakfast at the Eagle's Nest. That is one of the fewcommercial establishments where Inquisitors in uniform arewelcome--probably because the proprietor was one of us before hisretirement--and has much better food than the dining hall. Will youjoin us?"
Odeon had loaned her a Special Operations patch until she could get tothe Uniform Sales store to buy some, and she was wearing her newInquisitor's badge, so she was in full uniform; she had no hesitationin accepting. Tucking her stole into a tunic pocket, she said, "I'd behonored--just let me put my kit away."
* * * * *
The Eagle's Nest proprietor, unlike the young private she'd met theprevious day, obviously followed Service news; he recognized her,welcoming her with almost embarrassing effusiveness, asking how shefelt, congratulating her on becoming an Inquisitor and her success withher first subjects, expressing delight and asking the Reverend Mother'sblessing when Illyanov told him she was a priest.
When they were seated, Cortin turned to Illyanov. "Is he always likethat?"
"Only since he retired," Illyanov assured her. "He misses ourprofessional discussions and fellowship, although I doubt he would wishto give up this profession, either." He grinned. "It is, after all,far more profitable than the Service."
Cortin chuckled. "It would be, yes. But he seems to keep in prettyclose touch--normal news channels wouldn't have anything on how I'dhandled my subjects."
"He prides himself on it, true--and since we find it useful from timeto time, we help him."
"Useful how?"
"You're a good example," a young First Lieutenant said. "We all knowyou're interested in that plaguer Shannon--those plaguers, I shouldsay--so we'll see to it you get anything about 'em we come across.Can't do it through official channels, though--personal revenge isn'tfrowned on, exactly, if it can be done in line of duty, but it isn'texactly sanctioned, either. So we'll give it to Francis, and he'll getit to you. You'll be expected to return the favor if you come acrossanything that'll be of special interest to one of us, of course."
"Of course. Just let me know your interests; I'll be glad to ask aboutthem."
"No problem; we'll leave notes in your message box."
Cortin chuckled. "I hadn't expected this sort of mutual support when Istarted my studies--but I'm glad to find it. Would it be proper to askMr. Robbins to join us?"
"Francis," Illyanov corrected her. "Off duty and among ourselves, weare less formal than others might think desirable. To answer yourquestion, however: yes, it would be perfectly proper to ask him to joinus. Christopher, would you mind?"
"Sure thing." The young Lieutenant rose, grinning at Cortin."Everyone but Ivan calls me Chris, though, okay?"
"Okay, Chris." As he left in search of the proprietor, Cortin turnedto Illyanov. "Ivan--" it seemed strange calling him that--"thanks."She looked around. "Thank all of you, for joining me. It means a lot."
"It means much to us, as well." Illyanov touched her hand. "You arenew to our field, Joan, but already you must begin to feel ourisolation. An Inquisitor who is also a priest is most literally a giftfrom God."
"I'm not the only one," she said, uncomfortable with his intensity."Colonel Bradford, uh . . ." She hesitated, realizing that the Bishopwas the only other Priest-Inquisitor she knew of.
"His Excellency's other committments do not normally permit him toexercise his priestly functions on an individual basis, not true?"
"True." Most Bishops did have to be more concerned with administrationthan with a chaplain's duties . . . "Okay, I guess you're right. Whatcan I do for you?"
"Hear our confessions, for one thing," a graying Captain said. "Imessed up, oh--three or four months ago, but the chaplain we wereassigned doesn't understand Inquisitors--he couldn't figure out why itbothers me." He paused, looking miserable. "Reverend Mother--please?"
Cortin looked around for a private place--she couldn't refuse such aplea--but it was Robbins who said, "If you'd like to use my office,Mother, I'd be honored."
"Thank you--where is it?"
"Through the curtains over there, second door on the right."
Cortin rose, feeling inadequate, but led the older officer--CaptainGregory Watkins, if she remembered correctly from the groupintroduction--through the curtains and into an office decorated withEnforcement Service pictures, awards, and certificates. She sat in thedesk chair, putting on her stole; when Watkins knelt beside her andbegan his Confession, she understood why he would want a confessor whocould understand the feelings of guilt that, deservedly or not, wentwith failure to get necessary information from a subject, then damaginghim so badly, in an effort to correct the first problem, that no oneelse could get the information either. She hadn't done that badlyyet--her clumsiness with her first subject had been due toinexperience, not lack of judgement--but she was certain she'd do itsome day. When she did, she too would want a confessor who understoodwhat she'd done, why it was wrong, and how to help her avoid it in thefuture.
She gave him absolution, with a penance of memorizing the third chapterof St. Jean Grillet's The Inquisitor's Call. It seemed harsh to her,but his expression said otherwise, and when he rose, he thanked her.
Breakfast was on the table when they got back, and she was hungry; assoon as grace was said, she started on a stack of hotcakes and honey.Illyanov was absolutely right, she decided immediately; the food wasfar better than she'd gotten in any Service dining hall. She grinnedat Robbins, giving him the "first-class" hand signal, then continuedeating and listening to the conversation.
That had settled rather quickly into shop talk, as it usually did whengroups of specialists got together. She could understand how it mightupset a nearby diner, but she'd been studying during meals for weeksnow; she listened carefully, making mental notes of severaluseful-sounding--or just interesting--tips, though she didn't join inuntil her plate was empty and she was enjoying a glass of pear nectar.There was less resentment than she'd expected at Bradford's order thatshe get first choice of all non-critical prisoners, though she did takesome teasing about being sure she left some for them, what with theBrothers still laying low. She promised, with a bit of return teasingthat if things were all that slow this might be a good time to takesome leave, then she had to make another promise that she'd holdConfession and Mass for them, in the base chapel if she could getpermission, in their lounge at the Detention Center if she couldn't.
As she was getting ready to leave, a waiter approached and handed her anote;
she read it, grinned, and handed it to Illyanov. She wassummoned to the Base Theater for a meeting of prospective Team Leadersand team-seconds. The note didn't say what kind of teams they were tobe Leaders and seconds of, naturally, but it didn't have to; she andIllyanov knew. "I'll see about arranging for the chapel," she told thegroup as she rose. "I'll post the results on the bulletin board,whichever way it works out, but I've got to go now. Thanks again."