Spineward Sectors 03 Admiral's Tribulation

by Luke Sky Wachter

  “The neural whip, while officially outlawed on Capria and banned throughout the Old Confederation at large, is still considered one of the most effective tools in the interrogator’s arsenal,” the Commander explained in a cold, lecturing tone. He sounded entirely too clinical for my taste.

  Then the angry, vindictive satisfaction I’d been expecting leaked through.

  “But it is the last resort when other, more humane routes like chemical interrogation have run their course or proven completely ineffective,” said Commander Suddian.

  When I my body had stopped seizing, and I was no longer making little high-pitched squealing sounds that tore my throat even more raw than before, I squeezed my eyes closed and took a pair of deep breaths in a desperate, obviously futile attempt to regain some shred of my composure.

  “That wasn’t necessary, I’ll tell you everything I know,” I said quickly, daring to open my eyes to impress upon the man who held my life in his hands just how willing I was to be cooperative. Right now, if he asked me to do anything, I would have done it in a heartbeat. Well, anything except execute someone innocent.

  I wish I could say I wouldn’t do it, but… if it were Akantha or my Mother, I was sure I could hold out, anyone else… at this point, I wasn’t sure what would break first. It could go either way, either I would shoot them. or turn the gun on myself. At that moment, I really was that terrified. Pain has a funny way of changing your priorities.

  “John Henry, it seems to me our false Little Admiral just came perilously close to telling me how to do my job, wouldn’t you say,” asked the Commander.

  “Very perilous, Sir,” agreed his assistant, this Mr. Eden.

  The commander made a ho-humming sound.

  “A few allowances have to be made for anyone new to the process, and the false Admiral here must be more used to issuing orders than following them, after all this time off his leash,” said the Commander.

  “Yes, Sir,” said Mr. Eden.

  “Proceed with the injections, John Henry,” he said.

  The assistant sighed and stood over me with a pair of giant syringes.

  “We have IV locks in both your arms and legs, as well as the good side of your neck,” the Commander said conversationally, “but that would be a pretty painless method of injection. Besides, if the solution is administered directly into the muscles, its effects last that much longer. Muscling the solution is much more effective on so many levels than using an IV.”

  Mr. Eden jabbed me in the side of each butt cheek, and I grimaced.

  “Works for me,” I said, my mouth taking over and going where only fools tread. I was instantly aghast with myself.

  “Ah, I see the initial injection is taking effect already,” the Commander said with satisfaction.

  “If you say so,” I said with a nonchalance I simply wasn’t experiencing right at the moment. Then I could feel something, but I wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

  My tongue felt dry and cottony, worse than before and Mr. Eden helpfully poured another dollop down my throat.

  “Let’s start with a series of questions to establish a baseline,” the Commander said.

  “The sooner we can get this over with, the better,” I agreed. What I didn’t say, was the sooner I could start plotting my revenge. Whatever else this drug did, it seemed to have clarified my thinking slightly. Jean Luc had to die for what he’d done. I figured everyone who helped him did also, but I would reluctantly withhold judgment. Although, what I was going to be able to do from the royal retreat (or even worse, with my head detached from my body) I wasn’t sure.

  “Whatever happened to my crew and my…” I was going to say lancers, but figured that might upset him, “wife,” I finished lamely.

  “Other than a few we are keeping in the brig for the purpose of clarity, your wife and all your partisans among the crew are dead,” the Commander said with satisfaction. “Most of them died on their knees begging for mercy.”

  I should have felt a hot and angry emotion, or perhaps only fear at this declaration, but instead I felt calm in a slightly detached sort of way. Commander Justin P. Suddian needs to die as well, the thought suddenly popped into my head, like a revelation from Saint Murphy himself. That’s when I knew the drug was getting to me.

  “You name, for the record,” he prompted.

  I felt the urge to tell him squat, that he could go fly a kite for all I cared, but I had already decided to tell him just about everything in hopes of avoiding future pain. A good plan three minutes ago is better than a perfect plan right now… or, something like that.

