by Tom Merritt
CAPITULUM 10
Michael decided long ago he would never give in. The people who did this deserved nothing from him. He knew someone else could possibly decipher the encryption and use the Sculpture, but he would not make it easy. He would not give in. But he would give up. Most sessions lately took him to the brink of his will to live. He had managed to fight against going over that brink. This time he decided not to fight. When he felt himself slipping away, he would let go. He smiled at the idea of depriving Chao of his answers.
He heard footsteps down the hall. He didn’t recognize them. That almost never happened. He knew footsteps and smells. Every once in a while, a new person assisted in giving him his small amounts of water and food. Even then, he always recognized one of the people. He assumed they wouldn’t let a new person go to him unaccompanied.
He couldn’t see much anymore, so sounds and smells were all he had. Sounds were more pleasant, so he focused on them. As the footsteps drew near, the smell arrested his senses anyway. It was new. No wonder he couldn’t ignore it. It wasn’t just the smell of a new person; it was the smell of an outsider. Different clothes, steeped in different scents, not cloaked in the background stench of whatever place this was.
Figures loomed in front of him, blocking the light.
“Citadel’s grace, is that Michael?” a voice said. It sounded familiar. He croaked something meant to be the word “yes,” but it came out as a thin groan. He tried to nod his head. He couldn’t tell if he succeeded.
“Cut him down carefully,” the familiar voice said. A pungent smell filled his nose as someone moved in close to release him from his binds. It smelled like the Complex. Memories of his time there flooded back. He had lately tried to avoid thinking of the place as he let go all hope of returning.
He felt the binds release. He’d forgotten all about them. A sense of up returned as he fell forward. He knew distantly that he once was capable of moving on his own, but he’d forgotten how. He continued to fall and relished the feeling of motion and the breeze against his skin. It was luscious. The pungent-smelling person caught him and the breeze stopped.
The person set him gently down on the dirt floor and leaned him against the wall. The other person with the familiar voice leaned in close and said, “Drink this,” and dribbled a ridiculous amount of water across Michael’s mouth. The women who usually brought him water knew he could not take in that much. The water almost drowned him. He spluttered and spat, but some of it still made it into his throat. It was still too much. It turned to nausea in his stomach and he vomited.
“Go slow,” the pungent person said. “He’s not used to anything decent, I imagine.”
“Of course. Sorry, Michael. We’re going to get you out of here. If it makes you feel any—well—just know, the people who did this to you have been punished.” The voice paused. Michael could tell he was being looked at. “Maybe not enough.”
The familiar voice carried on, discussing how best to get Michael out of there. While they talked, Michael floated in a haze of pain and disbelief. He knew that voice. Brief images of the person flashed through Michael’s mind.
It wasn’t a good memory. It made him wary. Yet that voice treated him so gently and spoke so softly to him now. Forget that, the voice was rescuing him. Or was it? How could he be sure? Perhaps it was some new trick. He cowered back and pulled away as they tried to lift him.
His resistance did not seem to bother them much. He was too weak. They barely seemed to notice.
“It’s OK, Michael. We’re taking you back to the Complex where you’ll be safe. It’s me. Dabashi.”
Michael screamed. In his mind, he screamed. In reality, it was a thin, keening whine.
“Stop. Stop. Stop,” Dabashi snapped. Michael stopped the whine. The other man stopped moving Michael. “Michael. I know what you must think of me. In fact, now that I think about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if you suspected me of arranging all this.
“Know this, Michael. I will never ask you for anything related to it. Not an ounce of information. Because I know more about it than you. You know what I mean. My attitude before was because I was afraid you would find out too much. I knew, in general, bad things could happen. I never dreamed someone would do this to you. I’m intensely sorry I let you proceed. I wish I’d been firmer. But whoever hired that man out there to do this to you must pay. And I will help you from now on. Not by asking anything of you, but by putting myself at your service.”
Dabashi laid a hand gingerly on Michael’s shoulder. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let Acolyte Kangani lift you into the cart. Then you can rest. Although if you’re awake enough, there’s something I think you’ll want to see on the way out.”
It was too much for Michael to comprehend at once. Much too much and much too fast. But he got the general idea that Dabashi was there to help and that Dabashi would not ask him for anything. And an absence of questions is what Michael wanted right then more than anything. He relaxed a bit, and as much as his weakened body would allow, he helped get himself into the cart.
Acolyte Kangani pushed the cart up a series of ramps in what looked to Michael like a dark tunnel. Later, he couldn’t be sure what it was, and he had no desire to discuss it with Dabashi or Kangani to find out. He never wanted to speak of that place again.
The ramp opened into a great, wide room with stone walls and a roaring fireplace. Along one wall sat the women who had helped feed and water him. He recognized their smell. He motioned for Kangani to stop near them. His sight had cleared a little, or maybe there was just more light in the room. He could almost make out their shapes.
“Thank you,” he managed to gasp. The women moved but he could not tell in what way. Kangani leaned down and whispered, “They welcome you,” and began rolling the cart forward again. Near the exit door, Dabashi stood next to a table on which Chao was strapped down. Michael knew that smell too. He also knew another smell and grimaced. It was the smell of burning flesh. This time, not his own.
