Our two marine attendants lead us to the bulkhead door and cycled us one at a time through the airlock. The air had been evacuated from the joining hallway so the suits ballooned out and became stiff, but our attendants scooped us up and ran down the hall into an elevator that dropped us several levels and then ran along another short hallway into a small room divided by a glass wall. Captain Wang met us there.
“We collected two transports with supplies and crew from the ESGAN. The first arrived uneventfully and my officers are questioning the crew. The second arrived with seven unconscious crew; only the pilot and a stowaway were still conscious. The crew seems to have been drugged. The stowaway threw a grenade into the dock on arrival, which breached the seals and triggered the alarm. She also tossed another gas cartridge that seems to be an instantly addictive drug that puts everyone to sleep. We have purged the entire air supply to avoid contamination and have begun cleanup on every surface that might carry residues, but with my own crew fully occupied it seemed appropriate to ask your assistance. I am getting more and more worried about what we might meet at the ESDENG.”
“Can we start with the pilot?” I asked. “It might be helpful to let the stowaway stew for a bit.”
Leilani agreed, “Yes, but we may want to review the record of their arrival first. The stowaway is female? Not unusual for espionage and terror attacks, but a bit odd when attacking a battleship.”
True. That kind of machismo is more typical of suicidally angry young men. “Drug induced rage?”
“They drugged the crew, probably the pilot too, so it would be a reasonable assumption.”
I turned to the Captain. “What kind of medical facilities are here? This looks like an interrogation chamber, but it seems unlikely that a battleship would have a dedicated facility for that. I assume this is normally the infirmary?”
He raised his eyebrows, “Yes, it is just a standard surgical theatre, but as you guessed it serves multiple purposes. We need to treat marines infected or poisoned in battle, and to interrogate prisoners captured in the mining insurrections. We have even been able to extract explosive shrapnel embedded in some marine's bodies successfully.
“Thirty years ago, we hardly needed theatres like this except to patch together people injured in meteor strikes. Since the Incursion, we have had an ever-increasing amount of trouble. Peaceful mining colonies boil over with labour trouble or develop political factions that no one afterwards can explain except as the results of boredom and isolation. Those mines were just as boring and isolated before the Incursion, but never gave this much trouble.
“There are more and more pirate attacks, everything from individual warships plundering freighters en route to isolated asteroid mines, up to small fleets that pillage the mines themselves, killing or driving off the workers. In all that time, we have rarely caught a pirate alive. If we disable their ships, they detonate their remaining warheads. If we corral them in a mine, they fight to the death or commit collective suicide. Utter, unbelievable fanatics.
“Of course, they never venture close to the Earth-Moon system, so it has not seen much use while we have been here. The room is available, but unfortunately if you need a surgeon, ours are fully occupied in disinfecting and detoxifying the ship.”
I thought for a moment. “I wonder if we have anyone in our medical staff who has assisted in questioning drug addled suspects?”
I could not hope for a specialist in medical interrogations. That took a peculiar kind of personality, someone who should never be allowed out in public.
“I hate to ask this question, but if we are dealing with heavily drugged agents, they might be suicidal or booby-trapped. They might also be hardened against normal interrogation techniques. The ship is under attack and we may have to work quickly. Is it important that the detainees survive the interrogation?”
Leilani looked at me in horror. In our worst cases, we had never needed harsh interrogations, nor even asked for them. I, however, had fought on Mars.
The Captain was also taken aback, but commanded a battleship and remembered the Incursion. “I would prefer if the pilot and crew survived. Their records to date have been clean, even exemplary. I know nothing about the stowaway. She may be our only link to the people behind the attack, so it would be better if she survived for more extensive questioning. In all cases, the survival of the ship takes precedence. Does that help?”
Guidance with discretion. Yes, that was helpful. “I will ask if any of our doctors have useful experience.”
Leilani looked slightly sick, but hardened her expression. “In all the years we have worked together, you have never asked for permission to torture anyone to death during an interrogation. Do I really know who you are?”
“No. You don't. I survived the Incursion on Mars. I have never told the full story to anyone, not even the people who debriefed me on my return. I had hoped against the evidence of the last ten years that it was safely in the past, but it is coming back. I am sorrier than you can imagine, but you must not trust me again. Ever.”
Stoney faced, I called Marin on the comm, explained our situation, and asked if any of the doctors had experience with questioning drug addled suspects who might be suicidal. She said she would ask, but a few minutes later called back, sounding very cross. Apparently, she was the only one who had ever assisted in the hostile questioning of a suspected criminal. She explained that an agent had been addicted by one of the drug gangs and was covering up their shipments to L1. He had died under interrogation, and she refused to participate in what amounted to legalized executions. I relayed this to Captain Wang, who immediately overruled her objection and gave a direct order that she should assist us. Marin was a member of MI and the ship was under attack, so refusal was out of the question.
It would be a few minutes until a suit could be located for her. Captain Wang left to continue his other duties. Leilani and I passed the time reviewing the record of the transport's arrival.
