Chapter 27
General Diaz sipped the insipid beverage his inferiors had served him and watched a screen that presented a clear view of the interrogation chamber. The guards were under strict orders not to harm the girl, at least until he had assessed her. Currently, they were throwing freezing water over her and abusing her verbally. That was fine; he wanted her provoked. She seemed harmless, helpless, ineffectual, but he remembered seeing her as she came out of the water – poised, ready to fight, confident even when confronted by two heavily armed soldiers. It had not come to a fight because an overwhelming number of men subsequently surrounded her; she would have been dead within seconds had she raised a hand, either in attack or defence. But the signs were there, experience told him; in those moments when she came out of the water she had looked a fighter. Now he had a chance to see if she was something more than stupid and illiterate. If she were, then he was in luck. If not, his men would have their way.
Unlike most of his peers, he hated war. Unlike them, he could see beyond to a time of peace. That is what he wanted – peace and prosperity, and that was what he was working towards by building a foundation. It was illegal, but if he remained true to the Cause, whatever that was, the authorities would look the other way.
And that was another matter, the Cause. He was intelligent, a secret questioner. He gave lip service to the Cause, the status quo, but for the life of him, he could not see what it was about. They were involved in a world war, but when you came down to basics, nobody knew why. Mostly, it was around revenge for atrocities, and everyone was committing them. But why they were fighting in the first place was lost in the fog of time and war.
Still, he had a business to attend to, and that was why he was watching the girl. He wanted currency, for his wife, Althea, who was in the navy, and his two sons and daughter, who were already serving in a military school and would soon be out on the battlefield.
He leant forward and spoke into an intercom.
‘Men, un-cuff her.’
One of the guards looked up towards the ceiling, questioning, disappointed.
Diaz leant forward again. ‘Stop tormenting her. Un-cuff her and lead her to the table and sit her down. Give her a drink. Then cuff her again.’
The guards reluctantly moved to obey.
She was shaking so violently from the impact of the ice-cold water that she thought she would fit and possibly die. The verbal abuse she could barely understand, but she sensed worse was to come. She also sensed that the men were holding back against their will. For them, she had only one use, and that was not intelligence gathering.
Her implant told her that someone was watching through a primitive surveillance system. For some reason that gave her hope. A communication from whomever was doing the observing caused the men to stop the water treatment and roughly push her against a wall where they proceeded – she thought reluctantly – to un-cuff her. She needed to make her move. She was weak, underfed, dehydrated, and naked, but she had one chance to change her fortunes, and that chance was now.
One of the men pulled her forward towards the table. She held back and he went to grab her and force her forward. She allowed his strength to propel her forward and she dived over his head. As he looked up in amazement, she caught the side of his face with her right foot and then slammed her left foot into the small of his back. She landed behind one of the other guards and smashed both hands into his shoulders. As he fell, she leapt into the air and came down on the remaining guard. Then she slipped. The guard, sensing his advantage, attacked her full on, but somehow found himself kissing wet floor.
All three guards were unconscious. Intending to escape, find Daff, and locate the pod – a desperate and unrealistic plan – she searched the guards for keys and weapons. She had only seconds.
She was wrong. The lights came on, the doors to the chamber creaked open, and twenty guards filed in and surrounded her. She expected them to shoot her, but they did not.
One of the guards shouted something that she did not understand. He shouted again and gestured with his rifle. She sensed again that the men wanted to kill her, or worse, but were under strict orders not to do so. A group of men came forward and roughly pushed her towards the door. She entered a series of corridors and passages, and rooms that had a questionable purpose. Was she to be tortured? She braced herself. She thought of Ninthe, of the Marleeseen planet, of sunshine and happy days. And she thought of Daff. More than anything else, she was worried for him. Where was he? What had they done to him?
Then she was outside, walking in blinding sunshine towards a building complex.
Two guards pushed her into a room. There was a table with chairs, a flask of water placed on the table, a bunk bed on which was placed a yellow coverall and sandals. An open door in the wall opposite the bunk bed revealed showering facilities, a washbasin, a toilet of sorts, and towels. The place was reasonably clean; the pale-green carpet that took up most of the floor was old and faded, but had been swept; a faint disinfectant odour gave the impression that someone had taken a degree of care to ensure a clean environment.
She went to the table, grabbed the flask of water, and began to drink. If her captors had drugged it, she had nothing to lose. She was down to options that were all bad, but some worse than others. She then went into the shower, found something that resembled soap, and cleaned her entire body that was stinking from days of ill treatment and lying around in her cell. She was not feeling well, was sick to her stomach, felt faint and woozy, with her legs unsteady and trembling. Yet, for the first time since her captivity, she felt hope – faint hope, but hope rather than despair.
