by David Beers
My imprisonment taught me certain things, and I think it is valuable to put that information in here. This isn't necessarily about the Insurrection, but about people.
My captors brutalized me, and I use the plural for a simple reason. Only one tortured me, but the other two let it happen. They didn't stop it, not until the severity grew too bad for even them to countenance.
All this time later, it makes me wonder who is actually good and what the word even means. I was changed by my torture, and not in a way that tends toward the universe's arc of good.
The people who kept me captive while Pro searched for me? I wouldn't consider any of them good, either. However, only one was evil. I don't know what the others were, Ares and Veena. They considered themselves honorable and looked down on Hel for her sadistic acts, yet the acts continued.
Mankind is capable of feats that make the heart sore and actions that make the soul want to quit existing.
You're going to see some of those acts in the next few chapters I write because you must understand that both sides of this Insurrection were capable of almost unfathomable evil. What happened to me, I did unto others.
In some ways, what happened to me allowed our Insurrection to rise as high as it did because, without my becoming cruel, we wouldn't have had what it took to kill as many as we did.
Even now, I don't know if I'm sorry for what I've done because of what was done to me.
Chapter Twelve
“Hel’s value to the Commonwealth is in her uncommon ability to mete out pain that most people didn’t know existed.”
—Alexander de Finita, Current Imperial Ascendant
Thoreaux wanted death. When he was alone, he prayed to the gods for it. The idea of prayer was primitive, something from mankind's earliest days. The gods, wherever they existed, did not interfere with the universe, if they even knew about it any longer. Yet in his desperate pain, Thoreaux forgot the logic of his choices, and he prayed to die.
His ear was missing, and only a basic salve rested on it. Those holding him hadn't even bothered covering it with a patch to keep insects and dirt from getting stuck in the blood and salve. His nose was crooked across his face, and breathing out of it was impossible. One eye was swollen shut, and the other only barely open.
He lay in a room of complete darkness; the only comfort they'd given him was a mattress to sleep on. He was curled up on it, praying for death and hoping no one came into his room.
Someone knocked on the door, though, and it was a cruel joke—as if there was any privacy for Thoreaux. He tried not to whimper as the door opened because he knew who it was. Anyone else would have simply walked in, but Hel liked her mind games almost as much as her physical ones.
Light swept partway across the room as the woman walked in. Thoreaux had no idea how long ago they'd arrived, only that the woman's face appeared to have been fixed. Even that was hard to say for certain, given his lack of vision.
"Time to wake up, sweetheart," she said, the smile on her face beaming through her voice.
"No more," Thoreaux said. "Please, no more."
"Oh, there's always more. There will be more until you are no more, but by then, I should have your fearless leader." He heard her approach his mattress and tried to push himself back against the wall to get away from her, but it was futile. She grabbed him by his greasy hair and dragged him off the mattress and out the door. The light hurt his eyes, and he tried to shield himself from it, but Hel tossed him out of the room.
He hit the cement floor face-first, and his injured ear exploded with new pain. It felt like a bomb had gone off on the side of his head and all he could do was curl into a ball. He shut his eyes and felt his head growing woozy. The pain was about to take him under.
He felt something stab his neck, and seconds later, he roared back to life. He knew what’d been done; Hel had jabbed him with a stimpack. She wasn't going to let him escape into unconsciousness.
"Get up against the wall, Thoreaux," she demanded. "Stop sniveling like a child."
He knew what she wanted because she'd made him do this before. He obeyed even as he protested, begging for her to stop. He pushed himself up against the wall, seated with his legs splayed out in front of him. He kept his hand over his ear, careful not to touch it, and he averted his eyes.
She squatted in front of him, her tiny knife in her right hand. "Have I told you why I'm doing this, Thoreaux? Why I come here every morning instead of eating breakfast?"
"Please," he said. "I'll tell you anything. I'll do anything you want. Just no more." He had already told her everything. He'd told her truths and untruths, anything that might make the pain stop. Nothing did, though. She was insatiable in her lust to hurt.
"I do it partly because I like it, but that's only part of it. When your hero returns, I want him to see you. I'll make him stare at you before I start in on him because he's the one who caused this pain. Not me. Not even you. It was him." She grinned broadly. "Now, today, I thought we might start with your toes. What do you think about that?"
Tears welled in Thoreaux's eyes and fell onto his cheeks. "I'll tell you about his wife. I'll tell you about the AllMother. I'll tell you anything you want to know."
Her smile widened. "The only thing I want to know is which toe you'd like me to flay first."
Thoreaux was sobbing now, snot running out of his nose and over his bruised and battered lips. "Anything. I'll give you anything."
He never told her which toe to start with, so Hel picked the smallest one on the left foot, and by the end of the session, she'd made her way to his biggest one.
She used fire to staunch the bleeding.
Veena had seen enough, both of this planet and Hel's plans.
She felt dirty, and not in a physical sense. She felt like her honor had been thrown in the mud, and she didn't think she'd ever be able to clean it off. Hel was back in her little torture chamber, using the captive as a personal vengeance doll. It was as if she thought she could somehow hurt him enough to hurt the man who'd destroyed her face.
