Galaxia

by Kevin McLaughlin

  The man reached over to Michi’s right arm, which was still cuffed to the bed. He ran his hand down her arm, probing at the wound. Michi gasped at the pain, but it didn’t seem as if the man was intentionally trying to hurt her.

  He picked up a scanner from beside her and ran it over her upper arm. After glancing at the readout, he said, “Right arm, hypervelocity dart wound, through and through. Hairline fracture of the humerus.”

  “Who are you?” Michi croaked out.

  The man ignored her, instead reaching out and taking the other man’s PA. He read over it, then held the PA over his eye for a retinal scan, certifying whatever was there. He handed it to yet a third black-clad man who had been standing by the door of her cell. The third man took the PA, looked at it, then stepped forward to stand over Michi’s naked body.

  “So, Doc, you’ve got the dart shot in the arm, and that nicked the humerus. You’ve got one blown ear drum, a Class 2 concussion, a fractured and avulsed left ring finger from the middle phalanx distal, a puncture wound to the right calf, a broken nose, and assorted contusions,” he said, shifting his eyes to each spot on her body as he listed them.

  Michi listened in as if he was describing someone else. It didn’t quite seem real. She noted that nothing was said about vaginal tearing, so she wondered if that meant that her getting Gunter to explode had stymied that.

  “OK, I accept the survey,” the man said, holding the PA up to his eye for the scan.

  He pulled out his own PA and tap-transferred the report from the doctor’s (for that is what he had to be) PA to his. The doctor nodded, took his PA, and left, trailing his assistant.

  Michi was confused. The doctor had said she had a concussion, so maybe that was an excuse. But what happened to Fordyce, and who were these people? They were military, but their utilities were black. She didn’t think they were Marines. Was that what the FCDC wore? The Federation Civil Development Corps had a bad reputation, worse than the Marines, but they tended to keep in the background and did not get the same press as the Navy or Marines.

  If they were FCDC, then that was a relief. Anyone was better than the jacks who had held her before. At least these people seemed to care about her injuries. Michi was under no impression that she was in a good place, though. She knew she was in big trouble. She was looking at a long-term imprisonment at best, at worse, well, she didn’t want to think about that.

  “Henderson, get in here,” the man barked and another man came in the door. “Get her cleaned up, especially that shit. I hate a dirty work place.”

  Michi tried to look down, mortified. She hadn’t even noticed the smell, but now that the man had mentioned it, she could tell her bowels had let go at some time. She looked back up as Henderson came to stand over her, the disgust obvious on his face.

  “Uh, Chief, how do I, I mean, with what?” he asked.

  “St. Charles’ ass, Henderson. Get a bucket and a rag and just do it. Do I have to take you by the hand?”

  “OK, sure chief,” Henderson said and scurried out of the room.

  Michi stared at the ceiling, refusing to meet the “chief’s” eyes, even if she felt them on her. Within a few minutes, Henderson had returned, lugging a bucket of water. He heaved it onto the table, and some of the water splashed out over her. He dipped a rag or towel in the water, and then after pausing as if wondering where to start, he placed the wet rag on her shoulder and began to rub. Michi just endured, not that she had much choice. She endured as he rubbed her face. She endured as he cleaned her breasts. She endured as he cleaned off her arms and legs. She endured as he got between her legs and tried to clean up her shit, sliding the rag under her butt until the chief, exasperation evident in his voice, told him to tilt her up on her side.

  Utterly humiliated, she barely noticed the lances of pain that shot through her as Henderson struggled to keep her up, finally using his shoulder to hold her while he scrubbed the table and her ass. Finally, he let her back down and looked expectantly up at his boss.

  “Weak effort, Henderson. But it will have to do for now. Get rid of the filthy water and clean yourself up, then get back here. We’ve got work to do.”

  Henderson grabbed the bucket and hurried out as the chief walked back up and stood over her, looking down at her face. He didn’t say a word, and Michi was feeling the stress rise.

  What the hell does he want? she wondered. Just get it over with!