As she pulled on the coverall and attempted to adjust her hair, the door opened and two armed guards entered, followed by a fair-haired woman carrying a plate of food. As the woman placed the food on the table she gave a Flower-of-Sands a quick, conspiratorial smile. What did that smile mean? The girl was obviously a prisoner, probably working in the kitchen and running errands. Maybe she had information about Daff. She tried to engage the woman more, but the woman averted her gaze and moved quickly back to the door and to the guards who were watching closely. Their face plates were pulled up and they wore that same expression of reluctance, as if they did not approve of the general’s nonaggressive treatment of the new prisoner and had other ideas for her.
As soon as the guards and the fair-haired woman had left, she devoured her food, which was a bland stew with bits of meat, something stodgy, vegetables, and three small loaves and a tepid beverage that faintly resembled coffee. Although the food was plain, she ate with relish, but slowly, careful not to overload her weakened system. When she had finished, she felt full and drowsy; she closed her eyes and dosed off.
Later, the door opened and the two guards appeared, followed by the fair-haired woman who again flashed a look as she cleared away the remains of the meal, but replaced them with a large pot of some steaming drink and two cups. Then her waif-like frame darted away and was lost in the vague yellowish shapes and shadows beyond the door.
The guards remained and after a few moments, a large officer stepped into the room and approached the table. He had wide features, deep-set eyes, and lips curled up in a half-smile that indicated duplicity, as if he had a special agenda that was different from anything official.
He indicated to the guards that they should leave and sat down opposite Flower-of-Sands. His smile widened as he took the jug of steaming beverage and slowly filled both cups.
Chapter 28
General Diaz regarded the girl for a long time, saying nothing, sipping occasionally from his mug, appraising her now that she had cleaned up. He noticed that she was tall, rather bony, but graceful, and attractive in a way he could not define. Although he was well-travelled, he could not work out her racial origin. She seemed other worldly, high-cast, aristocratic; he thought from the way she looked that her extra-terrestrial claims could easily fool some weak-minded individuals – and he had plenty of those around him. Despite her
recent rough handling, she was elegant and self-assured. Well, with time, he could knock that out of her, but that was not his intention, at least, not for a while.
‘I’m General Diaz, of the 33rd regiment of Fourth Continent. I thought we could have a little chat.’
The woman looked startled and spoke in the local language with a thick accent. ‘The boy I was with when I was captured, is he all right?’
‘The boy?’ The General pretended ignorance of the boy.
‘Did your men not tell you about the boy? Have they harmed him? He is so young, far too young for war.’
‘No one is too young for war these days.’ The General spoke with a degree of irony that belied his position.
‘Please, please, the boy I was with when I was captured, where is he?’
The general noted that she was pleading, not for herself, but for another. Excellent, he thought.
‘What is your name,’ he asked. This was something he already knew, but he wanted to get the feel of her, the lie of the land, so to speak.
‘Flower-of-Sands.’
‘A rather extravagant name, for one at war, some might think.’
‘I am not at war.’
‘Really. Is that so, lady of the extravagant name?
‘It is not considered extravagant where I come from.’
‘And where is that? Oh, don’t tell me, you are from another planet?’
‘I am not pressing the point. Nobody believes me, anyhow, so why bother.’
‘I see. Well, I am here to believe a lot about you and make you an offer. If you accept, things can get better for you, a lot better. If you refuse, well, death is the only option, although with plenty of options as to how it should occur. I don’t really have to tell you, do I?’
A pleading look came over her again, but again not for herself. Curious, the general thought, but then he had seen that look before.
‘I will agree to anything, anything, but please do not harm the boy. I will do whatever you ask; he is just an innocent child.’
‘There are no innocents in this world. We are at war. Even infants are in military training.’
‘Of course, yes, I realize that. He is involved in the war; I know that but …’
‘You have no rights here. You are a prisoner and I can have you executed by simply raising my hand. Thus.’
He raised his hand, the door burst open, and four guards walked in, firearms at the ready, mouths turned down in grim determination, longing to kill.
She held her breath, staring unflinchingly at the table and not daring to move.
‘It’s okay men, false alarm,’ the general laughed quietly. ‘I was just making a point to our guest.’
Flower slowly let out her breath. For a moment, she had been convinced that the men would march her out and shoot her. Tears filled her eyes, despite herself.
‘Look,’ the general said smoothly. ‘It need not be like this. I can help you. I have a proposition. If you accept, I can maybe help the boy.’
‘Oh please, please. I am so afraid for him. He is so young. In return, I will do what you will.’
Diaz regarded the young woman with satisfaction. In some ways, she was self-assured, and she could certainly handle herself, in that regard she was outstanding, just what he was looking for. But how deliciously defenceless she was regarding the boy. She was more afraid for him than for herself. It gave him tremendous leverage; it was almost too easy. Never in all his travels across the globe had he come across such openhearted vulnerability. He congratulated himself in his foresight and ingenuity in seeing something in the girl that the others did not. She was going to make him a lot of currency and increase his standing exponentially.
He spoke quietly into a small microphone attached to the lapel of his uniform, which Flower-of-Sands noticed was slightly unkempt and scruffy. Probably, he was corrupt and what he was going to propose to her illegal in terms of the military organization he represented. Doubtless, it would involve some form of slavery.
