He looked so hopeful she couldn't refuse him. "All right, Mike. I'll go with you, and I'll try to do what you say. Just don't expect too much." "I'll settle for anything that'll help you." Odeon smiled at her, raising his cup. "To your recovery." "Thanks--are you going out tonight?" He'd been planning on it, but he quickly changed his plans. "No, why?" "I'd like some company, then, if you don't mind." She grimaced. "Though if you'd prefer a woman who can do something for you instead of a counterfeit, I'd certainly understand." "Even disabled, you're more of a real woman than any I've paid to be with," Odeon said. "I've always enjoyed your company, even when one of us was too tired or too hurt for fun and games--you know that." "I know--I felt the same way." Cortin managed a smile. "But I will miss the fun and games, and you'll have to be careful about waking up shooting because you hear something out of place--I haven't learned to stay in the right position while I'm sleeping yet, so it's at night my back acts up worst, and I have a bad tendency to scream when it does." At least her sense of humor hadn't completely deserted her, even though the humor now was on the dark side. "I'll be careful," he promised. "I certainly wouldn't want to shoot my favorite recruit." * * * * * She found it comforting to lie beside Mike, even though part of her also found it a near-painful reminder of what they'd shared earlier. She lay awake for awhile listening to his quiet breathing before it lulled her into a doze, then into deeper sleep and dreams of a better time. It was her Graduation Day; the Duke of Columbia had almost finished pinning on her classmates' gold Second Lieutenants' bars. Her own, the silver of a First Lieutenant since she was first in her class, already gleamed on her immaculate gray uniform. She was impatient for the ceremony to end. She'd seen her recruiter in the crowd, and she wanted to carry out the plans she'd made for him, plans that bore no resemblance to the sometimes-sadistic ones her classmates claimed to have for their recruiters. She'd discovered the surprisingly pleasurable reality of the Enforcement Service's sexual freedom not long after her arrival at the Academy, quickly losing her inhibitions. Being the only woman in the class, she had enjoyed her instructors' attentions--but the corollary was far less enjoyable. In prewar days, being a teacher's favorite had supposedly meant having an easier time than other students; at the Royal Academy, it meant additional work, more intensive instruction, and more severe testing. The harder they were on her, she was repeatedly told, the better her odds of survival would be when she got out in the field--and she had thrived on the increased challenge, as she'd proven by graduating at the top of her class. But much as she had enjoyed her instructors'--and a few of her