Angeleyes - eARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  Oh, gods, he was some dom perv.

  “‘Yes, Mister Jones,’” I replied.

  I must have sounded sarcastic. He zapped me again.

  I didn’t have to fake bawling. I knew I was going to be abused until they figured out I didn’t know much of use, then they were going to stuff me out the lock. I cried and couldn’t stop, so they tingled me just enough for me to focus.

  “Tell me what you smuggled. Don’t give cute answers, just be direct.”

  “When we got into Caledonia, someone swiped two boxes off a pallet from the internal bay. I don’t know what they contained.”

  “Describe the person.”

  “Male. Average all over. Wearing a dull orange shipsuit. It didn’t have obvious company logos.”

  “What did you take aboard that was noticeable?”

  “We had something atmosphere sensitive, but I was told it was wine.”

  “Describe the container.”

  It went on and on. I told him everything. I figured Juan had everyone covered by now, and since we were starting with weeks ago, it was hopefully less critical. I needed to stay alive.

  A huge jolt ripped through me, and it felt like I ripped tendons off my knees with the clench.

  “Fuck, what was that for?”

  Another hit me, only half as hard.

  “I will ask the questions. You will answer. That was a reminder, to keep you honest.”

  He was going to do this for ten hours, then Smith was. Or, he said that’s what they were doing. My sense of time was completely kiboshed.

  He asked, I talked. A while later, wham, they juiced me again. I was lying in an oozing puddle of waste, and hopefully not blood from tearing anything. I was upright enough to remain nauseous.

  I wasn’t sure how much longer I could string them out. The jolts were every now and then, needed or not, to make sure I knew the fuckers could be fuckers. I got to dreading. I was terrified of dying, so I kept talking, and I was terrified of giving them something actually useful that would make them escalate, so I dragged it out as long as I could, but every little while, they burned my cooze, or my ass. The jolts there felt like a firehose enema. I expected they’d go with both again soon.

  I lay there weeping. I couldn’t last through days of this, never mind months. I was going to tell them everything just to make it stop, and they were going to vac me. If I never existed, there was no reason to worry or care. And after they won, who was going to call them on it?

  “Well, I need a steak and a beer. I’m sure our guest would like a mango-spinach food bar and some recycled water.”

  They dragged me back to my cell again, and ripped the tape and hood off.

  I crawled and heaved myself over the toilet, washed off and shivered from the evaporating water. I took a drink because my throat was parched raw. The food bar dropped through the slot, and I choked it down, then tried to lie down to rest.

  I was in that state that’s half sleep, half restlessly awake, and not at all restful. I had bad dreams, bad feelings and physical discomfort, outside, inside, hunger, sensory. Everything.

  CHAPTER 20

  I heard banging and sat up, but it wasn’t my door. I slumped back down.

  There was more banging, and it sounded closer.

  It was right outside and turned to scuffling. I figured there was a fight of some kind. I silently cheered for the detainee, whoever they were.

  Then a metallic voice shouted, “Angie, are you there?”

  What?

  “Here,” I croaked, then I shouted back, “HERE!” and coughed through my gooey throat.

  “Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole!”

  It took me a half second to realize what was said, and roll over onto my face.

  Which was when something exploded.

  Metal and polymer whizzed overhead. I looked, and the door hung in twisted tatters. Something had splattered in a mess on the wall.

  “Angie!” Juan shouted. “Function report!”

  “SIR, THIS RECRUIT IS DISDORIENTED BUT FUNHCTIONAL!” I replied. He’d shouted just right to sound like an MI, and I’d responded just like in recruit training.

  I was lying. I hurt all over. My head and ears rang, my skin stung, my limbs ached, my throat was filling with debris, but I was alive and in one piece.

  “We are moving!” he said.

  “Moving, sir,” I said, just as if I were back in RT. I hunched, gasped, got to my knees, and tried to stand.

