In Death's Shadow

by S. F. Edwards

  “And what’s happened to them?”

  “No one knows sir. Their jailers, the Dagonites, our last contact with them were those destroyed refugee ships two centuries ago that finally convinced the senate to go to war. Most people think that the Geffers, and the Terrans in particular, wiped out all but those prisoners, over five centuries ago. But we didn’t even know that because the Pharad were our contacts with them.”

  “There has to be more to it than that, cadet. Come on, you were in the diplomatic corps, you know how the Confederation works, you’ve seen the ugly truth behind the gloss. When you get down to it, we aren’t that fundamentally different.”

  “Yes, we are!” Marda all but shouted. “The Confederation doesn’t keep slaves, we don’t force other races to join us at gun point…”

  “Check your history cadet, how many races have joined the Confederation only after you went to war with them?”

  “Those are the exceptions, not the rule, and most of those were because of misunderstandings.”

  “Get real, cadet, and stop looking at your history through rose-tinted goggles. The Confederation is more to blame for this war than the Galactic Federation will ever be. They want what’s in the Orion Arm and will never be content until they have it.”

  Another shot of pain radiated through Marda’s head as the captain’s words washed over her. What the fragging Sheol is a rose? And Orion Arm? Isn’t that what the Geffer’s call... Marda sat back bolt upright, her eyes wide. “Where am I? Where am I really?”

  “Shit, she saw through it,” the captain said to someone over Marda’s shoulder. “Pull her out.”

  Location: Unknown, Interrogation Chamber

  The pain in Marda’s head threatened to split her skull as the captain’s office melted around her, replaced by the clean white interior of the interrogation chamber. The captain’s features even morphed from that of a kindly Anulian to that of a thuggish, distended browed Thal. The light stung at her eyes so badly that she couldn’t help but cry out under the assault, and the horrid Thal jumped into her face.

  “Tell me this, cadet. If the Confederation is so benevolent, why didn’t they free my people when the Sirians enslaved us?”

  Marda shook her head, the pain of the mind probe digging into her scalp almost too much to handle. “The Confederation didn’t exist when the Thal were kidnapped from Earth.”

  “But what about after it formed? Why didn’t any of the expeditions you launched free us?”

  “Because the Consign Spur was part of the Pharad Protectorate, we couldn’t go in.”

  “Lies, all lies. Now, tell us diplomat, where is Core?”

  “Sciminder, Marda, Cadet, Serial Number…”

  The slap that met Marda’s face threatened to knock her from the interrogation sling. It stung with enough force to cloud her vision, a tinge of red seeping in from her left.

  “Get her out of here, and bring me another. I want to break another one today.”

  Marda didn’t even attempt to stand as her captors dragged her out of the interrogation frame and back to her cell. She had no energy to attempt such a feat. Each tug from the guards brought a new agony as her feet scraped the hard concrete floor. At least she would gain some modicum of relief once she reached her cell, but as they got to her door, the interrogator behind her harrumphed. “It occurs to me, we have been too lenient. Turn the temperature down in the cells, and strip her.”

  Marda managed to look up at the guards as they leered down at her before they threw her up against the simple metal door. Her head bounced against the door before one of them reached up and slammed it back in place while rough hands tore at what was left of the simple underclothes she’d worn since they’d made it to the shelter. She made an attempt to cover herself when they pulled away a moment later and dared not look up at them, sure that lust-filled eyes fell upon her.

  She wasn’t prepared for the door to swing open behind her before those same rough hands shoved her into the darkened chamber.

  “What the Sheol!” Chris hollered and ran over to Marda after she’d hit the floor.

  “Your clothes, hand over anything you have left.”

  Chris leapt up defiant, only her abused pair of shorts remaining. “Over my dead body.”

  “What you be doing to her you shit fuckers!” Milius of the Explosions cried, leaping towards the door.

  Wrong thing to say!

  A single blast reverberated through the chamber and Milius fell to the ground, hollering in pain. “You heard us, the clothes, or the next round splits this homophobic bitch’s head.”

  Chris looked down at Marda and she nodded back to her. The three women removed their garments and threw them back, Milius clutching at the cauterized wound in her leg.

  “Take the big bitch, let’s see how she holds up,” the interrogator called out. “I have such sights to show her.”

  They had no way to tell just how much time had passed, but by Marda’s guess they came back for her about three hects later. She wasn’t prepared for what awaited her when they shoved her into the interrogation chamber. Milius sat in a chair across from her, blood streaking her face from nose, eyes, and ears, the marks of the mindprobe still marring her forehead. So much sweat clung to her naked form that it looked as if she’d just been dragged from a pool. The way she sat there, huffing and out of breath, told Marda volumes about the mind probe session they must have just pulled her out of. Yet she remained defiant, her eyes hard.

  “I wanted to show you something,” the interrogator began. “This woman,” he all but spat the word. “She has withstood such torment, she thinks herself so strong, and so do you,” he continued, pointing back at Marda. “But I will show you just how weak you really are.”

  He produced a weapon from behind his back, but it was of a type Marda had never seen. The look on Milius’ face told Marda that she did, it was one of restrained terror.