  Finally, Henderson came back into the room, and the chief leaned in to talk.

  “Miss MacCailín, I am Chief Warrant Officer Three Virag Chopra of the United Federation Civil Development Corps. You are now under custody of the same, initially charged with disorderly conduct, but I should tell you that you will most likely be charged with more crimes under the Federation Charter. You will be questioned with regards to your participation in the attack of May 15, 335 SR, on the Marines at the refinery at coordinates 30.216355 degrees north, 52.207031 west on Kakurega. Are you in fact Michiko MacCailín, Federation ID A4793677277GB, born on May 19, 315—hmm, today your 20th birthday?”

  Michi nodded.

  “Please speak your response. Is this you?”

  “Uh, yes, it is,” she meekly said.

  “And do you understand what I just told you?” he asked her, all businesslike.

  “Uh, yes.”

  “Private First Class Antonio Henderson, United Federation Civil Development Corps, did you witness Miss MacCailín’s response?”

  “I did,” Henderson said.

  “Hold still,” Chopra told her, placing the PA in front of Michi’s face.

  Michi didn’t resist, but kept her eye open for the scan. The ready light flashed green, and Chopra took the PA over to Henderson and got his certification as well. He checked the read out, then slipped the PA into his holster.

  “Now that the formalities are out of the way,” he said, putting his PA back in its holster, “let me tell you what is happening. First, Miss MacCailín, I am sure you realize that you are in a world of shit. Attacking Federation Marines is bad enough, but being the person who instigated the attack will probably result in your execution.”

  Michi knew that, but to hear it actually being vocalized gave it a much bigger impact.

  “I don’t really care, though, what happens to you. My job is simple. I am here to extract information from you that can enable us to protect the Federation and Federation citizens. It is really that simple. And rest assured, Miss MacCailín, that I will get that information. I am a professional and very good at what I do.

  “And don’t think you will be able to withhold information from me. I am not those clowns from Propitious Interstellar’s security. Yes, I have seen the tapes,” he said as he saw her flinch. “Not a bad move, getting your rapist angry enough to knock you out. But nothing you say or do will change the outcome of what is about to happen to you. And I am afraid to say that after this is over, you might wish those jimmyleg goons still had you.”

  The very calm seriousness with which he spoke struck fear deep into Michi’s heart. Her treatment at the hands of the jacks had been brutal. What could be worse? She didn’t want to find out.

  “The jimmylegs might have succeeded over time; how quickly depending on how strong you were. But their methods are brutal and inefficient. You would end up telling them anything, whatever you thought they wanted to know, to stop them. Most of all, though, they enjoy the process, without regards to the information.

  “I, Miss MacCailín, on the other hand, do not enjoy inflicting pain. I won’t hesitate to do what is necessary, but that is only a means to the end. I want the information.”

  He picked up Michi’s mangled hand, looked at it, then shook his head. “See this, Henderson? This is what I was talking about. Torture for torture’s sake, the frigging amateurs. And she didn’t talk, so it was all wasted effort.”

  He dropped her hand and said, “Bring me the I88.”

  Henderson pulled out a small rectangular instrument, then some wires. It was
an inanimate object, but Michi imagined she could sense the evil emanating from it. Chopra took it from Henderson, connected the wires, attaching them to Michi. One wire was placed on her right ear, the other on her left big toe. Michi trembled. The lack of knowledge of just what that thing was was tearing her apart.

  “Miss MacCailín, this is an I88, which is an oldie but goodie, an intensifier. It excites nerves more than any physical stimulus. No one is actually hurting you, but you will believe they are. Your body will believe they are. I am not in love with intensifiers, but I want you to see what I have in my little toolbox. I tried it once myself, and the experience still resonates with me when I am this close to the device. And so . . .”

  He reached and pressed a button, and immediately, Michi’s world exploded into the bright lights of utter agony. Every nerve in her body was aflame and determined to burn up in an orgy of pain. She didn’t know anything—her name, where she was, who she was—only the pain coursing through her. It was the only thing that mattered, and nothing else existed. This other dimension stretched on for days, years, maybe longer.

