by Scott Rhine
“In what settings are the incidents plentiful but underreported?” the director asked. “If we’re going to flip over a rock, let’s aim for one with lots of bugs crawling under it.”
After another splice edit, Nemesis said, “Homes for the mentally impaired, prisons, and universities.”
“University,” Grant said. “The other places make our team too vulnerable. Besides, a woman’s chances of getting raped during four years of college is higher than in an entire lifetime on the outside.” A link appeared for statistics that backed his claim.
Themis, the lawyer, tilted her graying head. “The Devil has spoken. I say we listen to him. College rapes can reduce the female presence and voice in all professional fields. Most universities don’t take them seriously enough, despite our publishing the names of those with the most complaints in an effort to shame them. It’s time to spotlight this situation.”
Nemesis narrowed her eyes at the Devil’s Advocate. “I thought you were supposed to be a proponent of the men we chase. Why the sudden concern about our safety?”
Grant glanced away, unable to maintain eye contact. “If something happened to one of you, the Mater Nyx organization would come down on the perpetrators in no time. Those vigilantes would make an example out of anyone who hurt you. Our mission statement is education without violence.”
Shaking her head, Nemesis said, “No. I’ve studied interrogation. You’re lying.”
Curious, Laura transitioned into an online fan chat room. The hottest topic on the show’s discussion board was the theory that Grant was secretly in love with one of the cast members. Comments scrolled past:
“Why else would a man change his religion like this?”
“He turned down an anchor position at another network to stay with someone.”
“He can’t tell her his feelings because she’ll always see him with horns.”
The crowd couldn’t agree on the object of his affection. This would be the hot topic for the season—guessing who the Devil converted for.
Laura smiled. I’ll keep an eye out for that during the next cast party.
“And you make fun of me for the soap operas,” her mother said. Kaguya had slipped into the room unnoticed and stood behind the sofa, dressed in a robe.
“This is educational,” Laura insisted.
“In a pig’s eye.”
“Please, this is the one advertising project I’m proud of. If I weren’t working for Mori, I’d be on that team.”
“You are already overcommitted. What can I do to get you into bed?”
In a surprise maneuver, Laura said, “Tell me how I can find out more about Antarctic Tern.” She wanted to learn everything about the mysterious genetic engineering project that had developed her.
Kaguya considered this for several moments. “American grand juries have unparalleled power to ferret out secrets. Lead them to uncover the data for you. Be broad in the collection so you don’t tip off your grandfather.”
Chapter 7 – The Third Degree
In the middle of the night, a muscular sergeant kicked open Stu’s cell door. The Rescue Corps patch on his beret identified him as an Override, a talent that could exceed normal bodily limits for strength, pain, and endurance. The soldier had wooly, black hair and an olive skin tone that could have passed for dozens of ethnic groups in the movies. He glared at Stu. “Why aren’t you in uniform?”
“First, I’m a civilian,” Stu replied. “Second, I refuse to be treated as a prisoner. Third, I wore that Hawaiian shirt to honor Officer Herkemer and his bravery in a recent action.”
The man took a step back. “Rafael Herkemer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My dad, Apelu, served with him.”
“No limits,” Stu said, reciting the motto of the Rescue Corps. “Wait till I tell you about how he took on a force of a thousand panda warriors single-handed.”
The guard extended a hand to shake Stu’s. “Call me Onesemo. Do as you’re told, and I’ll treat you like a gentleman.”
Stu checked the readout on the man’s watch—2:00 a.m. Shaking hands, he said, “I’d never lift a finger against my hosts. I entrust you with my safety on this planet.”
“The others are waiting to ask you some questions. I have to cuff you,” Onesemo said.
“It’s okay,” Stu said. “We’ll get everything sorted out.”
The cuffs were over four inches wide, held together with a one-foot bar. The restraints featured several monitors, including a GPS. Onesemo opened the door to a room with smooth cement walls.