  “Jason Montagne,” I said simply, and there was a ping from a hand-held unit possessed by the assistant, the irrefutable Mr. Eden.

  “Truth,” reported John Henry Eden.

  “Jason Montagne Vekna,” Suddian replied harshly.

  “Sure,” I allowed with a shrug, and there was another ping.

  “Say it,” shouted Justin Suddian.

  “My name is Jason Montagne Vekna,” I said, not particularly caring about whether the Vekna part was tacked on or not, and this time the ping was more strident.

  “Lie,” said Mr. Eden.

  The Commander gave a scream of frustration and stood over me with clenched fists.

  I smiled at his sheepishly. What could I say… that I’d never really considered myself a Vekna, especially after the way my cousins had treated me?

  “Why did you seize control of this ship?” he demanded.

  “It seemed like the thing to do at the time. I mean honestly, I tried to surrender, but security didn’t really give me a choice. It was either let them kill me, or take over like a real Admiral; they weren’t interested in my surrender. I know this because I tried; twice! They just kept shooting,” I said indignantly, and there was an extended pause followed by a single ping.

  “Truth,” reported Mr. Eden.

  “Phfah,” snorted the Commander, but he let it go.

  “Were you acting on your own, or was this part of some deep Monarchial Plot involving King James?” he asked, abruptly rounding on me and shoving a finger in my face.

  “That chode?” I blurted with disbelief. “My cousins wouldn’t help me up off the floor if I’d fallen down the stairs, unless they could use me as a human shield!”

  There was a ping, followed by Mr. Eden’s, “Truth.”

  “Were you working with anyone back on Capria? Yes or no,” he demanded.

  “Well… no,” I rasped, my forehead wrinkling at the direction these questions were taking. There was another ping.

  “Truth,” said Eden.

  “So you were the stooge of Janeski,” he demanded.

  “No!” I cried in outrage, and despite the situation, I felt genuine indignity. Janeski was another man who would go on my rapidly growing list. Assuming I was around to make him pay, of course… something still very much in doubt.

  The hand reader gave off a harsh strident voice.

  “Lie,” reported Mr. Eden in a rising voice.

  “Just because I felt like his stooge doesn’t mean—” I was cut off by a slap to the side of my jaw, and I don’t mean one of those girly slaps. This was a full-on, righteous ‘silence yourself, knave!’ slap, with the full weight of an angry parliamentary interrogator behind it

  “So you were part of Janeski’s plot,” he said triumphantly.

  This was where I realized my brain had betrayed me. I felt like I was a stooge the way the Imperial Rear Admiral had played me and the lie detector said so but now the Interrogator was getting the wrong idea!

  “No!” I said and the hand held beeped again.

  “Lie,” beeped the machine.

  “Well, okay… I was a part of his plot, but I knew nothing about it before, during or until much later!” I protested.

  The machine beeped again.

  “Truth,” said Eden.

  “Blast,” the Commander rounded on Mr. Eden, “he shouldn’t be able to lie to us anymore. Increase the dosage, John He
nry.”

  For a moment, I stared at them dumbfounded, but when old John Henry reached for another pair of huge syringes with six inch long needles, I started to squirm.

  “No, that’s really not necessary,” I assured him, my raspy voice turning into a hoarse nothingness as my cry of pain eclipsed my damaged vocal cords ability to keep up. This pair of injections hurt much more than the last ones!

  “The dosage keeps increasing and getting more painful with each injection, until we get what we want,” the Commander said smugly. “For the last time, when did you start working for or with Janeski?!”

  I carefully considered my answer, to make sure I told the truth.

  “Never,” I said judiciously. “I never worked for the man. He would order me onto the bridge, and off-ship for photo ops and such, but just routine stuff Parliament assigned as part of my duties; nothing to do with anything you seem to be implying.”

  “Truth,” pinged Eden.

  “What do you know about a group called the Sisters of Hidden Hand, or the Three for One Society,” demanded Suddian.

