Questor

by L. S. Gibson

  Jon managed to keep the Mideans busy for a long two, maybe three minutes. It felt much longer, but it couldn’t have been much more. He took on four of them in the end, managing to knock out one before they overwhelmed him. They made him pay for his temerity, however. When it was clear his friends had gotten away and at last the Mideans overcame Jon, two of them held him while the other used him as a punching bag, before dragging him off to some kind of control center in a nearby large cavern. His face was badly cut and bruised and his abdomen and chest were in severe pain. He thought it was probable he had a couple of broken ribs, made more painful by the manner in which they tied his arms behind his back.

  Jon struggled to stand to attention as he faced the Midean Supervisor, Charod, who asked, “Well, what do we have here?”

  Charod walked around Jon in a slow complete circle, exaggerating his investigation as he eyed him up and down, studying his uniform, before staring at his face. “You might be similar, but whatever you are, you’re not Rhiava. My men say you, and another like you, were travelling with two of them. I assume you’re from the strange craft that crashed here a short time ago. I gather you made friends with the Rhiava. But who...what exactly are you? And what is this?” he asked, fingering the Jon’s weapon.

  Jon eyed the supervisor but refused to answer.

  “I asked what this is,” Charod repeated, his voice much sharper. “It’s not like any weapon I’ve ever seen before. It didn’t hurt my people, just knocked them out. Is that all it can do? What use is such a weapon, unless, of course, it can do more?” He twisted it over and over in his hands. He noted the slide control to one side. “Ah, is this what I think it is? It seems to be on the lowest setting. What if I moved this along somewhat?” Charod tried to push it but it wouldn’t move. He tried again. “Some kind of lock-off device, eh?” He frowned. “Morovny,” Charod called to one of his staff who was working at a desk nearby. “Release this,” Charod ordered.

  Morovny came and took it and Jon watched, impressed, as with definite skill and remarkable speed, worked out how the release mechanism operated, pressed the catch, and handed the weapon back to Charod. “Sir,” he said without any expression whatever.

  “I assume it’s a weapon of your people; it’s not a Rhiava device by any chance?” Still Jon refused to answer. Charod took the weapon and slid the control to the halfway mark. Then he aimed it at Jon’s arm. “If I fire this now I doubt it would just knock you out. Shall I try? Perhaps I will, but perhaps I won’t, if you tell me where your friends went.” He made the threat with a smirk on his white face.

  Jon still didn’t speak; he stood stock still staring at the wall over Charod’s shoulder. He was afraid, but he wouldn’t give this man the satisfaction of seeing that.

  “Hmm. Is your race capable of speech?” Charod asked with definite sarcasm. “Oh, yes, I remember now. My patrol heard you call to each other, you and the other like you. You can talk, but you won’t. Loyal. Commendable.” He stepped toe to toe with Jon. “Stupid!” he yelled.

  Without warning, Charod swiveled and fired the weapon at the cave wall to his right. There was a flash, the sharp smell of ozone, the wall smoldering where parts of the rock had begun to melt and fuse, and the excess ran off like molten lava. Charod’s mouth dropped open a little, before it developed into a slow smile. “Ah, that’s much better. But how about this?” He increased the weapon's power to full on. He brought his arm back toward Jon, now aiming the weapon directly at Jon’s head. “I think if I fired this now it would remove your head,” he commented, his expression cold and calculating.

  Jon sighed. “If you fired that now you wouldn't just take off my head, you would destroy the bank of consoles behind me, the cave wall behind them, and it's probable a fair amount of the mountain behind that. Of course, the choice is yours, but I won’t tell you anything.” Jon appeared calm and waited. Inside he was feeling anything but calm. He was scared, but he was also relieved. If they were prepared to go to this length, then it was obvious Manny had got the others away. He had no desire to die, but he would not betray them.

  Charod, still smiling, lowered his arm. “Of course, I will not fire, because you see I need you to talk, and talk you shall. I like playing my little games, but there are other, better, surer methods of getting an answer. Medved!” he barked, and one of the officers in the background snapped forward.