  And then it was mercifully gone, completely gone. She lifted her head, sure her body had been burnt to a crisp. But she was untouched. She was the same battered, hurting Michi that she had been before that devil device had been turned on. Her body still hurt from her earlier abuse, but that didn’t seem so impactful now that she had something much more severe than physical pain to compare it to now.

  She gasped for breath as she looked up into Chopra’s eyes, and he was just staring at her, expressionless.

  “Fun little toy, huh?” he asked. “And I could use it, again and again until you talked. But you could tell me anything, and we could waste time finding out that you had lied to me.

  “So that puts me in a quandary, right? Luckily, I have a few more tools in my toolbox. Lucky for me, that is. Maybe not for you. No, I’m being facetious. Most certainly not for you.

  “Henderson, the Propoxinal.”

  Michi gulped. She’d heard of it, of course. It was a “truth serum” featured in some recent flicks. In one of them, the chemical had turned people into zombies, their minds destroyed. She realized that was fiction, but still, it was scary stuff.

  “I see by your reaction that you recognize my little friend,” Chopra said as Henderson gave him his dosing unit. “Don’t worry, it won’t turn you into a flesh-eating zombie. Although, that might be a better fate, if you ask me. A barely aware vegetable who just sits and soils herself seems a lot worse to me.”

  “But that’s illegal, isn’t it?” she asked.

  Chopra and Henderson broke out laughing at that.

  “You are really in no position to protest, young lady. And while Propoxinal is technically illegal, I can use whatever I want, based on my own judgment, with regards to security. You are an enemy of the Federation, and I will do what I have to in order to ensure your threat is neutralized.”

  “But you won! You won the battle. There is no more threat,” she cried, her voice getting more panicked.

  “And that is what I intend to find out. You see, Miss MacCailín, you are telling me that, but can I trust you? Can I be assured that right now, more of your friends are not massing for an attack?”

  “I’m telling you the truth!”

  “PFC Henderson, do you believe Miss MacCailín?” he asked his assistant.

  “Sure, sir. She sounds like the honest sort,” he said with a smirk on his face.

  “And I believe you, too,” Chopra said with mock sincerity. “But I have been wrong before, and as they say, better safe than sorry.

  “Henderson, give her the prep,” he said handing the man the dosing unit.

  Henderson took it, entered a code, and then held the unit against Michi’s arm.

  “No!” she shouted, more afraid of the serum than anything the jacks had done to her.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Chopra said. “That’s not the Propoxinal. That’s just a small depressant that I’ve found makes the Propoxinal more effective. You’ve got another five minutes before you get that.”

  Michi jerked on the cuff locking her to the bed, ignoring the pain each jerk shot through her.

  “Look at her struggle,” Chopra told Henderson. “The human condition is fascinating, and you need to understand it if you are going to do well in this job. We have suicide bombers, willing to die for a cause, but when we threaten the mind, when we threaten to change the very core of a person, they all fight. I would wager that Miss MacCailín there would have been willing to die for her cause. But look at her struggle so frantically now.”

  Just then, the door opened, and three Marines marched in. One looked at his PA, then said, “Michiko MacCailín. She’s a general in the NIP.”

  “I’m aware of who she is, First Sergeant” the second Marine said. “I saw the camcordings.”

  “Can I ask you what you are doing here, sir?” Chopra said.

  “Merely checking on our prisoners, Chief,” the first Marine said.

  “Well, as you can see, I’m in the middle of an interrogation, so if you could come back later, I would appreciate it.”

  “I can see what you are doing, and no, we’ll check now. The captain is a little busy to arrange his schedule around yours.”

  The captain came forward, and Michi could see the bars on his collar. She looked lower, and she caught the nametag: Lysander. Was this the man she had been attacking? He looked like the Marine she has seen on the holo.

  He looked over her, then turned to Chopra and asked, “Why has she been abused?”

  “Wasn’t me. The jimmylegs got a little too enthusiastic. Besides, that arm wound was your boys’ doing,” he said, pulling out his PA and handing it to the first Marine, the one the captain had called “first sergeant.”

