"You get used to it," Egan said. "Yes, that is grounds for discharge, and at full pay. I will have to examine her myself, as I said, but if Dr. Franklin says it's a floating disc, that's exactly what it is. I'll send her discharge recommendation in to Enforcement HQ first thing tomorrow." "No, Doctor, you'll give it to me for endorsement." Odeon saw her beginning objection, and raised a hand to forestall it. "She doesn't want a discharge; my endorsement will request a waiver. And she won't want her mobility limited, since it would hamper her in her work. So no spinal fusion, we'll just have to hope that other operation you mentioned works." Egan frowned, concern for her patient overcoming her apprehension. "You're a harsh man, Captain Odeon, even harsher than I expected from one of your profession. Do you know what you're condemning her to?" "I know what you just told me, yes. But I also know the last thing she asked me was to help her stay in. I am her advocate, Doctor; until you release her, my word goes." "Unfortunately, it does," Egan said with a sigh. "But then she can countermand your orders." Odeon half-bowed in his seat. "That's right, Doctor, and I hope to God she does. I don't want to see her hurting, but she asked me not to let her get kicked out while she couldn't defend herself. I'm doing for her what she would do for me if our positions were reversed." Egan looked at him for several moments, silent, then she nodded. She was beginning to understand, she thought. His grim harshness was real, but it concealed equally real concern for the woman he represented. "As you say, Captain. Be sure Captain Cortin will have the best care I can give her." This time Odeon stood to bow and answer, formally. "My thanks, Doctor Egan. When may I see her?" "Tomorrow afternoon," Egan replied. "I have her scheduled for surgery--whichever procedure you decided on--at 0800. I assure you she will be given only those drugs which are absolutely necessary." "My thanks again, Doctor." Odeon gave her a sketchy salute. "If you'll excuse me, I have to pick up some forms." At her nod he left, grateful for her last assurance. It was almost a hundred years since the Final War--not the nuclear holocaust the prewars had dreaded; there had been only a few atomics used, and most of those were relatively clean neutron bombs. The primary weapons had been biological; it was their devastation that had wiped out over fifty percent of the Kingdoms' population, and the passage of time hadn't removed the remainder's sudden overwhelming aversion to "unnatural substances" imposed on the body. Drugs were used, sparingly, by doctors--and not so sparingly by Enforcement Service Inquisitors. * * * * * The next morning Odeon woke at dawn as he usually did, but instead of rising at once, he rolled onto his back and laced hands behind his head.