  What manner of sidearm would worry a Tomeris like that?

  “Have you ever handled a chemical slung thrower cadet, or seen its effects on living tissue?”

  Marda shook her head before she could stop herself. Milius just stared at the weapon.

  “Then allow me to demonstrate.” He pointed the pistol at Milius’ knee and pulled the trigger.

  Marda winced at the thunderclap of noise that erupted. The stench of cordite, burned flesh, and blood met her nose in an instant and she recoiled. Milius was not so lucky and let out a cry of pain as the round tore through her kneecap. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she gritted her teeth and remained silent as blood streamed from the wound.

  Marda’s first instinct was to help Milius, but two strong hands shoved her into the chair opposite before they proceeded to strap her into it. She fought to no avail. Then they did something she never would have expected; they slipped the still warm pistol into her hand. She stared down at the weapon as they taped it to her hand, then stuck it down to the armrest of her chair. Even from her vantage point she could see that it aimed straight at Milius’ sweat-soaked and blood-splattered chest.

  “You have a choice cadet, shoot this ‘woman’ in the chest, or—” He and one of the guards produced two more percussion pistols and she felt it dig into the side of her head as the Thal interrogator slid his next to Milius’. “Or we kill you both.”

  Marda bit at her lip and looked across at Milius. The big Tomeris woman looked spent, but she remained steadfast and shook her head.

  Marda looked up at the interrogator. “I’d rather die.”

  “So be it,” he replied and cocked the hammer on his pistol, while the one next to Marda cocked his as well.

  Focus, remain strong, don’t let them break you.

  “Core cadet, tell us the location of Core, or we will destroy you both.”

  Core, they want Core? Of course, but, how could they know... “I have no idea where Core is, why do you think I would?”

  “Don’t even attempt to lie, cadet. We’ve seen you suppressing knowledge of
your capital world, and we know you’ve been there. Don’t even attempt to deny it.”

  Shreg! I’ve only been there the one time. No, stop, don’t think about it.

  “Tell us anything, and it spares your life. Even if you were just a shuttle pilot, you have to have seen some details, something to help us find it.”

  Do I lie, lead them down a false trail? No, just shut your mouth, if they think they can glean the location of Core out of you then they won’t dare kill you, just torture you more. The thought left Marda numb and she looked back up at Milius. But what does she have to offer that can save her?

  “Sciminder, Marda, Cadet…”

  “That old line. Fine then,” he dug the pistol back into the side of Milius’ head. “She has nothing more to offer us. We’ve ripped what little useful data we could find out of her brain. So whether or not she lives is up to you. Pull the trigger and hope that the wound isn’t fatal, or you both die.”

  The unguarded trigger felt like ice as Marda’s finger grazed it. She looked back at Milius and she shook her head back at her. She had nothing to help any wound she inflicted on Milius, not even their dirty clothes anymore. If she pulled the trigger, Milius was sure to die; a bloody, pain-filled end.. Oh God, please give me some sign.

  “So be it.” The interrogator straightened his arm, the muscles in his forearm tightened, and Marda watched in subdued horror as his finger squeezed backwards. She wanted to tell him to stop, but before the words could escape her lips, the weapon discharged.

  She watched in horror as Milius jerked to the side and she fell to the ground, but there was no gout of flame or blood, just the concussion of the blast. Marda remained seated and silent, the barrel pressing against her head taken away as she just stared at Milius. The strong woman who had remained defiant up until that point was gone. Tears streamed from her blood-soaked eyes, and she shook and gibbered nonsense to herself. They figured out how to break her. But how? Had she seen someone take wounds like that before?

  It was the most disheartening thing she’d ever seen. Never before had Marda witnessed a Tomeris crying. It seemed more alien than anything else and it ripped at her soul.

  “This one’s broken,” the interrogator said and kicked at Milius’ chair. “Take her away to another chamber, but show the others what fate awaits them if they don’t cooperate.” He then turned his sights back on Marda. “You could have prevented this, you could have saved her,” he continued, stepping in front of her. “All you had to do was pull the trigger.”

  Marda realized that the weapon was still in her hand. While it might not be a kill shot with how he stood, it would at least disable him. She pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She looked back down at the weapon and pulled the trigger again. She tried to move her thumb to pull back the hammer, but it was no good. She felt tears well up in her eyes. It was empty. I could have saved her, if I had just known. Marda couldn’t help but cry at that thought before the interrogator reinforced the point.

  “And now, you get to live with that,” he said, standing and removing the weapon from her hand. “Strap her back into the web, and prep the mind probe for another session.”

  UCSB DATE: 1001.029

  Location: Unknown, Interrogation Chamber

  Scrambled—that was the word Blazer had used to describe his brain after four cycles of torture and interrogation. For four cycles, the interrogation teams had pulled Blazer and the others out of their cells at random to turn them into their own playthings. They taunted the cadets, preyed on their fears, humiliated them and, with each passing cycle, they pushed the idea that the Confederation had abandoned them.

