He'd been there for her graduation, too, proud that one of his recruits had been at the top of the class, commissioned First Lieutenant for that achievement. He'd given her her first salute, then staggered as sixty kilos of enthusiastic female officer jumped him for a congratulatory kiss. Remembering that kiss--and the night that followed, the others later--Mike Odeon rubbed the scar crossing his lips. It hurt to see medics working over her, hear them sounding pessimistic. Her injuries seemed to be even more severe than Boris had said at first, and she'd been weak to begin with, just recuperating from one of the unnamed plagues that had devastated the Kingdom Systems during the Final War. The plagues were no longer common, hadn't been for over a century; Joanie had simply had the bad luck to pursue a gang of horse thieves into a still-contaminated area. The medics were putting her onto a litter, careful to support her back. As they picked up the litter, her eyes flickered open and she looked in Odeon's direction. "Mike?" A gesture stopped the medics. "What is it, Joanie?" "Don't let 'em kick me out . . . while I can't fight back. I've gotta . . . get the bastards who did this . . . Mike, promise . . ." "I promise, Joanie. I'll do everything I can, you know that." He waved the medics on, looking after them, then turned to his second. "Find anything useful, Sergeant?" "Afraid not, sir. They're too damn good at covering up. We won't have a thing, unless Captain Cortin's able to give us some descriptions." "All right. Call in a specialist squad from New Denver; they may be able to find some kind of evidence. Fingerprints, footprints, identifiable bullets--damn, but I wish we had what the prewars had!" "Able to identify a culprit from a speck of blood or a hair?" Sergeant Vincent laughed bitterly. "Hell, if we could do that, we'd have the Brothers under control in six months." "Yeah." Odeon tried to hide his frustrtion. "No use playing what-if, though; we could do that forever. Let's get back to HQ." Silently, respecting their leader's mood, the Special Operations team returned to their command van for the copter-lift back to their Middletown headquarters. It wasn't until they were landing that anyone spoke. "Captain?" "What is it, Boris?" "I spoke with the physician, sir. Captain Cortin will be stabilized at the local clinic, then sent to New Denver for surgery. You are due for leave, are you not?" "Yeah, and I intend to take advantage of it. Two years' worth of accumulated leave ought to give me time to help her stay in." * * * * * Leave arrangements weren't difficult to make. Special Operations teams tended to stay together, but casualties were high; anyone could be replaced quickly. By mid-morning the next day Odeon had finished briefing his temporary replacement, and by noon he'd used his Special Ops identification to get aboard a plane to New Denver.