by Ma West
“Warriors of Atoll, war is upon us!” Baronious unleashed another volley of howling. “Today, yet again, we face an old foe, a dangerous and ruthless species, a species that claims the galaxy as their own—a species that boasts physical supremacy, mental acuity, and longevity.” He paused with a childlike smile on his face. “And they are a species that fears our name!” This brought another wild burst of howling. “Once again, my friends, we are being called upon to protect the innocent, defend the weak, and secure the future of good. And in these tasks, we shall not fail!” This time, the soldiers did not howl but pounded their sticks into the ground, each vibration in perfect timing with the others as they moved back into formation and his image on the ceiling disappeared.
The room above Hashmore shook with a fearful force, as if the world itself was quaking at their might. Baronious stood next to Hashmore as he steadied himself against the vibrations from the group above. “Now, my weak friend, what do you say to that? I love it!” Then Baronious slapped Hashmore on the back and again carried him like a kitten, off to a side room.
Hashmore was seated in a chair that was more comfortable than expected, next to a desk. Baronious sat next to him, and soon after, five Dognosis entered the room, gave a salute, and then sat down. An image of the long spaceship—a very long cylinder in space, with large bubbles attached in a pattern around its periphery—floated like a ghost above the table.
“Archimius, my brother and my rival, successor to Aragmell and current champion, I am here to present to you a challenge, a challenge of extreme difficulty—a challenge so great no one would question your passing on it.”
One of the Dognosis stood. “Your Royal Ass-ship, your words both honor and insult me. You are foolish to believe there is no undertaking too great a challenge for me, so prove to me the worthiness, and I shall carry any burden, no matter how great.”
Interacting with the Great Mother was much easier, Hashmore thought to himself. He was lost in thought, uninterested and uninvolved in whatever the hell they were doing. He was being treated like a pet, and acting like one in return. He fidgeted and scanned the room, unaware of the importance of the things going on around him. A short pause in the conversation drew his attention, only it was too late. He had been late to respond, and Baronious now grabbed Hashmore and threw him onto the center of the table.
“This creature and his species have been deemed acceptable for entry into the ark. This creature’s species has also been tagged by the empire for conquest and workers. Yet beyond that, this species has garnered an extreme amount of interest, from multiple circles as well. The Adrinoleen declare this species to have some genetic miracle, the Great Mother believes this species to be special to their Lord, and the empire has committed extremely high amounts of resources to this undertaking. I, however, find them to be useless, weak, and inferior. Unworthy of our ark’s great mission and unworthy of our lives. I bring you this challenge, not of our hearts but out of protocol. Shall you accept such risk to your own lives so as to protect this lot?”
Archimius reached out and grabbed Hashmore, bringing him close. Hashmore tried to fight back, but the alien was obviously much stronger. Archimius twisted and rotated Hashmore as if he were examining a doll. After several rotations, Hashmore was seated on the table, facing toward Archimius. “What is it about you and your kind that has everyone so worked up? Well I care not for politics, and I care not for religion, so tell me, my pathetic little friend, why should I risk the lives of my men and myself on you and your kind?”
They again stared at Hashmore, waiting for an answer. He looked around, his brain unable to process anything fast enough to respond.
“It does at least have the ability to speak, does it not?” Archimius asked no one in particular.
Hashmore’s brain finally caught up. Now he only needed to justify his race’s existence. Frustration showed on his audience’s faces, yet he was still unable to communicate.
At last, the Dognosis Archimius grabbed him by the collar and pulled him face-to-face. The creature’s breath was foul with blood. The smell of death surrounded him, and the death of a thousand lives showed deep in his eyes. The creature seemed about to throw Hashmore back onto the table, when at last, a squeak finally broke through. “Help. We need help.”
Having turned halfway around, the creature returned and pulled Hashmore close. Archimius took a long smell of Hashmore, from his feet to his face. Hashmore couldn’t help but recoil at the encounter. He was again dropped onto the table, relieved that air was now allowed to flow into his lungs.