  “Sir?”

  “Take him to the Room.”

  It was a struggle helping the Rhiava but Manny had almost got them out of the tunnel system now. He couldn’t see any more Mideans but he heard whistles inside the caves. For whatever reason the cave system was in use by the Mideans and they were lucky to have gotten out. He couldn’t go back in to try and find Jon, no matter how much he wished, how much they wished; he couldn’t risk it with the weakened Triena and Lector in tow. Neither of them had been aware of the presence of their enemy in the caves. Their one protection at this time was Manny’s weapon. Jon, her people, and it was probable even his own captain would all think Triena’s safety should take precedence.

  Manny helped Triena and Lector as best as he could as they slithered down the mountainside. Their improvement was gradual after they left the caves; still tired, but that bone-numbing exhaustion that had affected them was gone. It was apparent Manny’s suggestion about proximity was correct.

  It appeared nature, at least, was on their side. Just after exiting the cave mouth a storm set in and rain began sleeting down. Manny’s first reaction was to curse; his second was to thank whatever gods protected this planet. It was hard to see ten feet in front of him, but then neither could the Mideans.

  “A Chiana!” exclaimed Lector.

  “Chiana?” Manny queried. The word hadn’t been translated, it must be a name.

  “It’s the old name for the storm of the mountains. It's a rare occurrence, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. It’ll rain for but a short time, but what rain! Then the mists will come. It’s as if the planet is protecting its Spirit,” he added with a gentle smile.

  “It’s just one of those times, that’s all,” Triena replied, the first occasion she’d spoken since they left Jon behind.

  “Is it?” asked Lector. “If that’s what you think, Mistress. However, we’ll make use of it. If we can make it, just a short way down and to the right is a large crevice, and inside the crevice is a narrow chimney, which can take us down, a long way down. Unless you know it’s there you’d never find it. If we can get into the crevice before the mists clear, we’ll be safe.”

  “Perhaps we will, but what of Jon?” Triena asked the pain in her voice evident. “You know what those creatures are capable of, Lector. We must get him out. We must.”

  “Yes, Mistress, but we can’t help him now. We’re both too weak. There are too many of them. We need help.”

  “Yes, and they’ll have taken his weapon. If they were to use that against us,” Manny commented with a sigh. “At full power it can do more damage than you can imagine. If we can clear this mountain, we can get to Haven and get help from your people. Maybe we can even contact Questor. We must go down, Triena. It’s the only way we can help Jon now.”

  Jon was taken through the tunnels on the far side of the cavern. Medved led the way and two other guards covered the rear as they continued to walk upward. Jon was still bound, but they had retied his bonds in front of him so he could use his hands to help when necessary. No one spoke on the long climb, and Jon was left to his thoughts. That phrase spoken by Charod, “other, better, surer methods of getting an answer,” kept running around in his head. He couldn’t expect fair treatment. His thoughts just added to the oppression he felt inside the mountain.

  The tunnels were lined overhead with thick cables that ran from the banks of machinery left far behind them in the huge cavern in the middle of the mountain. Jon suspected where he’d exit, and he wasn’t disappointed. They emerged through a complicated trapdoor system in the center of the construct on the summit of the mount
ain.

  As he was escorted across he tried to take a look at the console between two of the huge leg-like appendages. He couldn’t see too well as they kept him moving at too fast a pace, but he did see a diagrammatic interpretation of the planet and its atmosphere with a series of graphs alongside. It just had to be the shield control.

  They took him inside one of the small buildings near the lake. He’d been wondering all the way up just what he could expect inside this “room.” He noticed when Supervisor Charod gave the order, with special emphasis on the word, one of the guards had given him an odd considering look, ending with a peculiar smile. Shivers had gone down Jon’s spine as it brought to mind the mention of torture being used on the inhabitants of Reliff to make them provide information. He tried to recall just what the torture had entailed, but he couldn’t remember if any detail was given. Lack of information just let his imagination run riot. By the time he reached his destination his nerves were frayed and he longed for rescue, though he knew he couldn’t expect any.

