by Tripp Ellis
Max stayed on her feet, albeit a little dazed from the neural disruptor.
The guard fired two more pulses, and the rest of the response team stormed the compartment.
Max was caught in a foggy brain haze. It was like having a senior moment—like walking into a room and forgetting why you came in there in the first place.
Max managed to pull herself out of it as the goons rushed toward her. She fired off several disruptor pulses, taking out the entire squad. Their bodies covered the deck.
Max stripped Hoskins of his clothing and tactical armor. She suited up, placed the helmet and face-mask on her head, and stepped over the fallen bodies in the corridor.
The uniform was too big for her. But at a quick glance, she might pass for a correctional officer. But the subterfuge wouldn't last long. The bigger problem was going to be getting out of the high security solitary confinement unit. The segregated area was secured by a biometric scanner pad. Only palm prints of correctional officers on the current schedule could open the secure hatches.
Max grabbed Sergeant Kerns’s wrist and placed the palm of her hand against his. She pressed the two together for a moment, sampling his skin, then ran down the corridor to the entry hatch. Max was no ordinary human.
The raucous hoots and hollers of the prisoners spilled into the corridor. They were like caged animals in a zoo going crazy. They knew something was happening, and they were thrilled about it.
Max placed her hand on the pad—an instant later, the hatch unlocked and slid open. She ran through the hallway, back to the main pod. As she stepped into the common area, she ran into another squad of emergency response officers—four angry goons in full riot gear, looking to crack skulls. This was probably as far as Max was going to get.
9
“Hurry! Officers down!” Max yelled. "They've taken over solitary."
The emergency response team rushed down the hallway toward the solitary confinement unit without a second thought.
Max breathed a sigh of relief. Her heart was racing, and she was sweating under the thick armor. She moved briskly through the common area of the prison pod, heading for the exit. When she reached the first security checkpoint, she placed her hand on the biometric scanner. An indicator light blinked green, and the hatch slid open.
Max stepped through, and the hatch clanked shut behind her. She was more nervous now. One more security checkpoint to go through, then an easy stroll through the intake area, and she'd be free. She casually marched past correction officers in the command center as they monitored the situation. They were too distracted to pay much attention to Max.
She reached the second security checkpoint and placed her hand on the scanner. But nothing happened. The indicator light stayed red. Either her cover was blown, she had lost the pattern of Sergeant Kerns’s hand print, or the final gate was on lockdown due to the security crisis.
One of the guards in the control room glanced at her with a quizzical look on his face.
Max waved at him.
He hesitated a moment, then pressed a button on a control terminal.
The light flashed green, and the hatch to the last checkpoint slid open. Max stepped through the portal and strolled down the corridor toward the main exit. There were no more security checkpoints. She was practically home free. She made her way past the reception desk and was only a few feet from the exit hatch when her hope of freedom came crashing down.
“That's far enough," the warden said.
Max stopped in her tracks. She had the eerie feeling that a weapon was pointed at her. And her feelings were never wrong.
“Put your hands in the air and turn around slowly."
Max did as the warden commanded. She was face-to-face with the business end of a plasma pistol. She was quickly surrounded by several armed tactical officers—the barrels of angry rifles staring her in the face.
“Slowly take off your helmet,” the warden said.
Max complied. She shook out her hair and took a deep breath. Her raven black hair glistened like a shampoo commercial. The air inside the helmet was stuffy, and her cheeks were slick with a thin mist of sweat.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, that was some impressive work. No one has ever escaped from this prison facility. And no one ever will. At least, not on my watch."
"Go ahead and shoot me. Because I'm not going back in there.”
“I find myself in a bit of a predicament. Part of me wants to kill you. Chace Carter was a good friend. And I would like nothing more than to squeeze this trigger and watch you fry. But then the other part of me thinks that would be too easy. A lifetime of misery in a maximum-security slam seems more fitting. For that reason, I'm going to keep you alive. Besides, you haven’t been convicted yet, and I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
"I don't think the rest of your staff got the memo.”
"You’ll be moved to a special protective custody unit.”
Max scoffed. "I've seen your idea of protective custody."
“I’ll assign guards to you that I know to be of high moral caliber."
Max chuckled. "High moral caliber? In a place like this.”
“Some of us are here because we believe in the law. Besides, it seems the FCIS has taken an interest in you. An agent is on his way to personally interrogate you. I've been instructed to make sure you are fully capable of attending that interview.”
Max had a puzzled look on her face. “What interest does the Federation have in a local matter?”
The warden shrugged. “Orion Station is in Federation space. We fall under the purview of multiple Federation agencies, including the Criminal Investigative Service. Believe me, the OPD will squabble over jurisdictional issues. But they can't keep the Feds from talking to you.”
Max was of two minds on the subject. Perhaps an impartial Federation agent might be more willing to listen to her story than a local cop with a knee-jerk response. But, given her background, an incident like this could stir up a knee-jerk reaction from the Federation as well. And she was on shaky ground with the Federation as it was.