Archimius stood at attention. “Archimius will answer the call for those in need. To protect the weak is the greatest honor of the strong, and I shall answer the call of those in need. Baronious, you are my greatest rival. I thank you for a mission that will allow me to prove my superiority over you.” With that, the creature and the one beside him gave the traditional chest-pound salute and left the room.
The vibrations had stopped, and Hashmore was on his knees on the table in an empty room, as Baronious had exited toward the main center.
Oh, Lord. What does all this mean? Are you real? Oh, Lord, why don’t you answer me? Why am I stripped of all my power, all my knowledge, all my experience? Oh, Lord, why am I so weak?
Oh, Lord, how can you ask this of me? Have I not met my quota? Have I not been good enough? How much more do you ask of me, my Lord? Lord, why must it be this way? Why must I be alone? Why do I reach out to an empty voice? Oh, Lord, why have you forsaken me?
Is my path near its end? Why can’t you answer me, oh, Lord? Why do you speak in opaque tongues, with messages so easily confused? Why am I to believe in something I cannot touch, I cannot smell, nor can I taste? Is that feeling I feel really you, Lord? Is it my imagination? How do I live in service to that which cannot be proven? How do I believe?
Look at this place. This is no aftermath of the Garden of Eden. If these are your children, Lord, then why do they throw you away? Are these creatures still not moral? Do they not still care and protect others? Do they not do this despite a lack of your leadership? Humans? Aliens? Demons, angels? Is one’s moral character not defined by one’s existence? How are we to judge, my Lord? How am I to know friend from foe, when they all claim to be righteous?
Oh, Lord, why do you not answer me? Why am I left only with clues and riddles, stranded from over the ages, when in front of me is a universe I can study, learn, and understand? What am I to believe, Lord? This universe is too complex, too difficult to be created from one being. To what end would that being have in creating such chaos? To test free will? To test each one’s moral character? To separate the wanted from the not?
No, Lord, I refuse to believe. I make my own decision. I make my own choices! I have done enough, Lord. I have done enough. My calling has been fulfilled. Your favors have me exhausted. NO, my Lord, it is time I stood up for myself. I will no longer let you sap me of my strength. I will no longer let you guide me to who I should be. I will decide for myself. And I am a man who has had enough! Send me home, Lord, I shall do no more of your bidding!
Hashmore looked around and examined the room he was in. It was a normal room, as far as he could tell, with a desk surrounded by—although foreign, still nonetheless—chairs. He spent a few minutes on the table, finishing his prayer, before he stood up and looked for an exit. It took a second to even find the lips of the wall of the door where he’d come in. Masterly crafted, these doors were smooth and would not be the easiest to recognize as a door.
Hashmore walked the room, trying to find another exit, but he found none, nor did he have any idea how to open the other one. He would have to try to exit the same way as the others. He mulled over a few options and then decided that it would be best to just walk out like he knew what he was doing.
He approached the door, only to find a buzzing in rejection. He backed away and approached again, only to be rejected by the buzzing. He had only two choices to believe in—either he was locked in or he jus
t didn’t know how to use the door. For scenario B, he decided that, should the aliens notice that he had trouble exiting, he would feign anger and demand to be returned to the Tilotins—at least they were not so scary. The plan for being locked in was still to be determined.
Hashmore went to each side of the door, looking for some sort of interface, whether it be a lever, a button, or whatever, but he was unable to locate anything. The buzzing insulted him each time he walked by.
He moved back to the table and leaned against it. The door finally opened, and in walked Baronious, a Dognosis standing next to him, and another one of the barrel-type doctor creatures. At first Hashmore wasn’t concerned, but as the group neared, the hair on his arms rose and a shiver ran down his spine.
A little black robot pulled a cart along with it as well—medical equipment from the room next door, as far as Hashmore could tell. The group moved with a purpose, as if orders had been assigned and there was a mission to accomplish. Hashmore was surrounded and looking up at Baronious’s face. He was sapped of his strength, his heart rushing with fear. Yet a few words managed to mumble out. “What’s going on?”