  Blazer looked over at a mind probe on the table and shuddered. They were vicious devices. In the first sessions, the interrogators didn’t even ask any questions. Instead, they simply tore through their minds, dredging up every dark thought and suppressed memory to devise even more tortures. Blazer had done his best to block the memories they wanted most. When they searched for memories of jump buoys or codes, he would imagine something else to steer them away, and pain was his reward. The others didn’t have it any better.

  Blazer flexed his left hand and winced in pain. The Geffers hadn’t even bothered to set his wrist after they’d broken it during the squadron’s last escape attempt, the cycle before. How did they crack our code? There’s no other way they could have known what our plans were.

  The burns on Blazer’s back stung when the vents activated, blowing ice cold air on his naked skin. His captors learned not to drain him too much after that first cycle. Now, they would drain him to the point of collapse before force charging him so fast that it blistered and burnt his flesh. They wouldn’t let him keep that excess charge, though. They always drained it away, slowly. It left him feeling drunk, and not the pleasant kind of drunk, before they would force-drain him again. Blazer wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

  A video taken cycles before had started, and Blazer tried to block out the sound of it. It showed Deniv after he’d cracked, as he begged for release and let slip that he knew the jump code to Anul. Blazer couldn’t know if he told them or not, but he was gone now, as was Milius, one of the Explosions’ oldest members. The video showed her next. The mind probes and a cruel test with Marda shattered her psyche before they paraded her around—naked like the rest of them, drooling and gibbering to herself as she called out to people who weren’t there. Kallie almost broke when she’d seen. It turned out that she’d been there when Milius’ mate had taken a chemical slug thrower round to the head, just as they had mimicked.

  Blazer shook it off. He couldn’t think of that now. He looked back at the mind probe. It was one of the pair he’d fried. He smiled at that. He’d managed to absorb enough charge form the devices to cause a feedback loop which had shorted them out. He’d taunted the Geffers to try a third, since the more he burned out, the fewer there would be to use against his comrades. Instead, they resorted to traditional means again to beat information out of him.

  Blazer looked up at his interrogator after his latest session with the prod. It was the only torture they had that still worked on him. Low on electrical energy from repeated forced charges and discharges, Blazer’s body had all but shut down less vital systems. The tactile sense of touch in his skin was one of the first to go, so their pokes and prods went all but unnoticed. His other senses had started to deteriorate as well. If I don’t do something soon, that’s it. I’ll have permanent sensory damage if the Tem Sickness doesn’t take me.

  Blazer was already feeling the telltale signs of the sickness coming back. It was an odd sensation, the beginnings of Tem Sickness. It felt like the inside of his skin itched. That was a bad omen. Unless Blazer received a massive recharge, the electrolytic gel under his skin would solidify. Amputation of the affected limb before the solidification spread would be the only way to save his life, at that point. I doubt they’ll even try.

  “You can let this all go. You can ease your suffering. Just tell us how to access the jump codes. I know those buoys must contain the jump codes for other systems.”

  Blazer closed his eyes against the words. That was a common misconception that the Confederation refused to deny. The jump buoys only contained the jump codes and navigational data for the systems they were located in. Wait, if they still think that, then Deniv didn’t tell them anything. He must be lying to them. That thought alone buoyed him.

  The door to the next chamber opened and Marda’s scream echoed into the room. He looked over at her, his neck screaming at him to stop while he watched her receive an electric shock when she refused to answer a question. He wasn’t sure what he hated more at this point, seeing her being tortured, or seeing her being fed the electricity his body so desired.

  He wouldn’t allow it. He’d already lost one lover to an enemy. Hesitation had cost him her life. Now the torturers threatened to take Marda from him too.

  When the door closed, he looked up at his interrogator. “I’ll tell you what you want to kno
w, just stop hurting her,” he pleaded.

  Location: Unknown, Interrogation Control

  The commander in charge of the interrogation watched Blazer on the monitor with great interest. Is that all it took to finally break him?

  The admiral in charge of the facility moved closer to look at the screen, and turned to the commander. “What’s the relationship between those two?”

  “I believe they may be close,” the commander answered, pulling up the files on Blazer and Marda.

  “How close?”

  “Lovers, possibly.”

  The admiral scoffed. “So attacking his lover is what finally broke this one. Does that correlate with the psychological profile we’ve built for him?”

  “According to the profile, his last lover was killed. He blamed himself for hesitating and allowing her death. Then he killed the alien who killed her and three others.”

  The admiral looked back down at the screen. “After two escape attempts and seeing two of his comrades broken… I can see how he might finally break from hearing that scream. It might not even have mattered if it was hers.”

  “I disagree. He may have something planned, but we can’t know for certain.”

  “And if he does?”

  “If he does, you know the price.”

  The admiral nodded. “Agreed, let’s see where this leads.”

  Location Unknown, Interrogation Chamber

  The interrogator received his instructions from the controllers and turned back to Blazer, bending down to hear him better. “Tell me, cadet. Tell me everything.”

  Blazer looked up at him and tried to wet his lips. His parched tongue served only to wipe off what little moisture was on them. “Can’t speak,” he managed.

  The interrogator grabbed a water bottle from his tray, brought the straw to Blazer’s mouth and sprayed it in. Blazer took several thirsty gulps, then wet his lips again.

  “Thank you,” he wheezed.