“Nor should you. You are too special to wait around on a guy who doesn’t see that. As a mom though, I want you with my son. I think you two belong together, but again I’m his mother, and well, you know.” She paused. “Regardless, Emily, I think the world of you. Joniver’s a doofus if he doesn’t see that too.”
They hugged. Emily felt a trickle in the crease of her cheeks. She wondered momentarily if Elizabeth was being manipulative, but her words had genuinely helped. “Believe me, your son is who I want to be with. But I need him to want it too.”
“You’re a remarkable woman, Emily, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise."
Emily felt comforted. There was this something, however. She wasn’t sure. Maybe it was Elizabeth’s eyes. Her words were comforting, but her eyes were empty.
The memory of Emily’s father laying dead on the floor at the bottom of the stairs popped to her consciousness, and her body tensed. Emily remembered her father’s eyes, and now she saw his distant and empty stare in Elizabeth. She saw death and darkness looking back at her.
Jones walked in the room and Elizabeth stood up to leave. Jones paused, “Commander, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No problem, Sarge,” she said. “We were done. Just finishing up. You and Batman making preparations? Are the men and plans ready?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said and saluted as smartly as they all did, Emily saw.
“Very good,” Elizabeth said, and she turned toward the door. “Thanks for the update, Emily!” she shouted over her shoulder. “You’re doing good work, making a real difference here.”
Did she just cover for me? Emily asked herself. Or did she just intentionally leave me alone with Jones?
Jones came over. He bent down and looked over her shoulder at the assignment she was given earlier in the day. “Hey Emily, you done already? Wow! That’s nice work.”
Jones was proving to be attentive and sweet, but Emily was uncertain she wanted to get mixed up with someone who had his lifestyle and vocabulary. His language was not simply rough, she thought she heard bigoted comments from him. He sometimes came across as if he considered himself better for hanging onto his German heritage, and Germans are simply better than anyone from a mixed race. Emily and everyone she knew was mixed race.
Jones isn’t even a German name, she thought. She had enjoyed their exchanges in the mother tongue, as Jones liked to say. Again however, his use of the phrase seemed to be tainted with innuendo which Emily found repulsive. Is it just me? Maybe I’m being too sensitive, she thought. Maybe he’s just a nice guy and I’m reading too much into everything.
“How did you figure out an algorithm to decode the transcript?”
“Well, it wasn’t that hard,” she said, still focused on her task. “I used some old ones in the database, and found a match pretty quick."
“Excellent!” He sat next to her but facing the opposite direction, so his right shoulder was against her right on the bench. He looked at her over his shoulder. “I’ve been very impressed with you, Emily. You’re not only beautiful, you’re really smart.”
“Whatever!” she said and smiled.
***
He ran as hard as he could. No treadmill this morning, Joniver told himself. I’m going to run the corridors in the training section. He ran five kilometers each morning, usually on a treadmill, but the stationary movement was not relaxing. This morning he hit the hallways and corridors. He thought about the first few times he attempted this part of his training, and remembered he had not been able to run even a kilometer. He walked in the time Jacob had done the entire run. Those days are past, he thought and I’m not going back.
Fueled by admiration of his older - by four minutes and twenty-three seconds - brother, Joniver ran to compete with Jacob. Running was only part of it. They boxed, swam, worked on the shooting range, and did work in the weight room. Jacob laid out a training regimen for Joniver, and his brother took to it like a fish to water. Jacob loved training and seeing his brother dig in became a source of pride, and he sensed a bond growing, despite the initial impressions. The competition was still there, but they now encouraged one another and Jacob was even helpful at times.
Joniver trained hard and in just eight weeks in had put on significant muscle while his endurance was as good as any of the Angriff. Jacob claimed he knew how to train better than anyone at North Command and if they were smart, they’d make him training officer.
This was all new for Jacob, the helping, the encouraging, the loving. But he grew into it, and the best part was, he was now sure whose side he was on. He was on the side Joniver was on, and Joniver felt the same. They had grown into what brothers should be, encouraged by Nana and the need to go get Olinar.
Joniver had little time for anything but training, even though he tried to run by and at least say hey to Emily each evening. She would cook the evening meal for him - her cooking had improved - and when possible Jacob would join them. They would eat hurriedly then head out for a run or to lift or to spar.
Emily caught Joniver by the hand, and she pulled him back with a smile. She kissed him in the special way only two people in love can and said, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Joniver said and kissed her again.
Several meters down the hall and with Emily’s door closed, Jacob asked, “You really love her, Dude, or just enjoy her panties?”
Joniver shot a bewildered expression at his brother, “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” Jacob said.
“I haven’t gotten in her panties, and you don’t talk about it. And yes, I do love her.”
Jacob looked at his younger brother as if he were from another planet, “You mean you haven’t…” He made a pushing motion with his arm.
Joniver threw Jacob against the wall of the corridor, and pointed his finger at him. “I said, don’t talk about her like that!”
“And what will you do? You haven’t been able to take me so far!” Jacob said.
Joniver straightened, his gaze fixed on Jacob. “You can beat me to a bloody pulp; you can kill me. I’ll die before I let you or anyone else talk about Emily like you just did. I said stop it and I mean stop it!”
Joniver backed up and braced himself for the physical and verbal attack. Instead he heard Jacob say, “OK. Cool, Dude, I gotcha.”
Joniver was so caught off guard, he could only stand there with a puzzled look on his face.
“I guess I never thought about a woman that way,” Jacob continued. “They used to bring them in for us at the Guard and we just did our thing. Then they left, and we went on with our training and stuff. I guess I never thought about it any differently, until now.”
“Joniver, that’s good, man,” Jacob said. “I mean, that’s really good. I’ve had a bunch of women, but I’ve never known an Emily.”
Joniver bowed up again.
“No, Joniver,” he said, “I don’t mean your Emily. I mean someone like Emily. I think it would be nice to have someone care about me like she cares about you. I’d like that one day. I mean it.”
For probably the first time in his life, he really did mean it. “I just don’t see how someone as great as Emily, fell for a jerk like you!” He pushed Joniver and turned in a sprint toward the gym.
Joniver recovered and jogged after him, but under his breath he said, “Neither do I, Dude, neither do I.”
Chapter 20
Olinar screamed under the duress of excruciating torment. He felt the heat from the 10cm needle as it punctured his ear drum. The hypodermic seared the membrane and pushed toward his brain. The smell of burning flesh filled the tiny space like the shroud of Death.
“NO! - NO! - NO!” he screamed over and over again.
A voice from a loud speaker in the room spoke. “You can stop it Olinar. You know how. Just tell me what I need to know. You know they wouldn’t take this kind of punishment for you. You can stop this now! You know your friends would have told me everything long before now.
Don’t be foolish, Olinar! End this pointless exercise by just talking to me.”
Olinar’s restraints pulled tighter and tighter on his arms and legs. Each restraint was fastened to a rod, which could be extended along the axis of the appendage. Every time he refused to answer, the rods extended a little more, painfully stretching his arms and legs in four different directions.
Olinar could not bear the pain. The pain confused his brain about what was real and what he was just imagining. I am here; this is not a dream. I am being tortured, but who is it? What does he want?
If I knew I would tell him. Just stop, Olinar thought. Just stop! Please!
His brain pushed the anguish away, attempting to put Olinar in a pleasant place. Olinar thought of Genevieve and how much he loved her.
My love is real, he told himself. Was that Genevieve’s voice? Was she here, on the loud speaker? Was she asking him to say her name? Was she here? Was this real?
“NO! - NO! - NO!” he screamed aloud, but this time at Genevieve.
Genevieve had betrayed him, but “I’m not going to betray her!” Pain and heartache ruled him.
“Her who?” the voice said, an almost lyrical tone behind the menacing torturer. “Her who, Olinar? Tell me or the pain will continue!”
“No, no-no…no, no, no…” Olinar could not feel the left side of his face, and the restraints holding his arms and legs continued to stretch him like a cross. His right leg was numb.
My leg has been amputated, he thought. Stop, please stop! Where is my leg? Where is Genevieve?
Please stop! Too much pain, too much…
“Olinar,” the voice came back, “Olinar! You know where you’re going next if you don’t talk soon? I want to spare you, but everyone here says you deserve to be put in a donor tank. Please don’t make me send you to the donor tank, Olinar. We’ve shown you what happens there and it’s not good.”
Olinar’s mind did not register anything but his agony now. He was incapable of responding coherently had he wanted to. His brain only registered one input and that input was anguish, like a tripped circuit breaker overloaded with too much current. Olinar’s suffering was a short-circuit current that tripped the breakers of reason and communication.
Olinar prayed for death.
“NO! - NO! - NO!” he screamed once more as the needle’s advance halted just inside his dura sack next to his brain.
He passed out, his body unable to endure the agony any longer.
“Get him out of there,” Buscar said. “Get him next door, and we’ll see how he likes the donor tank!”
Attendants jumped into the torture space and removed Olinar to the next chamber.
“He’ll not make a fool of me.”
“He already has made a fool of you, you little shit,” a voice said to Buscar over the monitor. “You tortured him to the point he is now useless. He may not even be fit for the donor tank. You should have just killed him, but it may be too late for that. Can you manage anything right, you fucking asshole?”
Hunter’s image disappeared from the screen and the display went blank.
Buscar seethed.
***
Elizabeth walked along the corridor, passing the gym where her sons were involved in another workout. Dunston said they were working hard, she thought. She watched through a window from the shadows as they sparred, landing punches on each other like tree limbs beating a house in a windstorm.
Should I tell them? She pushed away from the wall and continued her trek along the corridor. If I don’t, how will I get the material, and if I do, they may refuse.
But why would they? They want the man dead; Jacob for what he has done to him and Joniver because of how he’s treated the friends. I think that’s a pretty easy sell. I wouldn’t want to have to hurt the boys to get the material, but if push comes to shove, we’ve got to have it. We can’t overthrow the company without it, and what’s most important? I can’t allow my dumbass brother to stay in power!
