“Play it,” Rebecca whispered.
A synthesized voice, not the computer’s: “Enjoy your books, traitor.”
Chills spread through Rebecca as her heart raced. She rushed for her toilet, but vomited bright juice all over the front of her shirt and the floor. She collapsed to her knees, weeping on the floor.
Security File: Rebecca St. Martin
Security Virtual Assistant H7-00P Daily Surveillance Report
Security Access IA7: limited public InComm use, restricted ExComm access, random virtual intelligence checks
Security Risk B15: low risk to offend, moderate risk for recruitment, under Blackout surveillance
SVA notes: Rebecca St. Martin has received an untraceable anonymous email containing the complete works of Earth author, Jane Austen. The file contains the author’s works, multiple forewords to various editions not contained within the file, and the author’s personal letters. The file also contains four live action variations of Sense and Sensibility, five live action variations of Pride and Prejudice, two live action variations of Mansfield Park, three live action variations of Emma, one live action version of Northanger Abbey, and two live action variations of Persuasion.
Flag words: traitor
SVA Protocol: Yellow flag. Files attached.
Chapter 4
Maverick rested his arms under his head and waited for death. He had to stretch out across the cold, metal floor diagonally, since his prison cell wasn’t designed for his height. And, hey, if a man is about to be executed, well, he should be comfortable.
He blew out a breath. It was taking them way too long to get around to torturing him, to the point that the wait itself was turning into the torture. Even his interrogation was sub-par by the usual standards of planter assholes. Bastards probably didn’t even realize who he was when they initially captured him. He looked around his metal cage. Well, they clearly knew who he was now. Them’s the shits.
The most damning thing of it all was that it had been worth it. No matter what these oozing, infected assholes did to him, it had all still been worth it. They’d stolen the stealth comm jumper and got it smuggled off the planet. The Corps military would unscramble the custom code in a couple of months, true, but by then his rebel cell would have just moved on to a new code. It was going to take years before they cracked the scrambler entirely. That was worth his life.
He looked around the other cells in his prison. Correction. It was worth the lives of his squad, including his own sister. They’d had a good run. Sad that it was about to end in a Blackout prison. If he were lucky, they’d all get remembered in the history books centuries from now once the Corps was long gone and everyone finally able to go home.
Not that Mav had a home. He’d been born onboard a command carrier. He hoped to one day die on one. Still, most of the others had homes once and wanted no part in this expansionist shitsplatter of re-building the glory days. Glory days no one remembered because it was ancient history and all that was left was advanced tech everyone was still trying to figure out.
The magnetic doors clunked open. He did a partial sit-up to see who’d walked in. They’d sent him a female this time. He laid his head back on the cold floor, and turned his thoughts to pounding naked women in the ass. Tits slapping him in the face. Moist cunny dripping on his fingers. Supple lips all taking turns wrapping around his cock…
The guard said, “You’re disgusting.”
Mav lifted his head high enough to catch a glimpse of his growing erection. He gave the guard a wink before resting his head back down. It was way too cold to keep things up, but he was designed and trained to handle interrogation. It was always his job to be the troublemaker. Part of that role was to keep the female guards’ attention on him and away from the others. He’d therefore received the brunt of the violence on previous captures, and while he still carried the scars in all definitions of the word, he knew he could handle it again.
Unfortunately, it was a role difficult to maintain when he’d not eaten anything in two days. His thoughts turned to wrapping his own mouth around a massive blood sausage cooked in gravy and smothered in chopped roots that were roasted in honey and… He sighed inwardly, both at how he was now hungrier than ever and at how his cock was at full alert at the thought of a decent meal.
“Hey Patrice,” Mav said, calling out to his sister. He couldn’t see her through the force fields from his position, as she was further down the line of cells. “Think Mother would mind if I gave this honeypot a taste of the family inheritance?”
“I belong to the academy that believes in keeping one’s mouth shut whilst locked in an underground prison on an uninhabitable moon, for fear of being tossed out of an airlock,” Patrice replied, her voice full of equal parts annoyance and mirth. After a moment, she added, “Besides, Mav, it is rather childish to tease the poor guard with your massive manhood. I can see it glowing through the force fields. It’s traumatizing.”
The others chuckled in their cells, but made no commentary. They all knew the game well. This wasn’t their first capture, though it was probably their last. He guessed that’s why the guards didn’t even bother with solitary confinement this time around. Mav shivered at the memory of his last stint in solitary, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. Current goal was to keep everyone alive another hour.
Mav sat up and asked the guard, “Why did they only send one little, lonely girl? We are violent, dangerous terrorists, are we not? Isn’t that why we’re being held here for execution without trial? At the very least, you’d think we be in isolation dark. Keep up the intimidation factor. You’re really disappointing me. You might as well begin pumping in some soothing music to help quell our nerves during this difficult time.”
The guard walked over to the entrance and, and a moment later, the room was plunged into darkness. It only took a moment for Mav’s eyes to adjust. He didn’t have prefect night vision, but he had enough to see the guard march back to his cell’s front force field. She was a young woman, no more than twenty-five, if he were to guess. She didn’t seem uncomfortable, so either she was superbly arrogant, or this wasn’t her first time.