  Roger and Mira were alongside and pulled me upright, smoothly but very quickly. It didn’t hurt. But then we moved and it did hurt, and I couldn’t balance.

  “Step,” Roger said, holding out pants. I stepped in, he pulled them up and fastened them around my waist as Mira tugged a polo over my head. Roger grabbed my feet and stuffed shoes on them as if I were a baby.

  My brain tracked slightly. He’d had his hands on me and very close to . . . and I couldn’t even enjoy it I was so sick and sore.

  They held my waist and shoulders and pulled me out the shredded door.

  Sebastian yelled, “Left!” and they drag-carried me that way.

  Behind us there was another explosion, but it seemed smaller.

  We passed another lockhatch, and holy hell, it was blown right off its seals. Had they done that to get to me?

  My balance came back along with my hearing, but my ears still rang. There were klaxons all over, and I heard, “Fire in Administration Three! Fire in Administration Three!”

  One of them looped a lanyard over my neck, with an ID on it. They were just in time. Around the curve ahead of us clattered a security team, who glanced at us for badges, and seemed to assume we were theirs.

  Mira pointed and shouted, “They came in the back lock. Ten or more. They said they were the People’s Right.” Her accent was believably North American.

  The lead man nodded, waved and they kept running.

  I couldn’t believe that had worked, but the UN troops were in a panic and we were fleeing the area in question, so I guess it seemed reasonable.

  Mira grabbed my hand and shoved a pistol into it. I didn’t recognize the model. It was probably for some nonmilitary agency. The safety was off. I hoped strongly I wouldn’t have to shoot it.

  Juan said, “We have about fifty seconds before they catch on.”

  Sebastian suddenly turned down a side passage. There was a maintenance door there, and he had it unlocked and open in about ten seconds. We went through.

  “Do you know where we are?” he asked me.

  I looked around. I could almost see straight, but stuff still blurred a bit.

  “Not yet. Help me out.”

  “Sector Golf, Third Level, outboard and behind the UN offices.”

  “Okay,” I said. I knew about where that was from the map. “This way.”

  I hadn’t been here in years and wasn’t entirely sure where this access went, but it went the general way we wanted.

  I asked, “Are we getting our ship?”

  “No, but we need the dock, and a hole for a bit.”

  “Got it.”

  I could stagger at least, and stumbled along with them.

  “You came for me,” I said. I was crying again. My voice was a rough whisper.

  Roger said, “The regiment does not leave troops behind.”

  I expected he’d say something about the intel risk, but that’s all he said. So I assumed they were Blazers, whatever else they were. They’d come for me, not the intel.

  And they considered me worthy of effort.

  Or not just that. I figured they enjoyed blowing stuff up, too. It also sent a message about retaliation, but it made them more visible. I didn’t know how they weighed it all.

  “Where can we go for a few hours?” Roger asked.

  “Service passage behind the shops. There are several cubbies. Maintenance dolly bay below that. Or there was the Short Time Lodge. Very seedy. Pay by the hour. No questions asked.”

  Roger said, “Mira and I wi
ll go in the front. The rest of you come in the back.”

  A sudden joke occurred to me about how many times someone had come in the back there. But it had only been two, not four. The body has physical limits. Anyway, it had been a nicer place then. Also, jokes aside, I didn’t want anything sexual for a while.

  I felt weak and nauseous the whole way, down public passages, through the back “alley” passages, and through past the compartment lock, which was broken. This area didn’t get well maintained, because of a combination of bribes and neglect, and it was effectively abandoned by the habitat government.

  We got into the room, and it was as bad as I thought it would be.

  There was one bed, no sheets, with a peel-off sanitized cover. I didn’t want to think about what might be under that, even in space.

  Sebastian and Teresa laid me gently on the bed, and she went into medic mode. I hadn’t even seen her arrive from wherever she’d been.

  “Gods, lady, they did a good job on you. Where do you hurt?”

  “All over. Electrical shock. Convulsions. I got beat with padded . . . things.”

