WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds)

by Susan Cartwright

  Neopol stared down at Barlow with malice. “As you wish.” Using Icom he toggled the device “on.”

  The effect was instantaneous; there was not even time for a gasp of air.

  Without restraints, Barlow would have been thrown from the chair.

  Barlow’s eyes were dark and wide with astonishment. Nerve spasms screamed throughout his body, as if every living cell was in agony, each crying out at once.

  Moments later, the Admiral toggled the device “off.”

  Neopol stood close, face to face with him. Barlow, suffering incredible pain, was still sensible enough to be aware of the man. The Admiral studied Barlow’s agonized response as if it were imminently important. It was as though Neopol had been telepathically communicating something or perhaps receiving something from the reaction in his expression. Neopol enjoyed his pain. Barlow couldn’t believe it. Neopol’s own expression was bright, his breath long and deep as if sexually aroused. He looked like he had just witnessed something inspiring or momentous, like the birth of a sun, or perhaps in this case a black hole.

  Barlow witnessed Neopol’s rapturous expression with abhorrence, while his breath came in ragged gasps. Despite the muscle relaxant the tendons in his neck were taut. He felt a fine sheen of sweat forming as he absorbed the total shock of an all-consuming pain. He swallowed repeatedly with nausea and thought he might be sick. If he did throw up he planned to make every effort to do so on Neopol. Barlow was aware that Neopol was intently observing and probably cataloging his every reaction on Icom. He was disgusted by it, but couldn’t muster up enough energy to really care.

  His eyelids felt heavy, his lids half closed. He opened them fully and glanced at the probe’s setting. To his horror, it was only on one. Barlow’s mind reeled. The pain could get worse? For the love of Jana. How could anyone survive this? Now, now, let’s look on the positive side, he thought to himself. Only fifty-nine minutes to go! The humor in this ridiculous idle reflection was out of proportion to the circumstances. Barlow began to giggle.

  Enraged, Neopol threw the switch once more.

  The procedure went on for some time, each shock a unique journey to a place he didn’t want to go.

  First the probe flashed on, and a blinding torment pierced him so savagely it blanked out any other sensation …

  Then, to his immeasurable relief, the pain stopped, yet each tortured nerve could still be felt screaming. Sweat poured from him now. He was panting, striving for more air, drained and exhausted. It took incredible physical effort to endure such torment.

  Neopol, ever observant, spoke softly throughout it all. His tormenter asked questions with a nagging, persistent voice. He sounded so understanding.

  Time ran together. Barlow wondered, had he been tortured for hours? Or only minutes? There was little of substance that Captain Jon Barlow could hold on to. Tears poured down his face. He tried not to beg but found himself begging anyway. He cravenly pleaded, lying about the sensor reading, telling Neopol anything while desperately hiding the truth.

  Then unexpectedly, Neopol put the setting up, and Barlow lost consciousness.

  Damn it. Too much, the Admiral thought. How did that happen? In his enthusiasm he had accidently put it on the highest setting.

  Barlow sat strapped to his chair with eyes closed. His pulse was still high above normal, but it was starting to come down, his breath becoming less labored. That full shock of pain had put Barlow into a deep, deep sleep. Neopol knew that it would be some time before he woke. His subjects did from time to time pass out, but he preferred they experience a longer session before losing consciousness. Adrenaline would wake him, but Neopol didn’t mind the good Captain getting rest for now. As it was, Barlow had a full measure of his own adrenaline burning through his veins. Giving him more may cause him to have a stroke.

  The Admiral studied Captain Barlow’s unconscious form. Who would have thought the man would be such a tough case? Although one could reason that the Captain of a Fleet battleship would be out of the ordinary. What had made Barlow do what he did? It was an interesting puzzle, and even though the fellow was proving to be difficult, Neopol felt no discontent. In truth he was enjoying himself immensely. The answer to Barlow was hidden deeply, no doubt interwoven with the mystery of what would break him. But what was it? What was the Captain so successfully hiding? Neopol was beginning to think that torture would not give him the answers he was seeking. He suspected that he could test this man to the death with no better result.

