for sex, sometimes permanently. In her case it hadn't;
she wanted Mike as much as ever, and would have been glad to enjoy
Major Illyanov, given the chance. It was a bitter irony that her
training had left her with the desire, while the attack had robbed her
of all capability. And it still seemed so pointless, when they'd been
in the process of killing her!

Still, terrorists weren't known for reasonable behavior, or they
wouldn't be terrorists. She'd simply have to live with the fact, she
told herself grimly, of having the desire and not being able to do
anything about it.

Bad as that was, though, it wasn't the worst. Nothing had prepared her
for the Brothers burning their Hell-marks into her flesh; that was a
totally unexpected violation! She wasn't being reasonable in keeping
them, and she knew it; the reasonable thing would have been--was!--to
have them covered with grafts. Much as they revolted her, though, the
idea of having them removed still felt wrong. And Major Illyanov did
think they'd be useful--so she'd settle for gloves.

As soon as she was free of the medical plumbing, she started
exercising. The first day, she confined herself to her room, when no
one else was there, to spare herself the embarrassment of being seen
unfit in public--but the room was too small for decent exercise, and
she was in a hurry to get back to duty and the practical side of her
training.

The next morning, too impatient to wait for visiting hours and Mike's
help, she found a hospital robe in the closet. It was too big, but it
didn't drag the ground and sleeves could be rolled up, so she put it
on. That gave her her first honest laugh since the attack when she
looked at herself in the mirror, but the robe did cover the hospital
gown's open back, so she felt decently enough dressed to go out into
the corridor.

When she opened the door, she was astonished to find a pair of
troopers, obviously on guard. One of them, a sergeant she remembered
meeting briefly several years ago, looked startled to see her.
"Captain Cortin! Is anything wrong, ma'am?"

"Nothing but a strong desire to recover enough to get out of here," she
said, smiling at his grimace of agreement. "A mere captain doesn't
rate an honor guard, and I haven't done anything to be arrested for, so
how come you two're standing post?"

The sergeant--his name was Kennard, she remembered--chuckled.
"Scuttlebutt says you're still on the Brothers' wipe list.