“I think I get the picture. You have a lot of games to play.”
“And I’m going to play every one. Now, show me to that waiter, the young kid. I have a plan with his name on it.”
* * *
Chapter Eight!!!!!!!!
Initiations and Interrogations
In which Space makes a breakthrough, Funkworthy meets the point of a blade and the Albino Regent reveals his presence at the annual ball to deadly effect.
There are a lot of terrible phrases in the universe.
‘Sir, the black hole is expanding exponentially’ is one. ‘This advanced AI seems to have attained human consciousness but not human morality’ is a reliable one. ‘We’ve discovered a portal to a parallel universe where Germany won World War 2’ seldom, if ever, leads anywhere good, I can tell you. ‘It’s actually vegan’ is another and Space saying ‘I have a brilliant idea’ always brings chills, of course.
As I looked up at the guard, he uttered a really good new one: “This torture’s taking ages. Go get me my nipple pliers and the jump leads.” That’s a top one, I thought. I’ll have to make a mental note.
I sighed and rattled my chains again to see if they might just slip off this time. They didn’t. This had been a really rubbish day, I concluded.
But I’m getting way ahead of myself.
But it hadn’t started out this nihilistically bleak. It started with the meeting, then the ship, then the beating then the torture. Deep cover felt like it was frying my brain.
In a deep sleep I was somewhere other than Aplubia, drinking icy drinks on a beach and ignoring orders from Space. It was my favourite recurring dream but that dream was punctured too quickly as I was roused by my revolutionary cyclops. He gestured to me and we had proceeded west of the encampment, taking a series of winding labyrinthine tunnels around the rebel encampments. The labour needed to chisel these catacombs out of rock must have been immense. As my one-eyed rebel chum (who revealed his name was Barry Hindbottom-but who insisted on going by the more revolutionary-sounding ‘Felipe’ for obvious reasons) walked me out of the camp,I had started to warm up. He outlined the plan, explaining that there was a prison building somewhere in the mine structure that contained within it some detained and important revolutionaries. I was to get the location of that place. To do that, I was going to place a tracker on some prisoners being sent through a detention centre, and to do that, I was going to have to let myself in for some pain. He slipped an ampoule of a potent drug into my hand and told me that I would need it later; my stomach did that cold thing it does when someone gets ready to ask me to do something daft. As we ducked into a secret entrance to a network of rebel crawlspaces, he outlined the problem and we scooted down the shafts like massive politically-dissatisfied rabbits.
“You have not heard this from me, friend, but among them is one of Jacques’ own family. We must trace the location of our detained people. The mission is very important to him, to us all! There is a day coming very soon and we must all be ready to rise together!” he told me as I crawled through the tunnels, chasing the sound of his voice and the outline of his bopping fundament. I thought of the Haillstrom asteroid shower and wondered if that was the day he was referring to. “You are one of the only people who will be able to help us!”
I looked around us as I scurried after what-from my point of view-was a talking bottom. The rebels had made the best of their lot under the earth and had used the skills and tools of their taskmasters against them. They had built a labyrinthine set of warren-like tunnels that snaked through the entire structure of the mines, with entrances hidden behind false walls and hollowed-out boulders. As we scrambled through, I saw rebels in freshly-hewn alcoves carving out new paths, chambers and escape routes.
“We are discovered often, but we persevere. We make many paths and many dummies”, Felipe confided as I marvelled at the place.
“That you do, Bar- erm, Felipe. That you do. That”, I gestured to a chamber ahead of us which was spilling natural light into the pitch tunnel, “is especially impressive.”
He grinned back at me over his shoulder, obviously too proud to pass up the opportunity to show his handiwork, and beckoned me inside. We crawled into the airy chamber where I could finally stand unbowed for the first time. A shaft of brilliant sunlight dazzled me for a minute. I had become acclimatized to the dark, and the beaming rays of one of the suns far above us were too much. After a long minute of eye rubbing, I could make out the chamber. It was bigger than any of the others we had come across, and I soon saw why. It was a chimney-shaped construction with a flue leading up to some surface location, but underneath it sat a ramshackle but impressive airship.