They'd been here for a week, and Veena was finished. Hel had made the contacts. Hel had figured out the plan. Veena went along with it all because Ares appeared to be in a near-coma. It was like he didn't care what happened. He didn't argue with Hel. He didn't tell her to stop the massacre she was performing in the back of their hideout.
Veena went to his room, the captive's screams softer as she moved away from the torture chamber. It made her skin crawl to hear them. She couldn't be a part of something like that any longer. She knocked on Ares' door.
"Come in," the Titan answered from inside.
Veena pushed the door open and stepped in, closing it behind her.
Ares lay on his cot, his Whip resting beneath his right hand. Veena could still hear the screams, though they were muffled.
"How can you lay in here and listen to that?" she asked.
The Titan glanced at her. "What do you mean?"
"Every morning for the past week, we've heard her doing this. You haven't said a word, Ares. Not to me, not to her, not to anyone."
He turned his eyes back to the ceiling. "What am I supposed to say? You want me to go in there and tell her to stop?"
"I think we need to take control of this situation. I think we've both shirked our duties as Primuses by allowing any of this to take place, including fleeing the ship." She took a step closer to his bed, anger rising in her. "None of this is going to get us back to Earth. None of this is helping our mission of capturing Kane."
Ares sighed as if he were exhausted. His right hand moved up and down his crimson Whip’s hilt. "Do you know my father? Have you heard of him?"
"What's that have to do with any of this?" Veena asked.
"Answer the godsdamn question. Do you know who he is?"
Veena put her hands on her hips. "I’m aware of your lineage."
"Growing up, through my formative years really, he taught me things. They were hard lessons. Things that made me wonder if he loved me or
if I was a tool he was molding. As a man, lying here in this shithole, listening to someone scream in a back room, I know the truth. My father loved me deeply, and he was trying to prepare me for the life that he knew would come."
Ares suddenly swung his legs off the bed and sat up. Except for Kane, Veena didn't think she'd ever seen someone move so smoothly.
He looked at her, his Whip still inactive in his right hand. "One thing he taught me was when you aren't in a dominant position, rushing forward can be fatal. It's often better to let your opponents think they're in charge or let them be in charge if that's what it takes. Eventually, they'll make a mistake, and if you're ready and in position, you can gain the upper hand. So far, Hel hasn't allowed me to gain the upper hand. The contacts she made with the underworld here are good for us. Whether or not we agree with what she's doing to that man, capturing Alistair is essential to getting back to the Commonwealth. I don't want to consider right now if we'll hold our posts. It's too far in the future. All I want to do is get Kane, kill him, and bring his head back to the Ascendant. I'll deal with Hel when the moment presents itself because I know for sure she isn't planning on letting us make it back."
Veena understood or thought she did. She wanted to know something, though. "Does it bother you, what's happening back there, Ares? That we're listening to a man having his skin cut off his body?"
Much slower this time, Ares turned and lay back on his bed. "It's inconsequential, Veena. He's a Subversive. Either way, his life is over. I'm focused on Alistair and finding my way back to the Commonwealth. I suggest you do the same. The attack will happen in a few hours. Whether they kill him or we do, it's the only way to stop this. Last time, we made the mistake of thinking we could capture him. By the end of this planet’s night, he'll be done, and most likely Hel will be too."
He was staring at the ceiling, and Veena was wondering at her naiveté. She had spent her whole life serving the Commonwealth. She had no husband or wife, no kids, nothing. She'd known this type of work was competitive. Where life and death hang in the balance, things must be competitive and sometimes ruthless.
But this wasn’t what she'd signed up for. This wasn’t why she'd sacrificed any semblance of a personal life. Ares wasn't what she thought he’d be when she first met him, an arrogant child with a godlike physical nature. He was more and yet somehow less. An arrogant child might be selfish, but not this calculating.
She turned to leave the small room and placed her hand on the doorknob, then paused as a thought hit her.
This is dangerously close to things Kane might have felt, Veena. Feelings that led to him releasing Subversives.
"You okay?" Ares asked from his bed.
"Yeah. Ready for this to be finished," Veena said, though she wasn't sure if she was okay.
The torture ended, and Thoreaux was placed back in his room.
Darkness lived around him. Rats scurried to and fro, their nails click-clacking on the stone floor.
None of that existed for Thoreaux, though. When they opened the door to toss in a bowl of slop, he didn't hear it open or close. They didn't even bother locking the door behind them; they were sure he wouldn’t escape.
He didn't, either.
Thoreaux lived in pain that shouldn't exist. The gods themselves should have said that pain of this magnitude was not allowed. His foot trembled, and he was unable to stop it. Where flesh had been was now seared black. He'd watched that psychopath slowly peel back his skin with the sharpest knife he'd ever seen.
The trembling traveled up his legs, all the way to his arms. His lips began to quiver, and he rolled over on his side. Tears leaked out of his eyes, and once again, Thoreaux prayed for death. He whimpered in the silence of his room, his voice unheard.
