‘No,’ he said. ‘All ships to remain on station. Instruct Dauntless to interrogate the two women. I want specifics of their mission, and a full download of their ship’s computer. It’s possible they’re here to rendezvous with Nielsen.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Stress to Colonel Hendricks that, important as this information is, the prisoners are to suffer no permanent damage. Once our quarry is in the bag I want the two of them brought here; and I want them alive and kicking.’
‘I understand, sir.’
The young man left, and Admiral Talmann sat back in his chair, smiling at the thought of what was in store for the two Reiver crewwomen.
Gradually, painfully, consciousness returned. Jo groaned. Her throat was raw, she felt sick, and she had a splitting headache to boot. Close by someone was cursing; not loudly, but with considerable feeling.
‘Shit! Shit! Should have listened to you, dad, shouldn’t I?’
‘Captain?’ Jo muttered. ‘That you?’
‘Right here,’ Bel said, ‘and wishing my head would just burst and have done with it. What the hell do they put in that stuff, for Christ’s sake?’
Jo made a supreme effort and opened her eyes, to discover she was lying face down on a mattress pad. She rolled onto her back, fighting the wave of nausea that threatened to engulf her, and saw that she was in a cell – a cage, in fact – the end one in a row of five. It was just a grey steel-mesh box, empty apart from the pad she was lying on. Bel was in the middle cell, sitting on her pad with her back against the cage side, legs drawn up, forehead resting on her knees. Her post-jump recovery was always quicker than Jo’s, and the same was true, it seemed, with knockout gas.
‘Where do you think we are?’ Jo asked. On board a League ship, obviously, but was it the cruiser or one of the destroyers?
‘Chances are we’re being monitored,’ Bel muttered. ‘Don’t say anything you wouldn’t want them to hear.’
Jo looked around her cell, then at the room beyond. She presumed this cheerless place was the ship’s brig. It was as grey and minimalist as the cells themselves, containing nothing but a steel desk and two chairs, presently unoccupied. Illumination was courtesy of a row of recessed ceiling lights. On the wall by the door was a control panel of some sort. There was no sign of a sensor or pickup that she could see, but that didn’t mean anything. There could be audio, visual, and half a dozen other scans on them right now, and they wouldn’t know it.
‘Like they’re a bunch of turds,’ Bel added out loud, lifting her head defiantly, ‘who can go screw themselves!’
Jo envied her captain’s assurance. She didn’t sound afraid at all, just mad, whereas Jo was so frightened she couldn’t stop shaking. ‘Aren’t you scared?’ she asked, hearing the tremor in her own voice.
‘Listen,’ Bel said, ‘whatever’s going to happen will happen. Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you go to pieces. You’re an Alliance officer and I expect you to behave like one. When they come for us keep your chin up, your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut. Okay, lieutenant?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Bel’s intentions were no doubt of the best, but her words offered precious little comfort. When they come for us had a dreadfully ominous ring to it.
They didn’t come right away, however, and the waiting was almost more than Jo could bear. Finally the door hissed open and five men came into the room. It was Jo’s first view of the enemy – in the flesh, at least – and it wasn’t an encouraging sight. Their black uniforms, unadorned apart from silver rank flashes on the collar, gave the men a grim, forbidding air. No women, of course: the Solar League didn’t allow females in combat roles. With Earth’s huge population to draw upon they could afford such luxuries. The New Worlds Alliance, unfortunately for Jo and Bel, couldn’t.
Three of the five, Jo saw – a sergeant and two troopers – carried holstered side arms, and it was the sergeant who spoke first.
‘Officer on deck!’ he barked. ‘On your feet, ladies!’
Jo looked anxiously across at Bel, who climbed slowly to her feet. Jo followed suit, feeling a little light-headed. As the after-effects of the gas had pretty well worn off now, that could only be due to fear.
The two unarmed men were officers, and one now approached the cages and looked at each of them in turn.
‘I’m Colonel Hendricks, captain of the League starship Dauntless,’ he said. ‘And you are?’