  When at last entering the place, he was perplexed. It was a small room, empty except for a bench in the center under a light that hung from a thick cable a few inches from the ceiling. He glanced around expecting something else, he didn’t know what, but this couldn’t be all. Jon’s gaze flicked back to the one other thing they’d passed on the way in: a booth with a glass window so the occupant of the room could be observed. The shivers returned.

  Jon was untied and ordered to remove his jacket and his outer clothing. He balked at that and for a moment refused, until one of them fingered a weapon. He complied. They shoved him toward the bench and told him to lie down. When he was slow to react one of them pulled out his weapon and pressed it to Jon’s temple then motioned him to obey. He had no choice but to obey. He was surprised there were no restraints. The guards were quick to back out.

  He began to raise himself to see what might happen next, when the light overhead snapped on. He was shocked as he slammed back down. He couldn’t move at all. Yet it seemed just like any ordinary light. White, bright, and illuminating.

  Then it dimmed even more, and the focus contracted until the light covered just beyond the bench and its occupant. Then, from the center of the illumination, a separate narrow beam advanced toward him, a pale yellow beam that touched his right arm. And where it touched him Jon felt pain seeping through from shoulder to fingertips. He gritted his teeth and watched as the beam darkened and the pain increased. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyelids shut. Then all at once it was gone. But before he even had time to feel relief, it returned just as fast, this time over his right leg, yellow, and then dark yellow, pale orange, orange, and each color change brought more pain, until in the end it was dark orange and the pain was excruciating. This time he cried out, he could not help himself.

  But it didn’t stop there. For a period of time, he couldn’t tell how long, the light travelled over his body in varying degrees of color and pain, until it seemed every inch had been covered. By now the tears ran free down his cheeks, he couldn’t stop them. He screwed his eyes shut as if somehow not seeing the light meant he wouldn’t be able to feel the pain. He’d bitten his lips till they bled. He’d cried out, screamed at them, cursed them. And they’d said nothing. Asked him nothing.

  Aware they were watching from the booth, though he couldn’t see them through the glare. Each time it stopped for a moment the relief was overwhelming, which just intensified the pain when the light returned. Torture indeed.

  Then the light darkened again, and continued to darken until it was red and he’d never felt such pain, never imagined such pain could exist, didn’t think anyone could feel it and live. But live he did. He endured so much pain it filled the borders of his world and far beyond. He couldn’t even cry out, couldn’t even close his eyes. Could no longer remember who he was, where he was, what he was. All he knew was the pain.

  Even after the light at last dimmed to white, he couldn’t remember anything but the pain. He lay rigid, unknowing. He’d never know how much time passed until his awareness returned and he realized the hurt was gone, though he was still trapped on the bench, unable to move.

  He just had to lie there—tearstained, cold, exhausted, and terrified. Terrified because there wasn’t a mark on him, he wasn’t injured in any way, and now the pain had stopped he understood just what they could do. They could inflict pain, terrible pain, at their whim, hour after hour, day after day, indefinite, and he wouldn’t be injured, not be damaged in any way. Could anyone hold out against such torture? For how long could one endure? When would one reach the limit that would make a person betray what one cherished, even loved ones? He was terrified he’d find out; that he’d discover he couldn’t endure—yet he must. He must.

  At last, they made it. They almost fell through the narrow entrance to the crevice, they were so exhausted. Even Manny was at the end of his tether. He’d been forced to almost carry both of them for the last half hour. He’d taken to leaving one in a safe hiding place, moving forward a little way with the other, then going back for the first one. At least now they could rest for a while in relative safety. The mists were still swirling around outside, and if it hadn’t been for Lector’s knowledge of the mountain it was doubtful if they could ever have found the crevice. The chance of any Midean patrol finding them now was almost nonexistent.