  An involuntary puff of air escaped me. This wasn’t good, mostly because I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. I had the feeling not knowing what this interrogator wanted to hear would make things harder for me.

  “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” I said as honestly as I could, and the machine pinged the truth.

  “We know that your mother is a prominent member,” he glared.

  “Mom? She might be a Chef, but inside the palace she’s nothing more than a glorified cook. She’s not part of any secret society, so you leave her out of this!” I was more than a little upset that they would stoop to bringing her into this so quickly.

  “Truth,” confirmed Mr. Eden, following the predictable ping.

  Suddian’s frown deepened. “What do you know about Janeski’s plot to put King James on the Throne,” he snarled.

  My eyes widened. Janeski had helped put my Vekna Cousin in power? This was all news to me. My eyes narrowed in contemplation.

  I must have contemplated for too long, because there was another snap under my nose, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe again.

  “You would be wise to spit out the truth as quickly as you can regurgitate it,” Justin Suddian commanded, gesturing to my lung-spasming self for emphasis.

  When I could finally speak again, I took as much of a breath as I could manage.

  “Everything I know, I learned from you,” I wheezed. This was most definitely not fun.

  The machine pinged – apparently, the truth only seemed to enrage him further.

  “How long had you been scheming to take over this ship, before you struck,” asked the Parliamentary Officer.

  “Fifteen minutes… a half hour, at most,” I rasped, my throat feeling like a raw piece of meat as I spoke.

  Ping – and Mr. Eden dryly related my veracity.

  “Who were your hidden supporters among the crew?” shouted Justin Suddian.

  I stared at him blankly.

  “But I didn’t have any hidden supporters; I was thrust into events outside of my control,” I said urgently, desperate that he believe the unvarnished truth. I could see the rising tide within him, and his eyes had taken on a fanatical gleam.

  The hand-held device dinged, but Suddian overrode John Henry, waving him to silence.

  I cast about desperately for something I could give him, and then my mind latched onto Mr. Spalding. He had supported me from the first, and even made me a suit of custom power armor. Plus, there was no way they had their hands on him.

  “Junior Lieutenant Terrance Spalding,” I said abruptly, “he made me the battlesuit I used to take the bridge; he was a secret royalist, and my most loyal supporter!”

  “Find this Spalding, John Henry,” Suddian instructed, sounding less enraged as he turned back to me. “Go on,” he prompted.

  My mind raced.

  “The Security Officer who tried to arrest me was secretly working for Janeski. It was all a plot by the Imperial Rear Admiral to take an Imperial Command Carrier, along with this Battleship, and blame all it on me,” I explained indignantly.

  The Parliamentary Officer looked at his assistant’s screen.

  “So you would implicate a dead man, and a loyal security officer in your plots,” he said derisively.

  “Yes,” I nodded rapidly. Then, I abruptly realized that I didn’t know if Spalding was still dead or not. “I mean, NO!” I exclaimed

  Mr. Eden’s machine pinged twice.

  “Both answers were lies, Morale Officer,” said the Assistant.

  “Even after enough truth drugs to drop an elephant, still he not only lies to us, but he flaunts the ability to defeat the system?” the Commander mused with disbelief.

  My blood ran cold. Even I had heard of the powers invested in a Morale Officer. I realized I was stuck in a nightmare: my own, private, worst nightmare. My mouth was paralyzed with sheer horror at the implications of what the man was saying.

  “Yes, Sir,” Mr. Eden said heavily.

  “Blast! They train them so well!” Suddian growled, shaking his head before rounding on me.

  “No they don’t! They don’t train them at all,” I pleaded, my jaw suddenly coming unhinged. If my voice was closer to a raspy squeal than anything else, I’m not ashamed to admit it.

  I thrashed around as best as I was able, with all my arms and feet tied to the bed. I don’t know why I seemed to think that squirming up against the wall was going to help me, but for some reason, I was filled with the irrational belief that if I could just get far enough away, I would be okay.