The record started just as the transport connected to the docking ports. There were two ports, one for the transport crew and passengers and a larger port for cargo. Two armoured marines stood guard beside the passenger port, arms ready but at ease. Contrary to normal procedure, the cargo port opened first, triggering warning lights throughout the bay. As the inner airlock slid to the side, a small lump flew through the opening door and across the bay where it exploded. Shrapnel struck the guards and damaged the seal around the airlock, triggering the hull-breach alarm. Both guards were thrown against the wall beside the passenger port.
A second lump flew out of the cargo port and exploded in a brownish cloud. Some of the cloud was drawn out of the damaged airlock as the cargo bay depressurized rapidly. Much more was drawn into the air intakes as the Mao attempted to preserve its precious air supply by pumping what it could into storage. The bay, the air vents and the storage tanks were now all contaminated with whatever was in the brown cloud. No wonder they had turned off the air flow throughout the ship so abruptly.
An armoured female figure emerged from the cargo bay, firing a high-powered rifle. The shots were random at first, then she noticed the guards and concentrated her fire on them. TDF armour is tough, and stopped the bullets, but the guards would have heavy bruising and were momentarily incapacitated. The Mao had additional guards concealed behind the wall on the far side of the bay, of course. Their guns were much heavier than the one the stowaway carried, but they had recognized there was only one attacker. They dialed back their slug-speed, so her suit was not punctured but she suffered broken bones as both her legs and arms twisted into unnatural shapes. She released her gun as the two original guards recovered enough to drag her into custody.
The whole time, she was screaming in rage, in a language that chilled my soul. It was a dialect that mixed Tamil and German, spoken by many people in Argyric Mumbai where I had first been posted on Mars. I had not heard it since I escaped that planet, but I recalled it well enough to recognize that she was cursing the Ghost and
calling for vengeance.
The guards returned (or was it a new pair?), and entered the passenger port. That port had never opened and there was no air left in the bay, so they had to cycle through the airlock. Their weapons were now fully charged and ready to fire, no longer a drill but an actual attack upon a hostile transport. There was no return fire. The guards emerged with the fully suited pilot a few minutes later. He was sobbing uncontrollably, gasping out repeatedly, “They made me do it.” The guards returned with body bags and brought out the rest of the passengers one by one, comatose but apparently still alive.
It was a textbook occupation of a hostile ship, something that might be shown in training sessions for years to come. Attacks through the docking ports were a standard military drill, both offensively and defensively. Even agents in MI had to practice such drills from time to time. We were excused from drills using heavy weaponry and missiles, but small arms and close combat were part of a field agent's duty. I admired the guard’s swift judgement and precise execution. Otherwise, I tried to be completely passive, to avoid responding to the violence and the sudden flashback to Mars.
Leilani was shaken. “Thank God that I have never had to fight in combat.”
Very quietly, I replied, “Yet. Thank God that you have never had to fight in combat yet. Then pray that you never do, that this is just a small factional dispute that can be put down quickly.”
Trying to get back to work, I said, “I think the pilot will confess freely if the effort does not kill him. The stowaway was so angry, I think I know how to goad her into revealing more than she wants to say.”
Leilani sucked in her breath and agreed, “Yes, I think that if Marin can keep the pilot alive we can sweet talk and bully him into telling us all. We need to check very, very carefully for bugs, poisons and even small explosives. Remember the Ozzie gang working out of Renewed York?” I nodded. She continued, “What language was she speaking? It did not sound like any that I learned.”
I replied, thinking carefully, “It was one of the pidgin languages used on Mars. I learned a bit while I was there. It might be a useful lever to get her talking, if I can remember enough of it.” I had to remind myself that everything we said and did would be recorded and analyzed. I did not want to reveal more than was absolutely necessary about my activities on Mars. The slip about lethal interrogation had been bad enough.
Marin finally arrived, stepped out of the arms of her marine and thanked him very gracefully. She turned to me, glared briefly, then softened into a tight-lipped smile. “I would be ten times madder at you if I did not like riding around with my marine so much. That should be a ride in Gardens and Grottoes.”
I started, “I am sorry again to have dragged...”
“Do you start every sentence with 'I am sorry'? Who are we questioning?”
Leilani saved me. “Be warned that this is an interrogation under what are almost war-time conditions, not a civilian interview. It will get rough, and might be dangerous. We have been told that it is acceptable for the subject to die if it is necessary to protect the ship, although I hope it does not come to that.”
I returned to business, “We have two subjects: Pilot Sailor Mark Lejeune and a Jane Doe, a female stowaway whose name and origin is unknown. After that, it depends upon what we learn. We intend to start with the pilot.
“I would like to establish some rules for these interrogations. We should keep our visors darkened. Partly, that makes us more intimidating, which may help as the subjects become nervous. Mostly, I think we need to remain as anonymous as possible. I recognized some of what the stowaway said and it was filled with vengeful rage. This whole situation could become very ugly very quickly. During the interrogation, we should speak amongst ourselves using the comm. Speak out loud only when addressing the subject. Use a computer-generated voice when speaking to the subject. Always keep your suit sealed.”
