"Yes, in the Inquisitors' lounge. I will have you admitted there as my guest." "Thanks." When they got inside the building, Illyanov showed Odeon the lounge and introduced him to the three Inquisitors it held, then he and Cortin went to the Records Section. The clerk there was a young private, who looked to Cortin as though he might possibly be a full week out of boot camp; he was certainly still new enough to the job that he showed apprehension at the sight of an Inquisitor's badge. "Yes, Major?" he asked. "I wish to see the records of all prisoners being held for third-stage interrogation." "I'm sorry, sir," the young private said, obviously nervous. "As of the first of the week, all those not currently undergoing questioning are being saved for Inquisitor-Captain Cortin's evaluation." Inquisitor-Captain, Illyanov noted, not Inquisitor-Trainee. Yes, things were being accelerated for her, indeed. But if Colonel Bradford thought it best that she be treated as fully qualified by Detention Center staffs, there had to be a reason; he would go along. "Captain Cortin and I are currently acting as partners," he said. "However, you must keep your records in order, must you not?" He turned to Cortin. "If you would identify yourself for this young man, Captain, we can proceed." "Of course, Major." Cortin dug out her ID, the first time she'd used it since before going into the convalescent hospital, and had to hide her surprise as she showed it to the clerk. Besides the standard Enforcement Service card, the little folder held an Inquisitor's badge! Keeping her voice level, she said, "Now, may we see those records?" "Yes, Captain--it'll only take me a moment." While he went to the files for them, Cortin gave Illyanov a curious look, got only a slight shrug in return, and took a closer look at her ID. It was the one she'd had since making captain, yes--there was where the pen had spluttered while she was signing it--but it had been altered. Very skillfully altered, by someone who knew precisely what he was doing, and according to it, Illyanov was right; she wasn't in full uniform. Or . . . was she? Surely she would have noticed an SO patch on her sleeve! She snuck a quick glance, and was relieved to see nothing there. At least it didn't look like she was going either blind or insane! "Here you are, Captain," the clerk said, handing her a small stack of folders. "If you want to go through them here, you can use that desk by the west door." "Thank you." Cortin took them, going to the desk and seating herself, then opening the first one--but her mind was on the additions to her ID. She took out the folder again, staring at the badge and the Special Operations stamp. "What's going on?" she asked Illyanov in a low voice. "Why do I get a badge while I'm still in training, and why sneak it all in on me like this?"