When Stu saw the mirror on the far wall, he laughed. “They still do this in interrogations?” He could sense several Actives on the other side of the glass.
The bald man seated at a control console inside replied, “It’s an old room, but we’ve made some upgrades.” He pushed a button, and a black reclining chair emerged slowly from the wall. The chair was fitted with shackles on the arms, legs, and forehead. It could have been used for electrocution.
Hell no. I am not sitting in that thing. Stu’s pulse monitor spiked. Hurry up, ladies! If you take much longer, I’ll have to break my own hand or something. Pain should skew the results.
“Please take a seat and answer our questions truthfully.”
Stu backed up to the wall. “I’ll discuss anything you like but not in that chair.”
“You don’t have a choice,” the man at the console said. He signaled Onesemo.
“I’m sorry about this, sir,” the guard said.
Stu persisted. “If you violate the charter in this way, I respectfully refuse to say anything. According to your constitution, I demand the lawyer Fortune Enterprises will supply me.”
The explosion across the hall saved Onesemo from choosing which law to obey. Lights flickered out.
Finally. Expecting the blackout, Stu took advantage of his special senses to locate the console. Knobs crunched under his cuffs. The more complex the machine, the more vulnerable it is to a single broken part. He planted his feet on top of the podium and tugged on the main touch screen as if it were a weed in his garden. Then the electronic cuffs shocked him into unconsciousness.
****
Power was restored by the time Stu drifted awake. He lay on an infirmary bed. The sky outside the barred window was still dark, but he could see twirling lights from emergency vehicles. His right shin had been bandaged. From the sting in his leg, no painkillers had been used, which was fortunate because his mixed talents made him allergic to most of them. He tried to sit up and peek at the injury, but his arm was zip-tied to the bed’s metal rail.
Onesemo stood beside him like a statue.
“What happened?” Stu asked.
“Some idiot tried to kung fu an instrument panel. Ruined both of them,” the guard explained. “Using the charge in the cuffs to short the controls was brilliant.”
Must have happened when I fell on them. “I improvised.”
“Too bad the plan failed and your friends couldn’t spring you from the cell.”
“Nobody was supposed to free me. Ask your empath if I’m lying,” Stu said. “I was against the wall of that cell until a minute before that blast. The explosion would have made me into hash. Somebody tried to kill me …” when we arrived in the system. Oleander left behind the E01 equipment from our attackers, as well as a few bugs. “You guys should find out who—because if I die in your custody, everyone is going to blame the US government for silencing me.”
Stu paused. “Why does my face hurt?”
“You got a little singed by the control-panel fire.” Onesemo looked nervous. “You said you’d answer questions?”
“Not for Dr. Mengele.”
“That’s Kazerinski. Who will you talk to?”
“Fortune Enterprises.”
“No can do,” the guard said flatly.
“Someone from the UN Space Agency.”
Onesemo shook his head. “You’re accused of crimes against the US. That has to be resolved firs
t.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you,” Stu offered. Maybe you can tell me the charges.
“That’s above my pay grade, sir.”
“Tell them I have a bond with you. The others on your team can watch. If I see Kazerinski again, all you’ll get is name, rank, and serial number—Stewart Llewellyn, civilian pilot and envoy, nineteen.”
The guard snickered. “Your serial number is nineteen? Seriously?”
“It’s a new country,” Stu said. “There were eighteen original citizens, and I was the firstborn. So, yeah.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
****
A few minutes later, a technician set up special cameras in the aisle of the infirmary. A few beds had to be rolled out to make room. Onesemo read from a computer tablet. “How many people were in your invasion force?”
“I’m not invading. I flew down to reason with you people. Most of my crew didn’t think you’d listen.”
“Were they the ones who tried to bomb us?” asked Onesemo.
Stu felt a wave of guilt. “Why would my own people try to blow me up?”
“We’re not talking about tonight,” Onesemo said. “We’re referring to your landing.”