  “I think your food was laced, too. Probably both disorientation and anti-inhibitors, and I expect something that was a mild poison or irritant. Did you feel better part of the time?”

  “Yes, worse, better, worse, better again.”

  “Good sensation with the good interrogator.”

  “There was no good interrogator.”

  “Bastards. That was all kinds of illegal.”

  She shot me with something that felt cool in my veins, then in my head, then my guts. It helped.

  I started babbling. “I said when I volunteered that they wouldn’t let laws get in the way. Either they’d claim I was lying and have no evidence, or they’d just vac me.” At least trying to hide the abuse made the former more likely. But what about the next bunch?

  “Bathroom,” she said.

  I was able to hobble through. She closed the door behind us.

  She softly said, “I deduce they used an electric probe internally.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “If you feel any burn, I have some salve.”

  “Please,” I said. “Should I spread or bend over?”

  The look on her face was momentarily shocked. The idea of touching me seemed to agitate her a lot.

  “If you can do it alone, I was going to let you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I was fine with medics handling me, but I’d been probed enough.

  She left, and in privacy, I was able to squirt the goo in my rectum and vagina. They were both burned, irritated, sore, and it felt like they were scarring. The stuff did help. It was messy, and took a lot of wiping and rinsing. It hadn’t felt at all sexual, and not at all like sexual assault. It felt like I’d been a medical experiment. Gross. Dirty.

  By then, my metabolism felt better. I was sore from beating, but fit enough otherwise.

  She handed me a bulb of soup, clam chowder. There was a half-sandwich of almond butter. I made them disappear. I washed them down with a liter of water.

  “I can’t give you more yet,” she said. “You need recovery time. A couple more hours.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait. Thanks.”

  I rejoined the rest. Despite the name of the place, it was almost a palace for space. We could stand, had room for all of us, and two chairs.

  I felt the glance they all shared, and it was embarrassing. I’d been exploited and assaulted, and everyone knew it. I didn’t want to dwell on it, but I didn’t want them . . . I didn’t know.

  Teresa asked, “Are you fit to move?”

  “I think so.”

  Juan said, “Good, they’ll start DNA sniffing soon. It won’t work. They’ll have to admit they fucked up, but they won’t let that be a permanent block. We’ll just have to leave them something else to worry about.”

  “Why won’t it work?” I asked. I was surprised they hadn’t DNA sniffed us already.

  Bast said, “Our DNA is all over the station. I have two bots spritzing it anywhere handy. Anywhere we’ve crossed with other elements, we’ve swapped, too. All our DNA is all over every station. If you can’t isolate it, spread it.”

  I wanted to get on with it. I wanted off this station. I was terrified of what Round Two might be if they caught us—me— again.

  Juan and Mira were dressed in business wear—polos, jackets, pants and deck shoes. The others were changing.

  Teresa handed me the same outfit in my size. She must have measured me at some point. They were exact.

  Juan said, “Just follow our lead. If we need directions we’ll ask, but I have your previous summary.”

  He and Mira carried boxes and had wrist scanners with phone mounts.

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  He paid for seating space on the slideway. We were almost twenty minutes from the bay at that point. It was neat to watch our booth slow, wheel left and merge, then do the same up-ramp and right. It was faster than dollycab, though, and much more comfortable than foot travel.

  We debarked and took a back way to a smaller lock that was crewed by only two agents. They scanned the ID he held and nodded, counting us off in mutters as we passed.

  I wondered what we were doing, all here together. If they were hijacking transport, they’d want to send only the ones they needed. Unless we were skipping out at once. Well, I could replace everything except David’s engagement necklace and Violet, my favorite toy. Why did I still have that necklace, anyway? The marriage had lasted a year. Earth year. It wasn’t bad, but what was the point?

  Why was I thinking about that now?

  We entered the dock area, though it was hard to tell. Our route was all passages and hatches. They were low, only about 220 centimeters. It’s like being some rodent in a tube-trail enclosure.