  The first sergeant looked it over, then nodded and handed it to the captain.

  “He’s right,” he said.

  Captain Lysander looked it over, then handed it back before asking, “So you didn’t do that, but why hasn’t she been given medical treatment?”

  “There’s no requirement for me to do that, sir, as you know. She’s an insurgent, and a free citizen. If she was a Class Four, the company here would be required to provide the treatment, but as a Free Citizen, she needs to provide her own.”

  “And did you offer it? Did you contact her family? It doesn’t matter. As a prisoner of war,” the captain said, emphasizing the words, “we are required to provide full medical treatment.”

  “She’s an insurgent, a common criminal, sir, not a prisoner of war,” Chopra protested.

  The captain turned towards the chief warrant officer and snarled, “She was wearing a uniform, right? She headed an army, right? She’s a grubbing POW, and I really don’t think you want to fight me on that, Chief!

  “First Sergeant Samuelson, get Doc Botivic over here to check her out. I want the letter of the law followed here.”

  “Aye-aye, sir,” the first sergeant said before speaking into a throat mic.

  The drugs Henderson had given her were kicking in, and her mind was getting fuzzy. She knew what was happening, but its import was somewhat lost on her. Another doctor was coming?

  “With all due respect, sir, this is an FCDC matter, not a Marine concern. I’m in charge of interrogation, and you can’t be interfering in that. If you have a complaint, you can register it with my major,” Chopra said.

  “Do you know who I am, Chief?” the captain asked.

  “Yes, of course, sir. But—”

  “But nothing. I’ll have your ass if you fight me on this. I’m going to get her treated, then you can interrogate her to your heart’s content.”

  Michi’s heart fell. She was not being saved, only given a short reprieve. She shouldn’t have expected anything more from the infamous captain.

  “Why the hell do you care? She jumped two of your Marines, brought a whole cliff down on them. She attacked your company?”

  “I don’t care about
her, Chief. I care about us. We’re on a dirty mission here, and I intend to keep us as clean as possible despite that. And it didn’t do her a lot of good, did it. Not one Marine killed.”

  Despite the cotton closing in on her mind, that caught her attention. No Marine killed?

  “I killed one of your Marines,” she stammered out.

  All five men in the room turned to look at her, the Marines with bemused smiles on their faces.

  “I killed one of you bastards. Me!” she asserted.

  “I think she means Ling,” the first sergeant said.

  “Oh, so you killed Sergeant Ling?” the captain asked, stepping up to stand over her.

  “If that was his name,” she tried to say with a snarl. “I crushed him in the Ledges.”

  “Yes, Sergeant Joab Ling. He’s been with me quite awhile. Well, after he gets out of regen, I’m sure he would like to meet you,” Captain Lysander said with a condescending laugh. “Not everyone gets to meet his killer.”

  She looked at him in confusion. Regen? But he was dead! Or was he? They hadn’t stuck around to make sure, but all his readings were off.

  “Oh, you messed him up but good, girl,” the first sergeant said. “And he’s going to have to live that down. I think half of the Corps sent him stills of that camcording you made with your foot on him like some big-game trophy. But no, he’s gonna be fine. All you got was his pride.”

  Michi felt deflated. She couldn’t believe the guy was still alive. She had failed. With the effects of the drug given to her, she almost broke down into tears.

  “Um, Captain? Take a look at this,” the third Marine said, speaking for the first time.

  He had picked up the doser, and now he held it out for the captain. Captain Lysander looked at it, a look of anger coming over his face as he saw what the next dose was.

  “Propoxinal, Chief? You know that is proscribed!”

  “Not for her, sir! I can use whatever means I deem necessary. Look the frigging regulations up, if you want,” Chopra said.

  “For insurgents or terrorists in the course of an operation, yes. For listed groups like the SOG. But not for prisoners of war! POWs can only voluntarily offer information, not be coerced, and certainly not by proscribed drugs! You are breaking about a thousand treaties on this!” he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth.