th 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