Elizabeth finished the quiet inner monologue with a snarl. Jacob and Joniver would both have recognized it, but they had never seen it on their mother.
“I need to have the boys come for dinner,” Elizabeth said to herself. “I’ll ask Emily as well. I feel certain I can use her to get what I need. Mom, too, if she’s out of the hospital by then.”
She walked into the meeting room filled with senators and guests. Dunston presented the military options, and the group discussed next steps as she entered. Elizabeth had given Dunston the talking points yesterday so his part went smoothly.
“I’m not sure about Dunston. He’s a knuckle-dragger, and I’ve never been able to trust a knuckle-dragger. Although he does have his uses…”
One eyebrow raised as she curled a half-smile.
***
Genevieve curled her tall athletic frame quietly from the bed and reached for her clothes. She found her underwear but could not locate her shirt.
A sleepy voice from across the mattress said, “Are you looking for this? I was sleeping on it.” He threw the garment in the air toward her and she grabbed it with one hand. She stretched her arms up and out, and the top slipped into place.
The snoring started again. After a few more minutes she felt she could leave without waking her date. I’d leave him a note, but I forgot his name. Did I ever get his name? Anyway, just go.
Tonight had been much like many nights had been for Genevieve of late. She slept with some random guy, hoping to wake up and find that somehow the hole in her heart had healed.
Reason and logic told her Olinar was dead, and part of her hoped he was. Genevieve was not sure she could ever face Olinar after what she had done on her last assignment and what had been done to her. Nor did she want him to find out all she had done since her return North.
Genevieve was ashamed of herself but couldn’t stop.
Hunter was not physically abusive, but she was a whore. She slept with him to gain information. She prostituted herself to get something, and the fact the something wasn’t money did not make Genevieve feel any better. In fact, it was worse; she whored herself, and she didn’t even get the payoff. The payoff went to her superiors, so in a sense, she had been screwed twice, once by Hunter and once by North Command. The thought of being used made her angry with both Hunter and North Command, but also with herself. She shouldn’t resent the North Command. She agreed to the assignment, but she had no idea how it would affect her, how it would change her!
Now Olinar was gone.
She wanted to feel free and clean again.
She wanted to feel Olinar hold her and tell her he loved her. She lightly touched her lips as she remembered his hand in her hand and the feel of his lips on her mouth.
She wanted Olinar to be alive, and at the same time she was ashamed of herself and didn’t want the humiliation of facing him. And wanting him dead only made it all worse.
Genevieve entered her apartment and lay on the bed and cried. Would she ever be ok? No, she thought. I never will. I don’t deserve him. I should be the one dead - or dying - not him. He had loved me and committed to me. I put him off thinking the time was not right.
Now she thought, any time was right, if it was time with him. She longed to be purged of the filth she now was. Genevieve stood in the shower for the next forty-five minutes, hoping she could physically clean what had been spiritually soiled.
***
Jacob ran until he thought his legs would never move again, and for him, that was far. He looked at his watch and was surprised to learn he had been running for four hours and twenty-three minutes! He was not sure how far he had run, but today distance, nor time was the point. Today, he just needed to run. Things were not unfolding as he had planned. He had thought he would get to the bottom of what was really going on here, and then he would blow it up. He meant this both metaphorically and physically.
Instead, here people are what they seemed.
Wait, no, that wasn’t right, either, he thought. Joniver was what he se
emed. Emily was what she seemed and Dunston was what he seemed. He was growing to like them. He was unsure of any of the others.
Oh, and Nana was certainly what she seemed. He definitely liked her. He smiled. She was his grandmother and she had said she loved him and she seemed sincere. No one else had ever told Jacob they loved him.
What is interesting, Jacob thought, my own mother, has not said she loved me, but Nana told me as soon as she saw me. She didn’t seem to care anything about who I was or what I had done. She said it before she knew much about me at all. I guess that’s ok. But why is it still bothering me?
Jacob had hoped his run today, and the physical exertion would help him sort things out, but it didn’t. There was a voice in his brain screaming out about the love and the kindness he had been shown was blinding him to the obvious. An equally loud voice was screaming out the love had opened his eyes, go to what you see.
He was starting to like Joniver, and he was not sure he was happy about it.
Jacob enjoyed the training, and he enjoyed it when he saw Joniver was enjoying the training; and the guy was getting much, much better. He enjoyed the teaching. Jacob felt good to help someone learn something he knew and see them benefit from it.
Jacob was learning too however, and he enjoyed this as well.
I think it’s interesting he does better when I tell him he’s doing better, he thought. I wasn’t trained like that.
Jacob had been beaten and bullied into doing what he needed to do to get better, but Joniver was making significant progress without that kind of environment.
“Why?” Jacob wondered aloud.
***
Agonizing pain shot up his limbs and bounced through his core each time Olinar moved. He hung suspended in a spherical, transparent orb filled with a clear gelatinous substance. Olinar did not know, or care, the substance in which he was imprisoned was 85% water. He had a breathing apparatus over his face, keeping him alive as the gelatin rippled over his body. It felt like five thousand scorpions stinging his raw flesh.
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