Dabashi explained. “We have encased his hands in lead. He can, with great effort, remove them over time, but he will never have proper use of them again. Which means he can never repeat what he did to you.
Michael felt sorry. He certainly hated Chao. He certainly did not wish him well. But he felt it was improper to inflict same for same. He wondered if this didn’t somehow justify Chao’s treatment of Michael in the end. But he only nodded as they passed out of the room.
CHAPTER 17
After a sleepless night and isolation from everyone, including Ibrahima, Corge found himself seated a few painful seats away from LeAnn who could only smile and wave to him. Ibrahima finally got permission to approach a few minutes before sentencing.
“It’s going to be well,” she said but did not look convincing.
“Then why did it take so long?” Corge hissed.
“That’s a good sign,” she said.
“Ibrahima, that’s the kind of thing people say when the ventilator in the café fails on your wedding day. Or when a baby is born and gets black tongue on the first day. It’s whistling in the dark.”
She scowled at him. “I don’t say that kind of reclamation paste. You know that.” She lowered her voice to whisper and leaned in. “I’m saying—because a certain leader of the Assembly told me the Passives tried every procedural trick in the book, which only strengthened the opinion of the rest of the Assembly—that you are not considered the threat.”
She leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “Now shut up before somebody hears that and decides to change their mind at the last minute.”
Before Corge could respond, Serafina called for the chamber to settle and opened the proceedings. It was time for the verdict.
“Corge. The Assembly has considered the facts of the evidence. We have considered the logic of the questioning. And we have considered the pleas of your advocate.
“The Assembly finds you guilty of defying orders and assigns you to one year remedial Utility w
ork under the Ventilation team, led by Specialist LeAnn.”
Corge fought extremely hard not to laugh at this nonsentence. He admired how Serafina didn’t crack a smile. It was certainly a punishment in one sense. He hated vent work, of course. But he thought an excuse to be near LeAnn for a year was probably worth it.
Serafina resumed. “The Assembly finds you guilty of property destruction in a minor and reclaimable amount. Your net rating will be reduced by the submitted amount.”
So fewer coffees in the café for a while.
“And finally, the Assembly finds you not guilty of any charges of endangerment to the station or its civilization, in summary. Those charges and any like them related to this incident, now or in the future, are hereby dismissed.”
He had been warned not to cheer, but he found it difficult. He had not only gotten off the serious charges but was indemnified against any new accusations the Passives could come up with. They had seriously messed up their strategy.
“You will be released without prejudice, assigned to LeAnn’s Vent team and suffer the immediate deduction of 1005 points from your net rating.” Here she turned to the Assembly and said, “Are there any objections to the sentencing as read?”
Aside from a few grumpy looks from some well-known Passives, there was no reaction.
“The sentence has been read and sustained. You are free to go, Corge.” Here Serafina allowed herself the briefest of smiles as she nodded to him.
Ibrahima tried to shake his hand, but he found himself hugging LeAnn before he could think.
“You look horrible,” she said, grinning madly after she let him go.
Ibrahima finally got close enough to shake his hand and said, “Get some sleep. Now. We’ll talk about all this afterward. And good job.”
“I didn’t do much except stand there and be accused,” Corge said.
“Some of the bravest men in history could say the same,” Ibrahima said seriously. She patted him on the shoulder and walked away.
LeAnn took his hand and led him out of the chamber. They passed many smiling faces and received more than a few happy greetings, but people gave him his space as well. Partly, it was the respectful community culture of Armstrong. Partly, it was LeAnn.
When they got to Corge’s bunk, she helped him into bed. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until he lay down. He tried to pull her in with him, but she wouldn’t let him.
“Sleep, celebrity. I’ll check in on you in a few hours.”
She shut the bunk on him and he stared up at the wall, looking for sugar rock. It took him a moment to realize why he didn’t see any. He was almost off to sleep, or possibly sound asleep and dreaming he was falling asleep, when the bunk chime rang.
He thought it must be LeAnn returning to tell him one last thing. He authed the door open and two men he couldn’t recognize pulled him off his bunk. They wore helmets to disguise their faces.
“Corge. We know why and what. And you know why and what we wanted to stop you. It stops here. We’ll be watching you.”
One of the men pressed his palm firmly into Corge’s gut. It wasn’t a punch. Corge realized it was legally short of assault, a firm and extremely uncomfortable pat on the stomach. Even if caught on surveillance it would not be punishable.
“Got it?” They let him drop back on his bunk and left. Corge took a little longer to fall back asleep after that as he tried to figure out what they meant.
CAPITULUM 11
Michael took several weeks to recover. Even then it was not something he would call complete. He flinched at things. Things he felt sure were imaginary, just flutters in his peripheral vision. Yet other things that used to frighten him did not anymore. He used to try to avoid looks from the doctors. He didn’t like the pressure of having to react.
Now he not only met their gaze but held it until they looked away. He took a perverse pleasure in staring them down.