  Neopol consoled himself with the thought that if the probe failed there was always mindtap. He didn’t want to use mindtap, however. There was no fun in that. He wanted to find the answer to Barlow himself. He breathed in deeply. The Captain was a strong, young man — his body could take a lot more punishment. Neopol tilted his head as an idea occurred to him. Empathy often broke a subject when anger, cruelty and pain would not. Would that be what solved the mystery of Barlow? Empathy? Neopol smiled a shrewd predatory smile. He could be compassionate and understanding when he wanted to be.

  Neopol stood up and pointed to Janson, “Watch him. I’ll be in my quarters, taking a break. Notify me via Icom the moment he wakes.”

  Captain Barlow enjoyed forty minutes of blissful unconsciousness before Janson notified his superior that his captive was ready to proceed. The next “session” was much more difficult for the Captain than the first. Barlow once more yearned for the blessing of oblivion … to rest, to sleep. But the probe settings were being raised incrementally higher and his body was learning to compensate. While that was bad enough, the real problem was his mental confusion. Captain Barlow seemed to be losing the ability to think. His judgment was affected, his vision blurred.

  Pain on; pain off. Neopol talking.

  Pain on; pain off. Neopol talking.

  It was a short cycling pattern that seemed to repeat endlessly. There was one notion, one thought only, that Barlow stubbornly kept in his mind. He had been repeating it like a mantra: Don’t tell him about letting the Delian ship escape.

  Barlow got to setting four and half and with great relief lost consciousness once more.

  When he woke, Neopol stood above him, staring at him with a fatherly look. A fatherly look! Barlow wished his Icom wasn’t blocked. Then he could take a picture and send it to Pagett. Almost any caption would be hilarious. Even something like, “Son, we need to talk” seemed funny. Imagining Pagett receiving such a picture would ordinarily have made him laugh. Right now he simply didn’t have the energy.

  The Admiral talked for some time, his voice soft, soothing and persuasive. His words made good sense. Barlow tried to tune him out, to listen to his tormentor’s dialogue as a hum of background noise, but everything was so difficult. Neopol wanted to know: Why didn’t he just give up? It would make things so much easier for him. Surely Barlow didn’t want to suffer, did he? Why was he being so stubborn? Barlow couldn’t seem to remember. He just knew that he had to keep his mouth shut.

  Neopol gave Barlow a drink, squeezing a flask of water directly into his mouth. “Why don’t you just give up now, Jon?” he asked kindly. “I don’t really want to hurt you.”

  These words clarified something in Barlow’s mind. Such an outright lie was way too large to swallow. He snorted, “Don’t … make me laugh.” Barlow’s voice was hoarse from screaming and he found speech difficult. “You love it. If I admitted to everything you would still continue your ‘test.’ You’re some kind of sexless sadist. I bet you’re impotent.”

  Barlow felt momentary satisfaction as the comment enraged Neopol. He thought, Ha. Direct hit. and the probe switched on again. After a particularly lengthy period of agony, Captain Barlow mercifully slammed once more into the black painless refuge of unconsciousness.

  Barlow woke. He was in his own quarters. Somehow his ordeal was over. He looked down and found that he had been washed and dressed in a newly pressed uniform, formal service blues. They had probably had to burn the one he’d been wearing. Barlow sat in his room
with every muscle aching. Everything seemed the same. Janson, no doubt, had taken care to see that he was well presented. That must have been a challenge.

  Barlow had puked, pissed and shat himself. His nose bled and bled, refusing to stop until one of the medical men intervened. Barlow shook his head. He was surprised that his eyes hadn’t bled or flown right out of their sockets every time Neopol hit “on.”

  He checked Icom; still offline.

  Perversely, he felt pleased. He had gone to four and a half and Neopol had been unable to “break” him. Barlow felt a quiet emptiness, strangely calm.

  It was over.

