The Alembic Plot: A Terran Empire novelWilson, Ann
Science
The Alembic Plot: A Terran Empire novel
Wilson, Ann
Science fiction
"As good as ever, but I don't hug people with broken ribs." He kissed
her as thoroughly as he thought possible without hurting her, then
pulled up a chair to sit beside the bed.
Her first question gave him an unpleasant shock. "Have you put me in
for Special Ops?"
"What?" he said, trying to stall. Dammit, she wasn't supposed to know
she was eligible yet!
Cortin sighed. "I don't need a doctor to know I've been spayed, Mike.
The incision in my belly, after what the Brothers did to me, makes it
obvious I'll never have a family. It was unlikely before; now it's
simply impossible. You can thank God I'm on sedatives right now, or
I'd probably be a raving maniac. So answer the question."
"I have, yes. I found out day before yesterday that you'd be eligible,
took the paperwork to Headquarters yesterday as soon as Doctor Egan
told me you'd made it through the surgery with a reasonably good
prognosis, and started to walk it through." He paused, frowning.
"And?"
"I don't know," Odeon said slowly. "Personnel didn't seem too
interested in doing anything about the waiver request at first, until I
raised my voice a bit." He chuckled briefly. "It seems office workers
are more than a little apprehensive about an upset Special Ops man. At
any rate, once I convinced them to do more than glance at the forms, I
was very politely escorted to a private office--which is where it gets
odd. Joanie, there was a colonel of His Majesty's Own there!"
"His Majesty's Own!" Cortin said, impressed. "So what happened?"
"Not much--which is what bothers me." Odeon frowned. "He took the
forms, read them, nodded once, and told me not to tell anyone including
you about the meeting. I asked what was going on, told him I had to
tell you something--but the only thing he'd say was that it was a
classified project, that you'd be given serious consideration, and that
he'd be in touch as soon as the decision was made. Typical bureaucrat
talk--but the oddest thing is that I believe him."
"Did he give you any idea of when?"
Odeon shook his head. "No--but I'd guess not more than a few days.
Full colonels don't work for long in bare-bones offices without even
carpeting."
"True, especially when they belong to His Majesty's Own. And I've got
a couple of months before I'm well enough I have to make a final
decision--I presume I am eligible for a disability discharge?"
"Yes, of course, at full pay. But I don't like what I think you're
getting at. Joanie, don't do anything you'll regret."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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