“I don't suppose you'd be interested in telling me how you made it past our security checkpoints?" the warden asked.
Max gave him a sly smirk.
10
The warden wasn't taking any chances. Max was in handcuffs and leg irons. A neural ring was affixed around her head. It was a narrow band that she wore like a halo. The contact pads pressed against her temples. In theory, the neural ring could create cognitive disruption at the press of a remote. The frequency and intensity was fully adjustable. But since Max had failed to respond to the STN-60s, the warden wasn't putting much stock into the neural ring. He also heavily sedated her in an attempt to make her more docile.
She sat in an interrogation room across from the FCIS agent. He was anything but impartial. Rage boiled under his skin. His steely eyes pierced into her like lasers. It looked like he was doing everything he could to hold himself back. His hands were trembling, he was so angry.
“I'm going to ask you one more time—“
“I'm telling you, you’ve got the wrong girl,” Max said casually.
The agent took a deep breath and held it, trying to calm himself down. He had a square jaw, dark hair, and looked like he kept himself fit.
“You're kinda cute when you're angry,” Max said, messing with him.
It sent him through the roof. He scowled at her. “You know, before I joined the agency, I was in the Navy. Special Warfare.”
“Good for you," Max said.
“Strategic Intelligence Command. One of my jobs was to procure intelligence from live assets.”
“Is that supposed to intimidate me?”
“It should. I am very skilled at extracting information from people.”
“Give it your best shot. I've already told you everything you need to know. I didn't kill Chace Carter. And every minute you spend dicking around in here with me is time wasted. I’m sure you’re aware of the st
atistics. If a crime isn’t solved in the first 48, it’s probably not going to be. And, by my count, you’re running out of time.”
The agent’s face tensed. He didn’t want to hear it. “Don't say I didn't warn you. We could have done this the easy way." He started to reach for his briefcase resting on the deck, but was interrupted.
“Have you even taken a look at the evidence? Eyewitness testimony from a cop Carter was probably banging? No other physical evidence? Conveniently missing surveillance footage that could prove my innocence? If you don't smell something funny, then you're not very good at your job, Agent… I’m sorry, you never mentioned your name?”
“Carter. Dylan Carter.”
Max put it all together. “Chace was your brother.”
“You catch on quick. Now you know this is personal for me."
“Well, if you want to find your brother’s killer, you’ re going to need to pull your head out of your ass and start looking in the right place.”
Dylan clenched his jaw.
“Look, do you just want to lock someone up to make you feel better, or do you want real justice?”
“Okay. Why don’ t you start by telling me who you are? I mean, that’s a pretty handy trick not to show up in the Federation database. I don’ t know anybody who can do that except…” Dylan suddenly had a realization. His eyes narrowed at her, studying her features intensely. “Tell me about your military background.”
“I never said I was in the military.”
“You didn’t have to. I saw the footage of your attempted escape. The way you handled yourself… My first thought was special operator. Navy Reaper. Maybe Space Corps Recon. "
Max said nothing.
"I watched how you bypassed the security checkpoints. What did you use? A simple bio-film on your hand to sample the guard's palm print? A pretty common tool among intel agents and special operators."
Max said nothing.
Dylan reached into his pocket and placed a small device on the table. It was no more than an inch or two in diameter. Dylan pressed a button and activated the device. "I'm sure you know what this is?"
Max nodded.
The audio and video recording of the interrogation room was instantly scrambled.
Detective Reese was in the viewing room watching through the two-way mirror. He grumbled to himself. “Goddamn Feds.” He knew damn good and well what Dylan had done. He marched out of the compartment and opened the hatch to the interrogation room. He flashed an insincere smile and spoke in a congenial tone. “We lost audio feed,” he said, playing ignorant. “I’ve got my tech people working to solve the issue. Maybe you could pause interrogation for a few moments. If we can’t resolve the problem, perhaps we can move you to Interrogation 3?”
“No need. My line of questioning is going to veer into classified territory. You understand. I’ll restore audio and video shortly.”
Reese forced another smile. “Excellent. Glad to know our equipment isn’t faulty.” He lingered in the portal for moment.
“Thank you, Detective Reese. That'll be all."
Reese shut the hatch, and his smile instantly faded. He marched back to the observation room. He might not have been able to hear what they were saying, but he was going to watch anyway.
Dylan grabbed his briefcase from the deck and set it on the table. He unlatched it and lifted the lid. Inside were instruments to aid with enhanced interrogation techniques. He pulled out a device and set it on the table. It resembled a small remote control. It had a few buttons and a dial. "This is one of my favorite toys," he said with a devious grin.
He didn't have to explain to Max what it was. She already knew.
“I can send simulated pain impulses straight to your brain through that ring on your head. I find it particularly effective. And the beauty is, it doesn't leave any marks or permanent damage. Oh, sure, its use has been banned by the Galactic Convention, but it's going to be your word against mine."
Max didn't show a hint of concern on her face.