We swept the interrogation chamber for bugs, familiarized ourselves with the medical monitors, which were very complete. Leilani and I moved behind the glass barrier, and finally called for the marines to bring in the pilot. He was led in by the marines and strapped into the seat. Marin attached the monitoring devices and pharmaceutical injectors that would supply neural conditioners, then moved behind the seat to control the medical interface. Neural conditioners were like the mood-altering drugs we had with our meals, but much faster acting and more specific in their effects. I had encountered hardened criminals who practiced interrogations using these drugs so they would be used to their effects. For normal people, they were an effective way to cut through the bluster and self-confidence.
I called the time and asked his name and rank, which he gave as, “Former Nav Sailor Mark Lejeune. They made me do it. I am so sorry.”
I continued, “Your excuse and apology are noted,” although I noted from the monitors that he showed none of the remorse or stress that would have accompanied a real apology. “Nav Sailor Lejeune, you are under suspicion of high treason in the attack upon the Terrestrial Defence Force battleship Mao. Other possible charges include subversion and attempted murder by administering addictive and toxic drugs to six fellow crew members. This is not a trial, but I must emphasize the seriousness of these offences. Conviction on any one of them would result in your execution by firing squad in front of the crew that you have betrayed.”
Leilani took over, a well-practiced handoff, “The captain is inclined to offer mercy, commuting the punishment to a dishonourable discharge and exile to permanent indentured service on the Moon. No promises are being made in telling you this. Much depends upon your cooperation in this investigation. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sirs. Although I do not recall much. I was also drugged, and I do not believe I gave the drugs to any of my mates. We were on leave having fun when the recall came. Somebody gave us something bad and I hardly remember anything after that. We were lucky we got back to the transport, and lucky that I did not crash it.”
I looked at the monitors, which hardly quivered. “Sailor Lejeune, I do not believe a word of what you have just said. ESGAN would not have permitted you to fly the transport in the condition you describe. We have the analysis of the drugs in your system, which would not have affected your ability to fly the transport nor affected your memory. Cut the crap, traitor, or you may be facing a summary judgement and immediate execution.”
I had none of that information, of course, but the conclusions were obvious and I could tell a story more convincingly than anyone I had ever met. More seriously, I was concerned that the time available to extract the essential truths was very short. The key was never to tell the accused what answer I expected, to react only to what they said. It was clear that this man had never practiced telling lies while being monitored.
“Sailor Lejeune, when you arrived at the ESGAN, who accompanied you and where did you go? Remember that we can check all of this using surveillance records from the ESGAN.”
Leilani took over, “Please, help us help you. The more we understand about what happened, the better case we can present to the Captain and to your defence lawyers. Can you walk us through the events that lead us to this room?”
He looked between the two of us, then focused on Leilani. “I arrived on the ESGAN directly from the ESK, taking the first available shuttle. I came with Sailor Krishnamurti and Marine Mara who have family down below. It was night in India, so we checked into the Lakshmi's Blossom and got some sleep ourselves. The next few days, we called their folks, ate, drank, screwed, watched a bunch of shows...”
Leilani stopped him, “This is good Pilot Sailor Lejeune. Can you be specific about where you went, who you met, what companies you did business with? These details are key.”
Over the next hour we built a detailed itinerary of their time on the ESGAN. It became clear that Sailor Matma Krishnamurti had dominated the group, choosing most of the places to eat, shop and play. We jumped back and forth in time, catching out his testimony several times, which did cause his
stress levels to rise. We finally focused on a shop in the Chennai Fun Fair that always elicited stress.
Leilani started, “You say you went to Raja's Candy Emporium?”
“Yes, they sell the best chikki. We do not get much sugar up here so I make a point to order a batch every time we go on leave at an earth station. We were there to pick up my package.”
I called across to Marin, “Can you jump his fear levels at my next question?”
“Sailor Lejeune, you say you were picking up a package. How long have you been an addict?”
He jumped, a much larger reaction than warranted by the small squirt of neurotransmitters that Marin fed him. “What? What? You don't think...”
“Yes, I do Mister Lejeune. How long have you been addicted, and does Raja's Candy Emporium play a role in your supply?”
“No! No! I never got anything illegal there. It was only light stuff, fun stuff that would have been completely licit on any freighter.”
“But not on a military ship.”
“Why not? We get bored too! It was harmless fun with my mates, nothing more.”
Leilani asked quietly, “How many of them are addicted now? You were sharing the chikki, and it was contaminated, wasn't it?”
“Oh God, all of my squad had some. I don't know if they are addicted or not. But I was just about out of chikki and really needed a new shipment. I did not know. I did not know.”
“Only this time, they asked something in return, didn't they? Something more.”
Since he was answering the questions, Marin backed off the fear.
“Yes, they introduced me to a Martian woman, and she took us to a warehouse. They never did that before. I always just picked up the package of chikki and left.”
“Which warehouse. Who did you meet there?”
“We came in a back way, through a service corridor. The name on the door was pretty small and I did not notice what it was. There were a whole bunch of guys there, armed. They made us all take the drugs, which made us sick. We must have barfed for an hour, then they gave us another set of pills that made us very agreeable. I don't even remember what all I agreed to. I remember having to give the sleeping pills to my mates when we came back to the transport.”
Lord Banshee- Fairy Dust Page 15