  Sebastian was in the lead, and flashed some sort of ID to a Leo we passed. She nodded and moved out of our way, avoiding eye contact.

  A few frames more, and we came to the actual checkpoint for the bay proper. Behind it I could see the emergency pressure curtain and the bulk of ships on the docking rails.

  There were people queued up, crew and service, passengers with luggage, some dolleys and lifters. We passed all the lines straight to a gate proctor.

  Sebastian flashed the ID, said, “UN Customs Authority Inspection Team. We’re responding to a lead. I need admission at once.”

  He’d chosen someone young, who reached for a comm button, and he grabbed the man’s hand.

  “Even me talking about it is a risk. Scan fast, let us through. We can’t delay a ship, but we have to inspect for smuggled cargo.”

  The man looked at it for anti-tamper marks, saw them, or thought he did, nodded and carded the gate open for us. We strode through acting determined, with scanners and a doc box, and he smiled uncomfortably.

  I made a point to expand my chest a bit and give him a scowl. It wasn’t hard. I was still in pain, still frightened, still very, very pissed.

  We were through. Security for ports is almost silly. It’s impossible to search everyone, there isn’t time. They can scan packages, but how do you stop a bomb aboard a docking craft? Or toxic gas? Or vented engine plasma and radioactives?

  We stepped aboard a slide and gripped the rails, and a little while later, stepped off near a cluster of gates. We plugged our ear protection in. It wasn’t dangerously loud, but could get that way.

  We approached a ship. I could tell from the umbilica, the flashing light on the ram, and the initial warning flash above the out-hatch they were about to depart. Sebastian went straight to the omnilift for that bay, grabbed the controls as we crowded aboard, and steered it straight to the command deck. He flashed a strobe through the port near the hatch, and slapped a controller on it for commo and to open it.

  With this equipment, I wondered why they bothered with a tramper. They could just steal whatever they wanted.

  Whoever was in the hatch looked as if they were trying to avoid answering. They
called for someone else. Another man came up and there was more showing of IDs and gestures. He seemed to protest, then shook his head, and held his hands up.

  “Let’s go,” Sebastian said.

  We went down, through a personnel lock, up and into the C-deck.

  Juan said, “Good day. We’re from the Customs Authority.” He waved his ID toward them. “You are not in trouble, but we have reason to believe there is contraband in one of your bonded containers.”

  Sebastian looked at Juan.

  “Ready, sir,” he said.

  “Start aft, check everything meeting description. Keep it brief.”

  “Will do,” Sebastian nodded. He turned to us and said, “Get to it.”

  The ship’s captain said, “I’m supposed to undock in twenty minutes.”

  “Don’t worry, we won’t delay you. If we do, you’ll be covered.”

  A moment later they were covered, alright. Mira had the cargo crew at gunpoint. The other four were involved in prepping for shove-out and disabling some of the comm gear, and sweeping the vessel for any other crew. I stood there holding documents and trying to look mean.

  “This is piracy!” one of the detainees hissed in anger.

  Juan smiled. “More accurately, it’s commandeering. But I’m sure your term will be used. Now, if you don’t get in the way, you’ll all get to live. You’ll also have documentation for insurance.”

  In three minutes, the entire manifest of crew were in the bridge.

  Sebastian said, “There’s a pressure hold at Frame Twenty, has recently been used for livestock and a passenger module.”

  Juan said, “Perfect. Put them there. Make sure there’s good O two lines and sanitation.”

  I figured he was saying that onpurpose to reassure them. I knew he wasn’t going to kill any bystanders he didn’t have to, but they wouldn’t know that.

  I just stood there, slowly recovering from two days of abuse, drinking water, watching five people completely bash a ship. Mira took the astro console and started keying and loading. Juan watched time and made notes. The others took the prisoners aft.

  They were back shortly.

  “Okay, let’s do it,” Roger said. He waved and I followed with the rest. Down two, aft two, out-starboard one. It was the emergency hatch.