‘Isabel Franklin,’ Bel said, ‘captain; NWA-749-JA-1678.’
‘Name, rank and serial number,’ Hendricks said, with a faint smile. ‘How very by-the-book, captain.’
He turned to Jo.
‘Juh… Josephine O’Donnell,’ she stammered, ‘lieutenant; NWA-862-JF-5388.’
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I won’t beat about the bush. I need the unlock code for your ship’s computer, and I need full details of your mission. Please believe me when I say things will go a great deal easier with you if you give me this information now.’
‘We have nothing to add, colonel,’ Bel said.
‘And I have my orders. Cooperate or face the consequences.’
Bel remained stubbornly silent. Hendricks looked from one to the other, and then nodded gravely. ‘Major Tucker.’
The second officer took a step forward. ‘Sir?’
‘You know what to do.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The colonel turned and went out, clearly not a happy man. Tucker came closer and regarded the two young women with a scornful, mocking gaze.
‘Sergeant Clemens,’ he said, ‘unlock the cells. These two have been lounging about far too long. Time they took a little… exercise.’
The sergeant went to the control panel and keyed in a sequence. The cage doors swung open.
‘Out, ladies,’ the sergeant said.
Tucker gave a derisive snort. ‘I see no ladies, sergeant, just a pair of Reiver whores.’
Reivers: the League called them that, Jo knew. Pirates. It was true that League merchantmen had been attacked and robbed in the run-up to the war, but it wasn’t all one-sided. Civilian Alliance craft had suffered predation too, at the hands of League privateers. This seemed hardly the time to start arguing over who fired the first shot, however, so Jo followed Bel’s example and said not a word as she stepped out of her cell. On legs that felt decidedly weak she stood facing the four men in black, trying not to tremble.
‘Strip them,’ Tucker said.
‘Sir.’
The sergeant nodded to the guards, who closed in on the two women.
‘Back off, Leaguer!’ Bel snarled, and the man nearest to her stopped dead in his tracks, glancing at the sergeant uncertainly. Even Jo’s guard, who a moment before had been fighting to suppress a grin, hesitated. For several seconds there was silence, then Bel’s hands rose and she unzipped her uniform jacket, took it off, and dropped it to the floor. She began to unbutton her shirt, and as she did so her eyes met Jo’s; and the message was unmistakable, so with hands that shook and seemed to belong to someone else, Jo began to undress too.
The bra was bad enough, but she hit a major problem with her panties, her last line of defence, as it were. Try as she might she simply couldn’t take them off. She genuinely wanted to; she wished more than anything she could be like Bel, standing there naked and defiant, seemingly oblivious to the men’s eyes all over her. But Jo’s hands were refusing to obey her, and Major Tucker, it was clear, was rapidly running out of patience.
‘Well?’ he snapped. ‘Do we get to see it sometime this century, O’Donnell?’
Jo winced, and tried again. And failed – again. So the guard beside her took matters into his own hands, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her panties and ripping them off, almost pulling her off her feet in the process.
‘Thank you, trooper,’ Tucker said, with a heavy, theatrica
l sigh.
‘My pleasure, sir.’
The major now turned his attention to Bel. He proceeded to walk slowly around her, scrutinising her intently as if she were a squaddie on parade and he the inspecting officer. Bel, too, played her unwitting part, standing to attention and staring straight ahead, her face a rigid mask.
‘You’ve searched them, I take it?’ Tucker said.
‘Yes, sir,’ the sergeant replied. ‘Full body scan soon as we got them aboard. No weapons, no electronics, no suicide pills.’
Tucker nodded. He stopped behind Bel and lifted her hair, letting it fall through his fingers. Bel’s chestnut brown hair, unusually for a pilot, was long. Most of the other women in the squadron wore theirs close-cropped for convenience – fewer hassles with flight helmets and so forth.
The major moved around in front of her and looked her up and down. He nodded as though impressed, which was hardly surprising. Bel possessed the sort of figure that had men drooling: all spectacular curves and creamy-smooth skin. ‘Clasp your hands behind your head,’ he said. Bel complied, and the major cupped her breasts, bouncing them in his hands as if judging their weight.
‘What do you think of the tits, sergeant?’ he asked.
‘Pretty goddam fine, sir,’ came the reply.
‘Lord, no… they’re far too big,’ Tucker declared. ‘She reminds me of a cow ready for milking.’
One of the troopers laughed. Bel failed to react either to the insult or the groping, but simply stared past the League officer’s shoulder at the blank wall.
‘Each to his own, sir,’ the sergeant said.
Major Tucker relinquished Bel’s breasts, his hand moving instead to her groin. He caressed her, his middle finger stroking up and down her slit. Jo was sure he would penetrate her, but he refrained. Was there a spark of decency in him after all? Probably not, she thought bitterly. It was more likely he was merely savouring the moment; making Bel wait for the inevitable whilst heightening his own anticipation.
He kept this up for a couple of minutes, then took hold of her pubic hair and tugged upwards, forcing her up onto her toes. He kept her there, a faint smile on his lips, till her legs began to quiver with the strain of holding the position. Finally he released her, and turned to Jo.
‘Now for Miss Mickleberry.’
It was a children’s storybook: Little Miss Mickleberry, the girl who was afraid of anything and everything. Jo felt a prickle of resentment, and was determined not to let him see just how scared she really was. He completed the circuit of inspection, then ran his fingers through her hair as he had with Bel. The way he did it felt decidedly creepy, as if he had a fixation about it. She hadn’t had her hair cut since finishing basic training, and now it was neither one thing nor the other – too long to be called short, and too short to be called long.
‘You like blondes, sergeant?’ Tucker asked.
‘Very much, sir. Brunettes and redheads, too.’
‘I prefer blondes,’ the major confided. ‘Real blondes, that is, which I very much doubt the lieutenant here is.’
She was, in fact, but didn’t feel tempted to enlighten him on the matter. He came around in front of her, and without waiting to be asked she clasped her hands behind her head and stared at him with all the assurance she could muster. He smiled in a superior, knowing fashion, as if to say her charade was fooling nobody, and looked her up and down.
‘Good figure,’ he conceded grudgingly. ‘Tits still a bit too big for my tastes, but not as bad as Daisy the Cow there.’
He put his hands on her breasts and proceeded to knead them. Jo waited for the inevitable insult, but none was forthcoming. He pinched her nipples, hard enough to make her gasp, and smirked at her obvious discomfort.
‘A little sensitive here, are we?’
She decided she hated him more than ever. Anger helped strengthen her, pushing out her fear. Then his hand went lower, tracking slowly down over her ribs and belly, and apprehension swamped her once more. His fingers pushed between her legs and he stroked her slit. Her every instinct was to step back, away from that gross parody of a lover’s caress, and it took all her willpower just to stand still and take it. Then his fingertip found her clitoris, and he flicked it rapidly. She moaned, and shivered. Her tormentor leaned forward, his lips close to her ear.
‘You know, lieutenant,’ he murmured softly, ‘I’m really going to enjoy fucking you.’
She didn’t know what to make of that threat, or promise, or whatever it was supposed to be. He released her and stepped back, smiling broadly now, while Jo just stared at him in confusion.
‘Well now,’ he said, addressing them jointly, ‘Colonel Hendricks insists I offer you one last chance to change your mind. Give us the information we need, and I swear you won’t be harmed. Fail to cooperate and things will get very unpleasant very quickly. I trust I make myself clear?’
‘As crystal,’ Bel said.
‘And?’
‘You’ve heard all you’re going to hear.’
Tucker nodded happily. ‘I was rather hoping you’d say that. Sergeant Clemens, take them to the interrogation cell.’
Chapter 3
They all went out, with the sergeant leading the way, then Bel and Jo, the two troopers, and Major Tucker bringing up the rear. They went along the passageway, thirty yards or so, to another room. It was not unlike the brig, with the same utilitarian desk and chairs, together with a tall steel cupboard. There were no cages, however, just half a dozen thin steel cables, each terminating in a metal cuff, hanging down in a row from compact drum winches mounted on the ceiling. Directly beneath these similar shorter cables were fastened to ringbolts in the floor.