When finally allowed out of bed, the first thing he wanted to do was get back to work on the Sculpture. Guteerez was more than happy to let him do so.
“We’ve missed you puttering about in there,” the Superior told him when visiting one day in the infirmary. “The faster you’re back, the better we’ll all feel.” Michael felt good seeing Guteerez’s wide, welcoming smile again. As good as Dabashi had been in rescuing Michael, the man was hardly ever warm. Michael no longer feared Dabashi, but he wasn’t sure he liked him. Intensely grateful, yes, but “like” might be a strong word for his emotions.
Guteerez, on the other hand, fell right back into Michael’s good graces. The Superior visited him every day he was bedridden and even brought him small food items and tokens of entertainment to help him pass the time during his recovery. Rationally, Michael knew it was possible Guteerez was somehow involved in his torture. But he couldn’t really make himself believe it. The man was too kind and too accommodating. Why have Michael captured and tortured when he could have probably talked Michael into showing the encryption codes just by being nice? Especially since Michael’s experience had changed his mind completely on who to share information with.
Michael had learned at a dear price how to separate emotions and actions. He was willing to use the encryption codes for Dabashi but only in person with no one else present. Michael was steeled against sharing the codes with anyone else, even Guteerez.
The day finally came when he walked back into the Sculpture room in the Reliquary. It was mostly as he had left it. A few things had been moved about but not much. The control box screen was on a selection to start operating. Dabashi said he saved the message, but it took Michael a half a day to get back to the point where he knew how to work the control box well enough to find it.
At that point, he had to be careful. Dabashi had ordered him not to show the decrypted message to anyone. Dabashi didn’t even want to see it. He insisted that nobody but Guteerez even knew one had been received.
“You will make absolutely certain nobody is coming, or I will interrupt you when you decrypt it,” Dabashi had told him. You’ll commit it to memory after decryption and then delete it. Do you understand? No one sees it. No one traces it. You tell it to no one.”
Michael understood quite well.
He checked the hallway and saw nobody. He closed and barred the chamber door.
His hands shook and a tear rolled down his cheek as he executed the decryption. At first he wasn’t sure it worked. The message didn’t make sense. Was it more encryption? He didn’t think so. He quickly memorized it. A selection existed to confirm receipt. Dabashi had said nothing about that. Michael decided one more secret couldn’t hurt anyone. So he selected yes. The antenna deployed briefly, and the machine worked for a brief moment. Then the antenna retracted and the box displayed confirmation that the receipt had been sent.
Michael erased all traces of the message, including the saved encrypted version. He heard footsteps. He backed out of the selections and raced to the door. He unbarred it moments before Guteerez opened it.
They both looked at each other, surprised.
“My dear, Michael! You startled me. Whatever is going on in here?”
Michael heard himself talking before he even thought what to say. “The door must have slipped closed. It gets so stuffy in here, I walked over to prop it back open right when you arrived,” he found himself laughing, uncharacteristically bemused. “You startled me just as much or more. Come in, Superior.”
Guteerez smiled but Michael thought he saw a hint of suspicion. “Did Dabashi tell you of what we found?”
We, eh? Michael thought. “Yes,” he said out loud. I regret to say that the encryption has proved too difficult for me as yet.”
A look of angry surprise flittered briefly across Guteerez’s face. “Well that’s too bad. Keep at it, my boy. I’m sure you’ll get it. Am I right?” The barest hint of a threat threaded its way through those words.
Michael sighed. “Yes, of course. I just need awhile to get back up to speed on how this all works. I�
��ve forgotten so much,” he paused and caught himself honestly beginning to cry a bit. And though it was not for show, he worked it anyway. “I’ve gone through so much.”
Guteerez softened. “There, there, Michael. No rush. Do your best. If you need anything, you just tell me, OK?”
“Thank you, Superior,” Michael said gratefully. “I think I’ll take a break and get something to eat.”
“Good idea,” Guteerez said and hung back in the room. Michael was almost certain he knew why. But he wouldn’t find anything. Hopefully the lack of the saved encrypted file wouldn’t be obvious to Guteerez. But either way, who could he tell? He might suspect Dabashi as much as Michael.
Michael made certain he wasn’t followed, passing through the dining area and picking up a small bit of bread. Then he went to Dabashi’s private quarters. It was risky in some ways for a Monk of any kind to be seen visiting a Superior’s nonwork room, but it was less likely to be observed.
Dabashi opened the door and hurried Michael in to close it behind him.
“Do you have it?” Dabashi asked.
Michael nodded. “I can’t make sense of it but I have it. And I deleted all trace. Also—”
“What?” Dabashi almost yelled.
“I sent a confirmation of receipt.”
“You what?!” Dabashi caught himself before raising his voice and converted it into a harsh whisper. “You ridiculous boy.” But then his looked softened again. His gaze fell on Michael’s scars. “That was wrong. Too many might notice. Not the people it was intended for up there, but others eavesdropping.” Dabashi shook his head. “Well, they knew already, I suppose. Tell me the receipt does not include the original message.”
“It does not.”
Dabashi sighed. “Then let’s have it.”