Part 17 (1/2)

When Odeon pa.s.sed their positions, the team opened fire. Cortin hit two, someone else hit two more, and the terrorists turned into a milling, cursing mob whose return fire was sporadic and poorly aimed.

Cortin smiled, continuing to aim and fire as coolly as if she were on the target range. She had no more hits, but others did; three more terrorists fell, and the rest fled, demoralized.

She stood, brus.h.i.+ng off her trousers, then reloaded and holstered her pistol. ”Anyone hurt?” she called.

”Nope.”

”Fine here.”

”Nicked by a chunk of flying bark, nothing serious.”

”We are unhurt.”

Hoofbeats from the rear brought them alert again, but it was Degas galloping up, his gun drawn. He holstered it as he pulled his horse to a stop, looking disappointed. ”I missed all the fun, huh?”

”I'm afraid so,” Cortin said, smiling. ”Bad guys zero, good guys seven.”

”Eight,” Odeon said. ”I hit one when they started chasing me. I don't know if he's dead or just wounded, though.”

Chang had come up and started checking the casualties; now she reported. ”Six dead, Captain, the other critically wounded.”

”Can he be questioned?”

Chang frowned. ”Perhaps, if you hurry. He is conscious, but will probably not survive more than a few minutes.”

”I'll hurry--which one?”

”Over here.” Chang led the way, kneeling beside the terrorist and doing what she could to keep him alive for Cortin's questions.

Cortin knelt on the man's other side, pulling her gloves off. ”My medic says you only have a few minutes to live. If you've got any desire to make your peace with G.o.d, now's the time to do it.” That didn't seem a very promising tactic, but it was obvious he wouldn't live long enough for her usual methods.

”You're . . . Cortin?” The man coughed, blood speckling his lips.

”Yes.” Maybe her reputation would be a help--except that he didn't seem as much afraid as hopeful.

”Now I know . . . why th' Raidmaster's . . . afraid of you.” The man seized her bare hand. ”Protect me from him . . . you're a priest . . .

I'll tell you all I can.”

”You'll be as safe from him as you are from me, in a few minutes.”

”No!” The man struggled to sit up, gasping in pain. ”That's no help--I need . . . th' Sacraments.”

Much as she wanted to, Cortin couldn't refuse; this was why Strike Force Inquisitors were required to be priests. She got her stole out of her pocket, calling for Odeon to bring her saddlebags, then kissed the stole and put it on. ”I'm ready.”

The man's Confession was hurried, missing details he must know he didn't have time for, but to Cortin's surprise it was an honest effort; he actually did regret what he'd done. Imminent-death repentance wasn't as good as trying to live a decent, useful life, but if G.o.d found it acceptable she had to. She gave him Absolution and Communion, less disturbed by that than she'd expected--though it still wasn't an experience she cared to repeat.

When he'd swallowed the Host, the Brother sank back. ”Thanks . . .

didn't know how much I'd missed it . . . once you've taken the oath . . . he doesn't let you know.” His eyes closed, and Cortin didn't need Chang's murmur to tell her he was almost gone. When he spoke again, his voice was little more than a whisper. ”He's right to be . . .

afraid of you. So afraid . . . you're to be . . . left alone. It's the nun . . . Piety's top of the . . . wipe list . . . more ways than one . . .” He tried to laugh, choked instead. ”You'll need 'em both . . . t' beat him.” That was all he could manage; with a sigh, he died.