There was one other object of note in the room: a chair, steel framed and thinly padded. It was the sort used by doctors for intimate examinations, except that this particular specimen had restraining straps in addition to stirrups for the knees. At the sight of the thing Jo faltered, till a firm push in the back propelled her forward.
But it was to the cables in the middle of the room that the two of them were taken, not the chair. Cuffs were fastened to their wrists and ankles and the cables winched up, drawing the women’s arms above their heads, and by the time the motors stopped Jo and Bel were standing on tiptoe, straining upwards.
Major Tucker went to the cupboard and brought out a flat piece of wood a hand’s breadth across, a couple of feet or so in length with one end shaped into a handle. When he slapped the flat blade against his open palm his intentions were only too plain.
‘Tell me something, captain,’ he asked, ‘have you ever been paddled?’
Bel didn’t deign to answer. In a leisurely fashion Tucker strolled back and took up station behind her.
‘I’ll take that for a “no”, then, shall I?’ He chuckled. ‘It seemed unlikely. You’re not exactly the submissive type, are you?’
It was clear he was in his element; and he wasn’t alone. The two troopers were grinning openly, evidently enjoying themselves immensely. Sergeant Clemens was the only one who appeared to be taking any of this seriously.
‘Here we go, then,’ Tucker said. ‘Bottoms up!’
He raised his arm and swung the paddle. It contacted Bel’s buttocks with a sharp crack, loud enough to make Jo flinch. Bel swayed a little, but made not a sound.
‘Ouch!’ Tucker said. ‘Isn’t that what you wanted to say, captain? Feel free to give vent to your feelings; truly, we don’t mind a bit.’
He struck her again, with the same result. He gave her six in total, then lowered the paddle and stepped over to Jo.
‘Now for our timid little lieutenant. Will she bear it with equal fortitude, I wonder?’
Jo clamped her lips shut, not wanting to let Bel down by crying out. There was a pause, then a swish, and the next instant a stinging pain exploded across her buttocks. It hurt a lot, but she managed to keep
silent. He gave her six in all, the same as Bel, and Jo was most thankful when it was over.
Except, of course, it wasn’t. The major moved across to Bel once more, and stroked his hand over her buttocks.
‘Nicely pink, and just a little warm,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if we can’t improve on the effect.’
He gave her another six, talking to her between strokes, mocking her in that same pseudo-jovial fashion. Then it was back to Jo, who found it harder to keep silent this time. Her buttocks were still smarting from the first six, and the slaps stung cruelly, but she hung on, determined to deny him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out.
And so it continued, with Tucker moving back and forth from one to the other. It was on the last stroke of the fourth set that Jo’s willpower finally failed her, and a groan of pain was torn from her lips.
‘Aha!’ the major said with satisfaction. ‘Finally… a response. I was beginning to think the pair of you had been struck dumb.’
Yet again he moved to Bel, and Jo began to despair. He could keep this up for hours if he wished. He could beat them till their buttocks were raw meat. She knew there was a limit to how much she could take, and that eventually she must break. Tears were pricking her eyes, and before long she would be sobbing for mercy, all self-control gone.
Jo’s turn came around once more. She hung there on the cables like a fly caught in a web, knowing she was shaking yet quite unable to control her limbs. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, waiting for the pain.
The stroke was blisteringly hard and she cried out in desperation. Someone laughed: it sounded like the trooper who’d laughed before. The pause between the strokes seemed interminable, and she suspected Tucker had deliberately slowed down, knowing what she was going through. The man didn’t need to be a genius to guess how desperate she must be to have this over and done with.
She counted off the strokes silently as the beating continued. It was very bad now. Her buttocks were dreadfully sore and each fierce stroke burned white-hot on her abused flesh. And the grim truth was, it wasn’t going to stop. The beating wouldn’t end until they had told these men what they wanted to know. Capitulation was their only way out.
Planet of Pain Page 2