“I read your file,” she said.
“I haven’t. Anything interesting?”
“It details your military upgrades and how you continue to use your implants against the very people who gifted them to you.”
“And?”
“You are a hypocrite and a traitor.”
Mav snorted. “You’ll need to do better than that.”
There was another clunk of the door and Mav strained forward to stare at the giant metal door. He squinted at the light pouring into the room, but adjusted quickly. Four beefy figures in riot gear stomped their way into the prison cell. Full helmets, full body armor, plus protective shielding. Ballistic handguns and pulse rifles.
Mav’s muscles twitched. Was this to be their executions finally? It made no sense. They’d only had that initial beating, and even that one was fucking shit next to the one they’d all been given in lockup before the transfer up to the moon.
He steadied his breath. Once the pain started, his implant would kick in and the soothing embrace of various neurotransmitters, both natural and synthetic, would dull the experience. Too bad he couldn’t ramp up the dose. Considering he was to die soon, there was no point worrying about organ failure. Soon, their bodies would be in vats helping grow plenty of implants for these precious little slavers.
Mav forced cheer into his voice, even though it was tough to do. “Will it be batons or swords today? Or shall we just dunk my head into a pot of boiling oil? I’m sure all of the precious little people up in Bubble Town would love to watch that on the big screens.”
A sly smile formed on the guard’s mouth. She pointed at Patrice’s cell, though she never took her gaze off Mav. A buzzer sounded and the hum of all of their force fields become slightly quieter. He glanced over; Patrice’s fields were down.
The female guard did not remove her gaze f
rom Mav. “I want names.”
Mav stood, panic rising in him. Patrice held the names of two members in other terrorist cells. She’d been their only link in case of capture. Torturing the other five, including himself, would only get them the members of their group and an occasional other name. Patrice could expose two other operatives and, in doing so, expose another sixty people to Corps Intelligence.
He could cope with torture when it was his own body. He could not handle watching them torture his sister.
“She doesn’t know anything,” Mav shouted at the guards as they walked into Patrice’s cell. Two of the guards grabbed Patrice under her arms and dangled her naked body between them.
“Names,” the female guard said, staring at Mav.
“I don’t know any,” he said, and it was the truth. “Let her go! I don’t know the names of anyone outside of our cell! I don’t even know everyone in our own cell!”
The two other guards looked at the female, who nodded. She turned her stare back to Mav, smiling. “Names.”
“I don’t know any, you fucking cock’s cunt!” Mav screamed. He threw himself at the force field, bouncing off it as the defensive system kicked in. Again and again he threw himself at it, hoping he could short-circuit the electrics. His efforts were in vain and Mav collapsed to his cell’s floor with force shock. He moaned his sister’s name as he faded in and out of consciousness. He vaguely heard the others screaming and shouting Patrice’s name. Someone was shouting a litany of names that Mav didn’t even know. Were those even real names or just a ruse to give Patrice a moment’s respite?
Mav faded into darkness.
Nightmare Two
Kat didn’t come home that night. Rebecca got a text saying someone called in sick and she was needed to drive a group of reservists out to the range for some night shooting practice. Rebecca texted something dull and left it at that. Kat had been acting weird since Rebecca brought up marriage. She tried shutting down the steady stream of possibilities of things Kat really could be doing; none of them involved a tired, dirty Kat overseeing a field exercise.
Wasn’t Kat high enough rank to avoid that kind of work anyway? Rebecca decided it was better to not know. Maybe later she would ask; for now, not knowing was better.
In the morning, Rebecca grabbed a shower, and did the usual basic morning grooming. Dress pants, blouse, conservative black shoes with a small heel, hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore her makeup to look like she didn’t wear makeup. The office managers frowned on too much makeup, yet when she didn’t wear any, her boss always commented on how tired she looked. The irony was that the fresh face makeup took longer and more makeup than the “too made up” look.
She arrived at the office, a non-descript, older red brick building with the patriotic name of Maple Leaf Plaza. She turned her car toward the underground parking lot, fighting against the sleet-covered pavement. Once parked in her reserved spot, she walked inside to the main reception.
This was as far as Kat was ever allowed to see: the reception. Normally, Rebecca didn’t think of it, but this morning she certainly did. Perhaps Kat was off doing something secretive for the military and she had to lie. Of course, what was there to do in freaking Halifax of all places? It was too icy for terrorists to bother even coming here. Then again, who would expect little ol’ Rebecca doing anything secretive either in a place like Halifax.
Rebecca waved to the security guard behind the receptionists’ desk. Corporal Belliveau smiled at her and pressed the elevator button. “How are you this morning, Corporal?”
Belliveau was dressed in standard combats, though his black beret looking oddly furrier than usual. “My cat slept on my beret.”
“Why didn’t you take some packing tape to it?”
“My cat ate the last of the tape.”
“Your cat is a bit of an asshole.”
“That’s why I like her,” he said, grinning.