Baronious grabbed Hashmore by both arms, squeezing him tightly and lifting him off the ground, raising him to eye level. A sharp edge slowly slid across Hashmore’s neck as Baronious’s tail curled around his neck. “Now, my little friend, you will tell me all I want to know, or you will see how far I am willing to go.”
Hashmore controlled his bladder and prayed under his breath. “Oh, Lord, please protect me.”
The table transformed, and Baronious inserted Hashmore into a piece of equipment. A foul-smelling liquid started covering every inch of Hashmore’s body from the neck down. He tried to move but was the fly on the paper. “So-so-so, what do-do-do you want?” Hashmore put no effort into covering his fear. Being an interrogator had taught him that an emotional answer tends to be an honest answer.
The Dognosis in strange gear started setting up some equipment brought in by the little black MOP robots. The Annomite doctor worked with a set of tools, bringing one up toward its head and secreting something out of one or more tentacles, and then moving on to the next. The room’s entire lighting dimmed, and a hundred memories from the other side of the interrogation table flipped through his mind.
First, Hashmore thought, will come the pleasantries, a tool useful in determining much more than one might imagine. Back talking with insults and answering with a nervous inflection were two of the easiest signs of a successful interrogation. Cold silence and immediate capitulation were signs of a much more difficult interrogation. The most difficult subjects, other than those who were just bat-shit crazy, tended to start off the friendliest.
Hashmore was in no mood for pain, so he allowed himself to feel the fear of the moment. His body recessed its efforts to escape, a waste of energy that could be very useful later. Baronious sat at the table and rotated it so that they were almost face-to-face. “I,” he started, paused, and continued, “I have a problem, and you are going to be the answer, or you are going to be gone. My children have been asked to go into battle, and for a cause I don’t believe in and a species I don’t respect.”
“You are a nasty, pathetic race, and that absurdity about your species being blessed by some greater being makes me want to rip your head off. So now it is my job to confirm what I already know to be false.”
Hashmore felt the panic of immobility, defenselessness, and fear—all tools he determined to create an emotional response. At the time of occurrence, emotional lies are transparent, while emotional truths are genuine. A pinprick drew his attention as the Dognosis dressed in garb administered one of the syringes the Annomite had been busy filling.
“Now, how does one accomplish such a thing as disproving the unprovable? Well let me tell you.” Baronious smiled before he answered his own question. “Confession.”
Dear Lord, my Father in heaven above, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t want this. I don’t want this. Oh, Lord, save me from this and I will never forget, I swear. Can’t you just one more time? I’m sorry I doubted. I’m sorry I sinned. Oh, Lord, just save me again!
A strange look crossed Baronious’s face, if only for a second. “The Great Mother failed to get the information my children need. So I am forced to get it myself. Let us begin with the easy questions. Are there only two types of humans?” Baronious pulled back and sat staring patiently.
Hashmore tried to determine the purpose of the interrogation—knowledge of tactics is much less useful than knowledge of purpose. Confused and scared, he answered with his gut, hoping only to placate his interrogators. “Only men and women? Is that what you mean?”
Baronious slammed his fist into the table, executing an intense jolt of pain that entered and exited Hashmore’s body. “I ask the questions here! Are there only two types of humans?”
Again the jolts ripped through Hashmore’s body. “Yes, yes, yes.” Each answer weakened as Hashmore endured the pain as best he could.
“Do humans mate with other species?” Baronious readied his fist.
Hashmore winced at the question and paused, trying to decide how to give the most acceptable answer, but the pause was intolerable, and once again Hashmore felt pain. One jolt entered through a wrist and exited from his foot, leaving behind a sting that only slowly faded. “I don’t . . . know. I don’t know. I didn’t know aliens existed.” Tears dripped down his face.
“Do humans have gene technology?” Baronious readied his fist.
Hashmore felt betrayed by the questions. How the hell should he know any of this stuff? “Uh, we can read it.”
“Lie.” Baronious executed another round of misery, this time through the neck and out his right toe, burning along his spine.
“No, no lie. Please.”
“How many Imperial agents rule your world?”
Again Hashmore felt betrayed and worried. He had no defense against a pointless interrogation. “I don’t know what you mean. Please, I just work in the mayor’s office.”
Hashmore’s body tried to convulse, but it was held stiffly and painfully in place. Blackouts started to drain his vision, and his mind became fuzzy like he’d had a couple of shots.
Lord, oh, Lord. What? What do you want from me? Why do you, I mean, why do I suffer so? Where am I going? Lord, yes, Lord, what is happening?
The look on Baronious’s face turned to that of puzzlement and confusion. “How do you speak beyond the stones? It’s a farce, a trick somehow!” Hashmore felt his head being turned roughly as Baronious confirmed he did still have the stone lodged in his ear.
Like forgotten children now demanding attention, the two accompanying Baronious now sprang into action. One injected a second vial of secretion into Hashmore as the other attached sticky green gel pads onto his chest. Hashmore’s eyes floated aimlessly in his head, and the beeping of the machine now roared in alert.
The crescendo was not far away, and soon the roar lowered to a protest, then a beep, and then nothing. Hashmore’s eyes closed as his brain began to reset. Sleep was about to overcome him when a third vial was added to his already-cocktailed blood.
Hashmore sprang back awake and thrashed forcefully until his breath had escaped him and all of the chemical impairment had been burned off. Baronious stared into his eyes until cognitive contact was made. “At last, forgive the haste of the interrogation, but time is precious and you are much too skilled an interrogator to be reliable otherwise.”
Baronious made eye contact with the doctors, confirming that the desired state had been achieved. “Now, let us begin again, but this time, let’s have only the truth.”
Chapter 42
Who Dares to Question the Lord?
His stomach ached, and nausea soon followed. The universe spun slowly as Hashmore kept readjusting his eyes to its motion. His body felt tired, sore, and ready for sleep, yet his brain pulsed with an artificial sense of excitement. The fatigue alert cycle made it difficult to keep track
of his situational awareness.
“You have no idea how much I miss the historical times.” Baronious stood and paced. “Long before the days of separation, before the days the Wilde drove us from our home world, and before the Great Mother took her place. No, we were revered then, honored, and accorded appropriate privileges, no need for Annomite overseers.”
Hashmore saw Baronious give a menacing glance at the barrel squid alien, but if it generated a response, he was unable to interpret it. “Yes, it was then that my predecessor himself stood on the Arkapeligo council. You see, we were saved first. Had it not been for us, the ark never would have even known of the Tilotins’ . . .” Baronious coughed a laugh, “sentience.”
“How, you might ask, if your brain was not swimming so deep in the chemicals, did the Tilotins repay us?” Baronious paused and then burst out with anger as he spoke. “By chaining us like dogs!” His fist slammed against the table, but to Hashmore’s relief, it did not trigger another round of pain. “Our words, our intuition used to be enough. No questions, just getting the job done was all they cared about. And we did it. We did their bidding and cleared out the mutineers, and it cost us a great many warriors.”
“Parades, parties, admirational rewards, these are just hollow glorifications for the subservient. We proved our worth, we proved our loyalty, and for our trouble, we were relegated to the doghouse! Respect, responsibility, power, that is how you reward the able.”
Baronious sighed and took a few deep breaths. “So that is how we came to be here, no longer able to extract the information we need in a timely manner. So we must use less aggressive tactics. If you were to ask an Annomite, an act we will not do, they would say that there is nothing that can’t be solved chemically. Now, our doctor here, under the supervision of the Octabarrell there, has given you enough chemical, and enough time has passed that your brain is now my plaything. So let’s start with the easy—what is your designation?”
Hashmore felt dizzy and found it difficult to concentrate, yet his body gave an answer all on its own. “I am Luke Hashmore. I work for the mayor of New York, running the department of emergency management.”