  However, Manny knew they couldn’t take any chances, not after what had happened in the cave system. He told the others to rest while he kept watch. Their Gifts were needed more than ever now. The Mideans would be on the lookout for them as soon as the mist lifted. They had to be most careful. They needed to get to Haven but must not, at any cost, lead the Mideans there.

  Manny had a tough time for the next few hours. First he fought extreme exhaustion, and then he went through stages of fighting guilt. How could he ever have left Jon behind like that? He should’ve tried to do something, anything. Exhaustion was making him illogical; imagining scenes where he could’ve saved Jon; got him out against impossible odds. He couldn’t help but wonder what was happening to Jon. It was obvious they’d want to make him talk, give them information—providing, of course, he’d not been too badly injured in the fight with those Mideans, the fight in which Manny had abandoned him.

  It didn’t help when he remembered the references to torture of the Rhiava in Reliff. There’d been vague references and he wished now he’d asked more about it. What were the Mideans capable of? Jon wouldn’t betray them, not his friend, and in particular not Triena. But at what cost?

  He got up; his thoughts wouldn’t let him sit still. He paced back and forth. He walked to the mouth of the crevice to check if the mists were still there. They were, but they were thinning. He came back in and paced again. He checked the time and it had been about six hours since they’d reached the crevice. He wanted to wake them now, but he had to leave them longer—the longer the better. They still had quite a way to travel. And they’d all need the protection of their Gifts. But too much time was passing. What was happening to Jon?

  Manny paced again. Strange to say, he no longer felt tired. He wanted to act, he needed to act. But when he acted it had to count for something. He paced.

  “Manny?” Her quiet voice broke through his concerns.

  He watched Triena sitting up and her color was better. Lector was still asleep. He moved over to hereHe p. “Are you feeling stronger? You look much improved.”

  “Yes, a little stronger. Strong enough to move on, but we’ll wait for Lector. He’ll wake when he’s ready. Let’s talk, over there.” She pointed near to the crevice mouth, so as not to disturb Lector. “I know you’re worried; I can feel it.”

  “Aren’t you?” he asked. “I’m sorry, of course you are.”

  “Jon told you?” She didn’t sound surprised.

  “Just after I asked him. I...noticed a difference, you see,” he admitted, somewhat hesitant.

  “Yes, I do too,” she replied, with a ghost of a smile as if rememberin
g something. “But at least I can tell you so far he’s all right. He was hurt in the fight, I think, and he’s afraid, but that’s all.”

  Manny stared at her. “I was going to ask how you know, but I won’t. Instead, I want to know—” He stopped short. How could he ask her to talk about the type of torture they might use on someone she cared about?

  “Ask your question. It can’t be any worse than anything I’ve asked myself,” she said in a bitter tone.

  “I was wondering what happened to those who were questioned in Reliff,” he said.

  “I think what you’re really asking is, what form of torture was used on my people when the Mideans didn’t get answers to their questions?” she said, her voice low. “It’s difficult to say. You see, no one has survived to tell us. People were taken, questioned, but returned as corpses. Yet each body that was returned was, to all intents and purposes, unharmed. We don’t understand. They die, but we don’t know how.”

  “No one has survived?” he said in horror. He swallowed to clear the sudden dryness in his mouth. “But with your powers your people could sense something.”

  “A close family member could sense they were in pain, sometimes terrible pain, but what causes the pain we cannot know.”

  “But you told me just a short time ago you knew Jon was all right so far. You could sense that, yes? But how? You’re not related. I know you are the Spirit and you have more power, but…?”

  “Among my people when two of us pair we develop a contact, and if one partner is under stress, or suffers in any way, the other can sense it straight away. Of course, when the stress is severe the contact is more direct.”

  “Pair? But you and Jon haven’t...haven’t...”

  “No, we’ve not paired yet, but we’re close, and we did share what Jon called a kiss.”

  “But that shouldn’t have created this...contact, could it?”