The elevator dinged and she walked in. She swiped her card again and pressed B3, a button that didn’t work without security clearance. Rebecca walked into the land of cubicles and dumped her lunch, purse, and coat under her desk; the tech department had won R&D’s coat hooks in the fantasy hockey pool. Rebecca booted up her computer to begin the daily campaign against the dozens of emails that would no doubt be waiting for her.
Her podmate, Mandy, poked her head over the cubicle wall. “Psst! Apparently, some important people are coming by this afternoon to talk about Red Shield. How’s the demo?”
Rebecca made a face. “It kinda works?”
Mandy did a visual survey of the room. “You better have it working soon. The sea hag is loose. She is not in a good mood.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” Rebecca said.
“Thank me in chocolate-covered graham wafers.”
“Deal.”
Rebecca decided her email could wait. She popped her personal laptop on the desk—the one that wasn’t allowed on the work network—and queued up the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice. She always worked best with something in the background that she’d heard before. She turned her screen to face the wall, so that her boss wouldn’t see the movie playing, and then plugged in her earbuds. She had a demo to get running.
Rebecca’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it. It was from her mother.
Honey, you need to call right now.
Rebecca dialed her mother’s number. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
“What? What’s wrong? Is it Dad? Is Dad okay?”
“It’s Katherine, honey. I’m so sorry.”
“Is she hurt? Oh god, where is she?”
“She’s not hurt. She…I don’t know how to tell you this. You haven’t logged into Facebook yet today?”
“Mom, I’m at work. It’s blocked here. There can’t be anything on Facebook that can’t wait until I get home.”
“There are pictures…of Kat…and another woman.”
Rebecca stared at her computer monitor, her demo finally loaded. “What…you…I don’t…”
“They’re everywhere. I’m so sorry.”
“I…oh god.”
Rebecca’s call waiting buzzed. She glanced at her phone. Kat.
Chapter 5
Rebecca was staring at her ceiling when her phone pinged the alert for another missed call. She hated that particular dream about Kat: the day she’d learned her girlfriend and love of her life was a fucking cheater who couldn’t hold her liquor. She ignored her phone and opted to relive that old fight over and over. How Rebecca tanked her presentation so badly that her boss sent her home for the rest of the week to work out “whatever personal problems” she had going on.
“They’re obviously affecting your job and there’s no room for that here,” she’d said.
And she’d went home and dealt with them by looking at the ream of photos of Kat and some chick making out at a bar. And then facing Kat when she sheepishly walked into the house. And kicking her out when Kat blamed her for fucking some chick in a bar bathroom.
“You freaked me out with the marriage thing,” Kat had said.
Rebecca had called her dozens of horrible words and told her to burn in hell. She regretted that now. Anyway, the only person going to burn in hell would be her, and not Kat.
“Rebecca, there is a priority call from Captain Andrewson. She says it requires your immediate attention,” the VA said.
Captain Andrewson was the reason Rebecca had that damned dream when she’d dozed off laying here, she was certain of it. She’d do just about anything to get away from that woman while she was onboard the station. She couldn’t do that if her phone kept buzzing.
“Rebecca, scans show that you are awake,” the virtual assistant said.
Rebecca sighed. “Fine.” She stabbed at the dimmer and turned up the lights until there was a faint glow. She didn’t bother to straighten out her hair when she turned her attention to the screen across from her bed.
“Rebecca St. Mart
in?”
“Yes.”
“This is Captain Andrewson. We met earlier.”
“I know who you are,” Rebecca said, not bothering to erase the coldness in her voice. She noticed her tone hardened the captain’s expression. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m reviewing your personnel file and it says you have security system training?”
“For non-critical systems, yes.”
“Excellent. Come by Captain Dags’ office immediately. I’ll inform security.”
“It’s the middle of the night. Can’t this wait?” Rebecca said, her frayed nerves no longer giving a shit about politeness.
A flash of familiarity crossed the captain’s face, before she smoothed it into a mask of neutral disregard. “Now.”
Rebecca sighed and dragged herself out of bed. She still had the taste of vomit in her mouth. There wasn’t any mint toothpaste in this place, but they used a flavouring that was similar to cumin, so she turned on the electric brush and let it do its work. Then she swished around some cinnamon-like flavoured mouthwash and spat it out. Her eyes were red and swollen, so she poured a little water on a cloth to pat down her face. The countdown reminder clicked downward. She used the cloth to wipe the sweat from her armpits and applied more deodorant.
She skipped breakfast. For one thing, she couldn’t afford it anymore. For another, she was still queasy from yesterday. She’d ordered three protein bars for supper and stored them in one of her drawers for emergencies. Meal ration credits didn’t carry over day to day, so she ordered the free credit bars of tasteless cardboard as a backup for the days she was either extra hungry or wanted to eat her breakfast algae bun.
Rebecca didn’t change into her overalls, nor did she bother with her morning routine. It was still another five hours before she was supposed to report to work, and she’d rather her equipment stay in her room. If anyone tried to trace her, that’s where they’d think she was.
Traitor (Collaborator Book 1) Page 5