r our confessions, for one thing," a graying Captain said. "I
messed up, oh--three or four months ago, but the chaplain we were
assigned doesn't understand Inquisitors--he couldn't figure out why it
bothers me." He paused, looking miserable. "Reverend Mother--please?"

Cortin looked around for a private place--she couldn't refuse such a
plea--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--Captain
Gregory Watkins, if she remembered correctly from the group
introduction--through the curtains and into an office decorated with
Enforcement Service pictures, awards, and certificates. She sat in the
desk chair, putting on her stole; when Watkins knelt beside her and
began his Confession, she understood why he would want a confessor who
could understand the feelings of guilt that, deservedly or not, went
with failure to get necessary information from a subject, then damaging
him so badly, in an effort to correct the first problem, that no one
else could get the information either. She hadn't done that badly
yet--her clumsiness with her first subject had been due to
inexperience, not lack of judgement--but she was certain she'd do it
some day. When she did, she too would want a confessor who understood
what she'd done, why it was wrong, and how to help her avoid it in the
future.

She gave him absolution, with a penance of memorizing the third chapter
of 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; as
soon as grace was said, she started on a stack of hotcakes and honey.
Illyanov was absolutely right, she decided immediately; the food was
far better than she'd gotten in any Service dining hall. She grinned
at Robbins, giving him the "first-class" hand signal, then continued
eating and listening to the conversation.

That had settled rather quickly into shop talk, as it usually did when
groups of specialists got together. She could understand how it might
upset a nearby diner, but she'd been studying during meals for weeks
now; she listened carefully, making mental notes of several
useful-sounding--or just interesting--tips, though she didn't join in
until her plate was em