The guy had been so nice. Stu was ashamed to lie. “The pod—” He stopped when he tasted ashes. Mira radiated smells that echoed her emotions. This phantom taste could only mean one thing. Onesemo’s a bloody empath! I’m trusting him because he’s playing me. He grew up around empaths. The best way to fight manipulation was to tap a strong emotion from another source. “When I tried to land, I identified myself according to the conventions. Someone launched missiles at me,” Stu said, his voice rising.
The pulse monitor alarm went off, and a nurse rushed in. Stu smiled at her and gave her his most pitiful look. The nurse glared at Onesemo. “You said you wouldn’t be applying duress to the patient.”
Onesemo said, “This is another Icarus incident. National security has priority.”
“Who told you that?” Stu asked.
“I’m asking the questions here.”
“There were no Icarus fields on my craft. Search it if you like.”
The guard read his slate again. “You know we can’t search your craft. There’s nothing left except the pilot’s seat and the canopy.”
Stu shrugged. “The Magi don’t like to show their hand to uplift candidates, especially hostile ones. It’s part of their code. I can’t control that. If you hadn’t shot me down, the pod might not have blown up to preserve their secrecy.”
“Where is Ascension?”
In a scrap heap. “Somewhere you’ll never find it.”
“That ship belongs to the UN Space Agency,” Onesemo snapped.
“Then why did you kill everyone aboard with synchrotron radiation at the Saturn nexus?”
“We wouldn’t have.”
“Hmm. Whoever did it had the ship’s plans. They knew just where to hit it to blow the oxygen tanks and murder the crew.”
“So you admit this was a revenge mission?”
“I’m done here until you do your damn job,” Stu said. “Goodnight.”
An older man with sunken cheeks and pallid skin entered the room, his suit several sizes too large. He wore a Homeland Security badge with a blank space where the name should have been. “You’re done when we say you’re done!”
Stu said, “Touch me, and I’ll trigger my theta state. Good luck questioning an unconscious man.”
“It’s okay,” Onesemo said to the visitor. “We have enough to charge him tomorrow. We need him conscious to stand in front of the judge at his hearing.
The pale man nodded. “Once we successfully file, scheduling the trial will take another three months. During that time, we can question him as often as we want. Good work.”
The nurse chased all the officials out. She offered Stu painkillers, which he refused. In addition to avoiding drug reactions, he wanted to be lucid for his court appearance. When her shift was over, she wrote her home link address on a piece of white medical tape. Nurses are sure dedicated.
Chapter 8 – Preliminary Hearing
Eventually, the feds had compromised on letting Stu wear some of his own clothing for the hearing—the Hawaiian shirt and baggy, black pants that hid his leg wounds. His handcuffs were bound to his leg shackles in a way that made rapid movement impossible. The Saturday emergency hearing was delayed for hours. No one would explain why. He tried to meditate in the corner of the courthouse holding cell while his guard paced. The pain radiating from me must be driving him up a wall. Good.
Stu deliberately rubbed the shackle against his shin to increase the pain. “You’re as much a prisoner in this place as I am.”
Onesemo glared at him. Today he wore no hat or watch, and his hair was trimmed into a shape that reminded Stu of French poodle photos. “Who else is still aboard Sanctuary?”
“Anything I have to say, I’ll say to the whole world in that courtroom.”
“Oh yeah?” The guard made a call into his sleeve. “Well, now there’s no media. National security can work wonders.”
“A judge will dismiss most of your bogus charges at the preliminary hearing,” Stu insisted. At least that’s what Yvette claimed. “Any charges left will be read at the arraignment. Before I submit my plea, I’m guaranteed access to a lawyer. Then I get a bail hearing.”
“You have no way to pay for bail.”
Stu decided to push some buttons to find out what was really happening. “Is your name Japanese or Italian?”
“American Samoan,” the guard said, peeved.
“Really? But your first name is Tony.”
“Atoni.”
“Are you Catholic or Protestant?”