  “I guess we’ll just have to beat it out of him, John Henry,” he said to his assistant.

  The other man took a step over to my bedside and cracked one set of knuckles, then the others.

  I’m man enough to admit when something terrified me, and right at that moment nothing was more terrifying than the Morale Officer’s assistant, Mr. Eden.

  “Better dead than red, Sir,” the other man said, no doubt referring to the house colors of the royal family, which had come to symbolize the royal cause back home.

  “Put him in the duyan, John Henry,” said the Commander.

  His assistant pulled out a bed control and pressed a series of buttons.

  No sooner had he finished, than the little side rails of my bed started to draw themselves apart, until the arms and legs attached to them were pulled tight... my arms and legs!

  “You don’t have to do this, I’m telling you the truth,” I yelled.

  The bed then lifted up with just enough clearance so that my head didn’t hit the ceiling, and then abruptly flipped pulling a complete one eighty until I was hanging face down to the floor, with the mattress weighting me down.

  “Remove the obstruction,” said the Morale Officer, and his assistant moved to comply. Just as quickly as that, the mattresses and the backboard they had rested on were removed, and I could feel cold air on my back. My hospital gown hung from my neck, leaving the rest of my body uncovered.

  Just that little string tied around my neck caused me more pain than being flipped around and hung upside down.

  Then the bed slowly rotated until it was like I was standing up, except I was hanging from my arms with the weight of my whole body on my shoulders. The strain this put on my neck was almost unbearable, and before I knew it, my breaths came in quick short, gasps as sweat broke out on my forehead.

  “Who are your partisans among the crew, my false Little Admiral,” the Morale Officer whispered into my ear.

  I opened my mouth, but a gloved finger pressed against my chin, clamping my jaw closed before I could say anything.

  “I want you to consider you answer, while John Henry goes to work, Mr. Vekna,” he cooed. That’s right, the psychopath actually cooed in my ear. The sad thing is, it wasn’t even the worst thing to happen to me in the previous sixty seconds.

  Something inside me snapped. I understood
being afraid, and I could handle that his job involved inspiring sheer, unmitigated terror. Truth be told, my body and mind seemed more than eager to enter that state for him.

  I suddenly smiled at him, and it was a shark-like grin. The man had made a mistake putting that finger in my face.

  He was just pulling his hand back when my jaws opened and I struck like a viper, chomping down on the finger that had so recently offended me

  “The name is Jason Montagne, Confederation Admiral!” I growled awkwardly. It’s surprisingly difficult to speak, when there’s an unwilling finger in your mouth you’re treating like a piece of savory fried chicken. “Multi-Sector Patrol Fle—”was as far as I got, before John Henry and his fists started raining down on me.

  Something gave in my mouth, and the Morale Officer pulled away, screaming in pain. The next blow from his assistant John Henry was to my gut, and I began retching convulsively. Along with my rising stomach contents, a few teeth and half of a still-gloved finger hit the floor. Around the pain of the beating, I held firm to one thought, and one thought only: Justin Suddian should have known better than to drag my mother into this.

  That’s when the neural whip was brought back into play, and pain such as I’d only ever experienced once before shot through my body.

  They alternated furious fists and the whip, for what felt like an eternity, before something broke inside me. By ‘broke,’ I mean actually stopped working, at least as far as I could tell as my vision tunneled and went dark, followed by the ominous tone of a flat-lined heart monitor.

  “Get a team in here, on the double! We’re sending him to medical; I’m not done with this one yet!” panted what I thought was the Morale Officer, but I couldn’t be sure. Everything sounded like it was happening inside an empty tin can.

  I saw the smiling faces of my mother and Akantha, and then everything went black, but I was surprisingly calm about the whole affair. See, I knew the bastards wouldn’t let me die just yet.

  They weren’t done with me… nor I, them.

  Not by a long shot.

  Jason, Akantha and Papa Spalding’s adventure continues in Book Four: Admiral’s Trial