She was not wrong. The general grinned complacently and stretched his legs beneath the table. ‘I have a business. Informal of course, in which I would like to involve you.’
She remained silent, waiting.
He went on. ‘I will get to the point. It’s a fight club, gladiatorial. I pit men against men, and sometimes women against women. You can have a place, and in return I allow you to live, and as a bonus, I will ensure no harm comes to the boy.’
‘What sort of fighting?’ She was apprehensive, yet hopeful for Daff.
‘In your case, it will be you against a man, or even a group of men. I’ve seen you fight, and that was in a state of dehydration and malnutrition, weak, exhausted. Well-fed and in training, which I would allow, you could do wonders. I will make currency, and you and the boy’s continued survival would be ensured. What do you say?’
‘What choice do I have? So, yes. Can the boy stay with me? I could look after him, between bouts.’
‘I’m afraid that will not be possible. All I can offer, all I will offer, is your life and his in exchange for your cooperation. Is he related to you in anyway?’
‘Not as such … no. I rescued him and we have bonded. He is like a son to me.’
‘That figures. You are obviously from different ethnic groups, his from the Fifth Nation – now refugees – and you from outer space, as you previously insisted.’
Flower-of-Sands said nothing, realizing that her situation was precarious. The slightest ‘wrong word’ could lead to her destruction and the death of Daff. Somehow, she must keep herself together and wait for an opportunity to escape. She had one definite advantage, her plant-net, and other advantages may reveal themselves. Meanwhile, she must keep a low profile, and appear compliant, but not too much as that too would arose suspicion.
‘Is this project of yours illegal,’ she asked him.
He smirked with self-satisfaction. ‘That is not your concern. But rest assured, my deal protects you; my associates can’t wait to have you at their mercy. They think you are a spy – fancy that. You wouldn’t last long with them, but long enough for you to wish you had never been born.’
‘You don’t need to keep threatening me. I will meet your demands, as best I can.’
The general rose, adjusting his uniform, a look of irritating smugness radiating across his face, curling his lips into a smile that she longed to remove.
‘Good. We will transfer you immediately to a training camp. There you will get back into shape, and soon your new career will begin.
He turned and walked to the door, which his guards had already opened for him.
The door slammed shut, but shortly after the faired haired woman appeared carrying clothes and another plate of food. As she placed the food on the table, she gazed into Flower-of-Sands’ eyes as if she was trying to tell her something. Flower-of-Sands felt she had an ally, but what help would that be if she was leaving for a training camp? The woman left, watched closely by the guards.
Flower-of-Sands pondered her predicament. Her mind training was starting to kick in. She told her plant-net to activate various survival programmes. It was a time for planning, which she hoped would lead to action. Why had she not done this before?
She decided that she would answer that question after she and Daff had escaped. And that, she admitted, was optimistic thinking.
Chapter 29
Arabella whimpered with pain and anguish, pleading with the Sisters-of-the-Third to have mercy. Unfortunately, this pitiful pleading was achieving the opposite; her pleading and suffering was a powerful stimulant to her tormentors, inducing ecstatic, hysterical interflows of light shifts, encouraging the creation of ever more refined ways of imposing misery.
Arabella knew this, but was unable to stop screaming. Her tormentors had encased her in filaments of excruciating luminosity that were continuously aggravated by conditions in the planet’s upper atmosphere. Ionization, magnetic fluctuations, exotic winds, and bands of radiation played havoc with
her nerve endings, laid bare her defences, and induced unending distress. She could feel the sisters feasting on her pain and doing all that they could to sustain it and thereby intensify their pleasure. Others were lining up to take over when the present tormentors had spent themselves.
Suddenly, Mother ordered everyone back to the planet’s interior; except Prince, whom she ordered to observe his sister’s suffering before escorting her to the harvest planet.
Mother shrieked with elation as her subjects poured down upon her and filed into her expanding area of luminosity. The celebration would last many cycles of the planet’s rotation. Multiple offspring would spew out of the cracks and fissures in gigantic, quivering throbs of radiance. The entire habitat pulsed with brilliance as a quaking sheen of pleasure spread across the planet, draining the mighty sheets of light that radiated nourishment from the harvest world.
Whilst this was happening, Prince released his sister from the filaments that had encased her in painful luminosity and transferred her to the light-ship that would escort her to the system of the harvest planet, a planet that Arabella often referred to as a pain-factory, an utterance that had contributed to her current dilemma. A web of restraints would prevent her taking control of the ship, which the Sisters-of-the-Third had programmed to crash onto the harvest planet, thereby marooning her for all time.
‘Prince.’ Arabella reached into her brother’s thoughts. ‘Help the cause of justice and decency. Escape this fearsome world. Find courage. I know it is there. Mother has taken charge and she will not rest until she has destroyed our people and our world. You are not truly part of this obscenity, don’t pretend to be.’
Flower-of-Sands_The Extraordinary Adventures of a Female Astronaut Page 26