  He gazed around the room. Everything was so clear. It was as if, prior to this moment, he had been vision impaired and now he had perfect sight. Each chair, each table, appeared solidly outlined. Everything was so much more real and distinct than before. And that feeling. Kind of disconnected and floating.

  Was this sensation simply an appreciation of the absence of pain? Or had his suffering forced him away from the physical, toward a more spiritual plane?

  He felt awed to be alive.

  With an abrupt shock, Barlow was pulled back to reality. He remembered something that made him go cold. He had been injected with mindtap, the powerful drug that worked as a truth serum. With his defenses down, he had been interrogated. How had he forgotten that? His memories rushed back and he recalled the events in detail:

  The Admiral had been almost disappointed. “So, you’re not working for the Delians?”

  “Never even seen a Delian,” he slurred slowly, voice hoarse, his breathing deep and even.

  “Then why did you fail to report the sensor reading?” Neopol’s voice was relentless.

  “It … only … showed for a moment. No one else saw it … decided to leave it. If it was a ship, let some poor bastard escape … if they could.” Captain Barlow was tired. That nagging voice. He wished that Neopol would leave him alone, so he could get some sleep. Why wouldn’t he go away?

  Neopol’s snarled, his tone laced with anger. “But why? Why did you do it? You were jeopardizing your post, your position, your service in the Fleet. All for a people you’ve never seen.” He breathed in and out for a minute and seemed to regain control. He asked gently, “Why, Jon? What did you want to protect?”

  The truth had tumbled out. Barlow found himself weeping like a child.

  He knew why.

  It was important to save them, he had to. “I thought of my wife, Carolle, and my two children. If they were in the same situation … I would’ve wanted someone to give them a chance.”

  Neopol had looked at him, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Ah,” he said. “I see, Jon. I understand now. Thank you.”

  Barlow came out of his reverie disgusted. During the probe he had begged, sobbed and wept with agony — it was impossible not to do that. But during mindtap he had cried with honest, heartfelt emotion. It seemed such personal exposure. The monster had gotten him to cry like a child. Neopol would have loved that.

  Barlow felt tainted and unclean. It was a feeling he couldn’t shake.

  He sighed. Where had that lovely floating sensation gone?

  So. Neopol knew the truth. A jury would find him guilty, but there were extenuating circumstances. He wouldn’t get full penalties for compassion. Another thought struck him suddenly. He hadn’t had a memory wipe. Why?

  Neopol strode in, his aide close behind him. “Ah, Captain Barlow.” Barlow moved to stand up but Neopol added, “No, no need to stand.” His comment was an order.

  To remain seated while a superior was standing violated service protocol. Not only that but Neopol towered over him. Barlow felt at a disadvantage, which was no doubt Neopol’s intention.

  The Admiral said, “You realize that you’ll stand trial?”

  Barlow tried, but he could hardly speak. His vocal cords were rough from screaming. At Neopol’s nod, Jason produced a spray. Barlow opened his mouth, and something cool and soothing coated his ravaged throat. In a moment he was able to talk, but his voice was still graveled.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “But when the facts are taken into account I feel a jury will be lenient.” I may have earned a demotion, Barlow thought. But Neopol would earn more than that when his illegal use of the probe was discovered.

  “Oh, I think your estimation of the jury may be misguided,” Neopol said, unperturbed by Barlow’s veiled the threat. “Have a look at the transcripts.” He handed him a tablet.

  Barlow began to read. “I never said this,” he protested. “It isn’t true.”

  “I am afraid that Janson and I are witnesses.” Neopol shook his head sadly. “It seems that you and your wife Carolle were involved in a conspiracy. I have notified HC and she, being a civilian, had an instant trial. The sentence passed on her was death.” He paused to let the thought sink in.

  “I have no doubt that you will receive a similar sentence — or perhaps in your case it will be torture then death, eh?” His lips curled in a thin, mocking smile. “Don’t be concerned. You are a young, healthy man. You survived torture once, you can do it again. Your children will be placed in an orphanage; they can’t be legally adopted if they have a living parent on Cirani. Perhaps when older they will be able to be Indentured.”