"I can dial this thing up to 10, but I usually start with less than 1. Most people don't make it past 2. Occasionally, someone will make it to 3—usually a woman. They seem to be tougher than men. It's funny, some of the biggest guys crack before I even get to level 1.”
Max grinned. “Want to place a bet on how much I can take? Why don’t we make this interesting?”
“What do you have in mind?”
11
Max grimaced with pain. Every nerve in her body was on fire. It felt like her skin was being branded with a hot iron. She felt jolts of pain emanating from deep within her bones and joints. Dylan had ratcheted the device up to level 4 already. His eyes were wide with disbelief.
Max was able to attenuate the nerve impulses. She was well aware of the discomfort, but with a little concentration, she was able to reduce the sensation to little more than a minor irritation.
Dylan turned the dial to 5.
The spike of pain hurt for a moment. A thin mist of sweat formed on her cheeks, and her heartbeat elevated. Then Max was able to dial it down in her mind.
Dylan let the device run for a few moments. He was stunned.
“Is that all you got?"
Dylan grimaced and finally shut the device off. “I've never seen anybody take that much pain."
“Mind over matter."
“I think it's more than that."
“Are you going to hold to our deal, or not?”
Dylan didn't look pleased that he had lost the bet. He had figured it was a sure thing. “You have no record. You’re highly trained. You exhibit an extreme resistance to pain. I know what you are.”
“What am I?" Max said with a smug grin.
“The result of a collaboration between the United Intelligence Agency and Naval Special Warfare. Project SW Ultra. A genetically engineered unit of elite special warfare operators. As I recall, the project was scrapped after some rather unfortunate incidents. But I thought all of the operators were dead?”
“Not all. There are a few of us still out there. But if I have any say in the matter, there's going to be one less.”
Dylan's eyes narrowed at her, confused. “So you admitting your intention to murder an SW Ultra operator? That doesn't do much to bolster your assertion that you’re an upstanding member of the community."
“Call it galactic justice. Somebody needs to pay for what happened to Doctor Tor.” Max was visibly upset at the memory. Her eyes brimmed slightly.
“SW Ultra was a project that never should have been started.”
Max's eyes blazed into him. “Doctor Tor was like a father to me.”
“Don't expect me to have much sympathy for a trained killer that was grown in a lab. You're a genetic abomination.”
Max's eyes narrowed, and the scowl on her face became more pronounced.
“I bet the UIA would love to know your whereabouts. Your suspected involvement in the death of a law enforcement officer would be quite embarrassing for them. I'm sure they’d want you terminated. I can see the headlines now. Former covert experiment gone wrong! UIA assassin goes on civilian killing spree!”
“Technically, not a spree killing. And I haven't killed anyone aboard the station. Yet." Max arched an eyebrow at him. "You seem like a smart guy, why don’t you use that brain of yours to do some critical thinking. I don't want you to hurt yourself or anything, but just think about this for a moment. Now that you know my background, do you really think I would have been so sloppy about the way the crime scene was handled. Chace was killed in a public restroom. Not a location I would have picked. And you think I'd linger around in a terminal bar waiting to get picked up by local PD? I would have been in and out before the body hit the ground.”
Dylan pondered this.
“Maybe that's your alibi. Commit the crime in such a sloppy fashion that no one in their right mind would think it was committed by an elite special warfare operator.”
Max rolled her eyes. “Okay, maybe I gave you too much
credit when I called you smart.”
Dylan frowned.
“There was a guy that hit on me at the bar.” Max searched for his name. “Tim. Grab the passenger manifests. He shouldn't be too hard to find." Max pondered this for a moment. "On second thought, he's married. He's probably going to deny everything. But go to Plasmatronics. Start investigating.”
“Any witnesses who were there are going to be halfway across the galaxy by now.”
"Start with the bartender,” Max said, dryly. “This is Investigations 101.”
Dylan glared at her.
“We had a deal. I survived your little torture device. Now you have to start looking at this case objectively.”
Dylan was silent a moment. He pushed away from the table and stood up. He grabbed the jamming device from the table and deactivated it. Then closed his briefcase containing the torture implements. “I'll look into it. Don't go anywhere,” he said with a sardonic tone.
“Learn anything useful?” Detective Reese asked as Dylan stepped out of the interrogation room.
Dylan shrugged. "We'll see."
Reese stopped him as he started to walk away. "Did she say anything about the robot?"
“What robot?"
“Your brother's personal service bot. Winston. He's been missing. We believe he may have more evidence and might be able to shed some light on motive."
“She didn’t say anything about a robot. But the suspect did bring up some interesting questions… What motive would she have for killing my brother?"
Reese shrugged. "That's why we’re hoping to find the robot. Perhaps the suspect was having an affair with Chace. Who knows? Crime of passion?”
Dylan politely nodded and turned away.
Reese called after him, “You know, in my detective work, I find it's always best to separate the why from the how.”
Dylan glanced back at him, a little perplexed. “I've always found if you understand the why, you can figure out the how.”