“None of your business.”
We’ll assume that’s a Catholic, but lapsed. “Dad always said that if Jesus ever came to Rome, they’d never let him in the place. He’d be thrown in jail just like the first time.” He focused on the rage he had felt when chiseling the gravestones for most of Ascension’s crew. “Like you’re doing to me.”
“Are you comparing yourself to our Lord?” Anger roiled off Onesemo. It tasted like the time Stu had stuck his tongue on a battery.
“Why? Are you planning to crucify me?”
The guard had pulled back a hand to smack his defenseless ward when the old spook opened the door. “Stop it. He’s messing with you to collect bruises and sympathy.”
Onesemo shook his head and slowed his breathing. “Sorry. His pain is driving me nuts.”
“Do you have a name,” Stu asked the agent with the blank ID, “or should I call you Geppetto, the puppet master? Where do you put your hand to make him talk?”
“Call me Rayburn,” said the man in the loose suit. He pulled a roll of duct tape out of his pocket. “Speak one more time without being spoken to, and you’ll be wearing this. Understand?”
Stu ignored him and went back to meditating. He had been able to check the time on Rayburn’s wrist.
At lunchtime, a man in a delivery outfit brought them each a sandwich. Fighting his cuffs, Stu peeled it apart awkwardly. “I recognize the lettuce and bread … sort of … but what’s this pink foam?”
“Meat,” Onesemo explained, taking a healthy bite of his own.
“You’re joking. What animal?”
“Probably a combination of pork, beef, and chicken. They grind up everything, including the lips and assholes.”
Removing the round slice of meat foam, Stu wiggled it suspiciously. “You can have mine.”
“Okay.”
“And this white stuff?”
“Cheese.”
“Cool. I’ve always wanted to taste it, especially on pizza. We don’t have cows in space.” Stu leaned over to eat from his anchored hands.
Onesemo smiled. “What else do you want to try while you’re here?”
“I studied the Seven Wonders, the pyramids and stuff. I want to meet a cowboy with a real horse. Hopefully, I can see a joust. Someone r
ecommended the Holy Stairs in Rome and the Vatican Museum. I might visit the British Museum or the Louvre. I hear the imperials stole all the good stuff from the all the other civilizations and stored it in one place.”
“None of that is modern.”
“I’d like to get in touch with my heritage,” Stu said with a shrug. “I wanted to visit my grandfather in Wales and my aunt in Brazil. They both have mansions on the beach.” He paused to chew. “Maybe I can talk to more of those beach girls, but they didn’t seem too bright.”
“We don’t date them for their brains,” Onesemo joked, taking a swig of his water.
“I meant their auras. Dad told me that making out with a woman without an aura was like sleeping with a mannequin.”
The guard sprayed the wall with his drink. When he could breathe again, Onesemo asked, “You’ve obviously never done either.”
“No. I’m waiting till I get married.”
Onesemo asked, “Any other dating advice from Lou?”
“Um … Look for a woman you would want to have children with, who could be your best friend. Have her read out loud to you. Watch how she treats her younger siblings. Is she the kindest and bravest person in the room? Does she encourage you in your job but excel in her own realm? Do her hugs make you feel you could do or bear anything? Can you look into her eyes and see that she’d do anything for you, including forgive?”
Onesemo stopped eating to stare into space. “Tall order.”
“Yeah. He really loved Mom.”
“She’s gone?”
Stu shook his head. “You clearly want a count of the crewmembers remaining in case you invade. That’s not going to happen.”
“Gotta try. It’s my job.” Onesemo took another bite. “Herk went fishing with me and my dad back in the day.”
“Herk showed me how to tie flies and bait hooks. He always clubbed the fish before he took out the barb.”
“So it wouldn’t feel the pain,” Onesemo said. “You really did live with him.”
Stu had finished his sandwich, but he was still hungry. He had gone over twenty hours without food. “Can I share some of your crisps?”