  An Indentureship was another word for slavery. Those who had no home or position and were unable to maintain themselves were forced into Indentureship for a period of years, preferably with a Freeworld government or, in the worst case, a commercial enterprise. After Indentureship they may have learned some trade and they would again be free citizens. Indentureships were policed, but one could never look into all of them, and certainly many people, a large portion of them children, would never survive to obtain freedom.

  “Your trial starts today at 1400 hours. Did you really think that you could deceive me? Now I’ll need to find that Delian ship. You’ve wasted my time because of your pathetic flawed compassion.”

  “You’ll never get away with this. I’ll testify,” Barlow said. He stood up on unsteady legs, anger overcoming the weakness in his body. “My wife and children have nothing to do with any of this. You have no evidence to implicate them. I’ll use ‘Right of Query.’ I’ll petition the Council of Civil Liberties.”

  Neopol’s eyes narrowed as he delivered the final blow. “You’ll not be allowed to testify. This transcript constitutes sufficient evidence. In the interests of security it was a confidential hearing due to the use of mindtap and the severity of the crime. Your wife,” Neopol shook his head sadly, “well, I am afraid she was put to death an hour ago.” Neopol basked with pleasure in Barlow’s stunned expression.

  No. No. Not Carolle. For Captain Barlow it was the final shock. His legs gave way and he sank to the couch.

  Neopol said gently, as befitted the moment, “You’re to be confined in your quarters, Mr. Barlow. There is no use in attempting to communicate. In fact, I think you’ll agree that there is no use in doing anything at all, is there?”

  In his own quarters, Neopol replayed that last scene, the breaking of Barlow again and again. He felt a thrill of joy each time as he watched the holovid, reliving the moment. He had watched Barlow experience tremendous pain, of course, but this pain had been entirely different. This had been emotional anguish. Poor Barlow. Reduced to such a state, just finding out about the death of his wife had shattered him. Then knowing his future: life imprisonment on Cirani, and the consequent Indentureship of his children. It just didn’t get any better. After that the man had been utterly crushed and broken. A thrill of pleasure went through Neopol, a tantalizing electric caress that caused a tingle on every bit of skin on his body. It was exquisite.

  Part of his attention was on Conqueror’s internal monitors through Icom. His apprehension was part of the thrill. Had he judged the man correctly? Would he feel there was no other recourse? No choice except the last option that Neopol had carefully directed him toward — the final solution?

  As expected, the internal sensor readin
gs showed radiation emission. It flared briefly, and was gone.

  Neopol smiled, delighted and relieved. He hadn’t misjudged anything. He jumped out of his chair in his excitement and looked at his aide. “Go to Mr. Barlow’s quarters and report what you find. Ask at least two duty officers to accompany you. I think you may discover that Captain Barlow has taken his life. So foolish. I was only planning to have him demoted. It wasn’t as if he were a spy.”

  Neopol clapped his hands and began to laugh.

  Sub-Lieutenant Janson stood waiting, face composed. When there was a pause in Neopol’s outburst, he replied, “Yes, sir.”

  Janson left.

  Neopol shook his head and began to pace the room. It was a shame he had no justification to use mindtap on his aide. Never mind. Janson was a puzzle that Neopol’s formidable intellect would take pleasure in unraveling — and solve it he would. Using mindtap to break Janson would be far too easy.

  Minutes later, Janson returned, alone.

  “Well?” Neopol asked.

  “Sir,” Janson said in his bland, emotionless voice. “I have to report that Captain Barlow has committed suicide.”

  Neopol stood near the desk and giggled. “I made certain there was no tablet there, nothing to write with. Did he attempt to leave some sort of note?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I didn’t think he would.” Grinning broadly, Neopol reached over and hit delete on the false transcripts he had created. Barlow was a fool to believe that he would try to get away with forgery as well as a false trial. Of course after over an hour’s torture and two maximum doses of mindtap, perhaps he hadn’t been thinking too clearly.