Chapter Thirteen
“We create the greatest warriors in the universe, and we sell them at a premium to people who cannot afford to lose.”
—The Orion Corporation
The price had been low for the information they’d received, but Alistair understood it wouldn’t do much to help them survive the coming attack. They didn’t switch their rooms. Alistair figured they were being watched, and changing where they slept might alert their followers. He needed these people to attack because without that, finding Thoreaux would be even harder.
He and his remaining council talked it through. The attackers would know about Alistair's modifications. They would know about the group’s weapons, including his Whip. Perhaps the only thing they wouldn't know was the AllMother's capacity, though no one wanted to test her abilities. It was strange, having someone with almost limitless mental powers at their disposal but knowing that to use her once might end her life.
It wasn't worth it.
They weren't sure which room they'd attack first or when they’d strike. Alistair thought the enemy would value killing over capture. He believed the Commonwealth had given up on capturing him. Their record wasn't great.
With darkness still outside their hotel, the group went to their rooms. Each slept with their weapon of choice by their side. Relm held a MechPulse across his chest. Servia kept a StarBeam in her right hand and a knife in her left in case the fighting was close. Faitrin had surprised Alistair when given the choice of weapons. She'd pulled out two daggers, each about a half-meter in length.
"They aren't great for dreadnought fighting, but in hotel rooms?" she'd said. "There isn't anything much better if living is your ultimate goal."
Alistair spent an hour or so walking around the hotel. He wanted to make sure he understood the layout. The building was over a thousand meters tall, and everyone in it was dependent on an elevator to some degree. If the coming force somehow managed to shut them down, there would be problems with escape.
You won’t be escaping, Alistair told himself. You'll be capturing one of them, or you'll die trying.
The one important thing he’d noticed while walking the premises was the empty floors above and below his; all guests and businesses were gone. He didn't know if that had been the case before, only that no one was around them now.
He went back to Faitrin and had her check in with Jeeves.
"It said there's no record of any construction or anything else going on. It also said the business four floors above ours is still registered as the renter."
Alistair didn't need to talk about it with his council. He knew what it meant because he'd done it countless times as a Titan. Usually, they cleared the entire building, but this one was too big for that. Someone had been paid off, probably multiple someones from businesses to government, even law enforcement. The android had said outright violence was about the only thing you couldn't do on this planet, so the powers that be were making sure what happened tonight would go unnoticed by everyone except the participants.
If it's a war they want, he thought, then it's a war I'll give them.
Servia and the AllMother were sharing a room, and Obs lay on the floor of Alistair's quarters. Relm and Faitrin remained alone.
No one slept.
Alistair lay on his back like he had the night before. It was hard to judge the time since darkness was constantly around them. He kept his eyes closed and focused on listening.
Obs was a clever beast. He lay on the floor snoring, though there was no way he was asleep.
When they came, they came hard.
Gas canisters shot through the windows of all four rooms at the same time. Had anyone been in front of the windows, the canisters would have put a hole through them.
"HOODS UP!" Alistair screamed as he leaped off the bed. His hood enveloped his head as his Whip unfurled. "OBS, STAY LOW!" The gas would float upward; that would have to be enough.
Alistair backed into the far corner of the room, Obs following at his heels. He didn't growl, and Alistair made no noise, letting Prometheus step forward. The plan was simple: let the gas either kill or disable, then sweep in and pick up the pieces. He was ready to give them a surprise when they arrived.
The doors blew o
ff their hinges, flying into all four rooms simultaneously. Laser beams poured in seconds after and sliced through the rooms from one side to the other while gas rose into the air. Prometheus dropped to the floor, avoiding a laser that would have cut him in half. He could only hope those in the other rooms were as lucky, but there wasn't time to help them.
They still hadn't met their would-be killers.
The lasers continued cutting and burning through the room. Obs hugged the ground, his teeth bared but not making a sound. He understood the need to play dead.
The first man stepped into the room and scanned to his right, holding a weapon Alistair had never seen before—a rifle of some sort.
Prometheus somersaulted forward, wary of more lasers cutting through the room. His Whip flashed out as the man turned to the left side of the room and removed his attacker’s legs from his torso. A scream rang through the hotel room, then Pro heard blasts from the other rooms. He kept rolling until he'd cleared the doorway, picking up the rifle with his left hand as he passed it.
The man was bleeding out on the floor. Pro flashed a look at Obs, and the animal stood and moved next to the door. Prometheus turned his attention to the window.
Two men swung in one after the other, the same rifles in their hands. They didn't need to scan since their heads-up-displays would clearly show Alistair on a knee in front of them.
The killers fired, and Prometheus nearly died as he stared at the projectiles.
Neon-green nets exploded from the ends of the weapons, spread about a meter in all directions, and paused in mid-air. The pause was only fractions of a second, and the scan they launched was all-encompassing.
The nets rushed forward, their neon glow lighting the room. The left net went after Pro, and the one on the right centered on Obs.
Prometheus reacted in time and formed his Whip into a sword-like weapon. He slashed, not knowing what it would do, hoping the expanding net wouldn't kill him.