It was shaped like a water-boat for the most part, with angular struts branching off from the main deck to support other smaller platforms, which housed supplementary balloons and steam-driven thrust engines of their own. Even deflated, the half dozen balloons, not to mention the mammoth central balloon, were impressively large, wrinkled bags. Each balloon sat over a small bronze engine covered in a dizzy array of adjustable cogs and levers, but the main action was on the deck where a small cabin lay. It was visibly connected to the four gleaming copper thrusters that jutted out from the bottom of the boat, which I supposed would steer the thing, connected as they were to the main engine and the almost satirical amount of sticks and wheels that surrounded the captain’s chair.
“H-how?” I asked, aghast.
Felipe winked at me cryptically, “We have a Benefactor, T-Bone. You know what Benefactor means, don’t you? One who benefacts. We get gifts like this for our cause and in return we get to use them. And we will use them. Soon.”
I remembered the case file I had read to Space as he had sketched crude design specs in crayon for robust hammocks-a dropping of breaded goods from above, a balloon chase, a getaway. It was coming together, but the presence of this Benefactor nagged at me.
Felipe gave a gesture to a man on the ramparts of the structure and beamed over at me in anticipation. A second later the engineer turned the engine over and all of my doubts about the craft disappeared. From a reedy coughing the ship’s engines sputtered into a high cycling hum. In the confined chamber it sounded like a God shouting. Felipe drank in my impressed look, obviously proud of the thing before motioning again and having the engines cut off. He went back to lovingly inspecting the mishmash airship. Felipe was lost in admiring the grand ship; a smile on his face and his hands on his calves-where I assumed Aplubians had their hips. I suspected his guard would be down now, if ever.
“This Benefactor must have cash and influence to spare”, I ventured. “I wonder who they are.”
He snapped out of his reverie and for a moment looked at me as if for the first time. “Perhaps”, he said briskly, shutting down. “It is not for me to say and it is certainly not for you to ask.” I made a placating gesture and he softened slightly. “Not yet at least. Come, my friend, I do not mean to speak so harshly, but we have a few secrets that must remain just that: secret. But if you do this for us, then we shall see to your many questions.”
With that, we plunged back into the caverns and on to my destination.
When we emerged twenty minutes later, we were in the main chamber of the mine- a huge oblong cavern hewn from the same reddish muddy rock. The place was a frenzy of activity and whipping once more, and my heart sank at what I was about to enter. Felipe picked up on my reluctance at once.
“We are all known by the authorities. All of the rebels have been subject to the whims of the guards and have fought back in our ways. As such, we are in their system. You? You are new. This is why you are the only capable party. We will turn their rules against them. You see, it is their policy to ‘re-educate’ a first time offender. One chance of rotted clemency leads to an eternity of cruelty and ample lashings of the whip. It is in this re-education that you alone can glean this information, for you see, the re-education centre is the last port of call for the unfortunate souls m
aking their way to the detention centres. Those being sorted alongside you will be on their way to the same place as the prisoners we are trying to locate.”
“I see”, I said.
“When inside the centre, you will be alongside these people.” He pressed a small button into my hand. “Place this on one of those unfortunates and we will be able to track them to where these sods are keeping the prisoners. You must not be seen, and whatever you do, don’t confuse the tracking button with this”, he said as he pointed at the small opaque ampoule of drug that I had in the palm of my hand next to the bleeping button.
“The drug ampoule. It contains a suppressant that should numb your mind from the pain of re-education for a period of twenty minutes.”
“Should?” I asked sceptically.
“You are not Aplubian, T-Bone. There are no guarantees, since we do not know of your physiology. But the drug should be effective. It is used by us to quell the injuries of the old, the frail and occasionally, to improve the experience of listening to prog-rock albums. Clasp it between your teeth and break it when the punishment gets too much. We will be with you in here.” He touched his finger to where I assumed Aplubians hearts to be-the centre of his pelvis.
With that he turned on his heel and left, or rather, due to the constraints of the tunnel did a seven point turn on his knees and shuffled back up the tunnel. I looked out into the cavern. I had to go out there and deliberately become arrested. Cautiously I got to my feet and walked, blinking and afraid into the workline, ready to rage against the machine.
I advanced into a line of shuffling figures with sallow faces taking carts full of ore to and from the tunnels. As I looked back, I saw Felipe give me the peculiar thumb-thrusting gesture that had come to mean a gesture of good will among the rebels from a discreet spyhole hewn into the rock. I sighed, took up a cart, deliberately broke from the line, pushed it out to the centre of the chamber and tipped it over. I then sat on it and lay down in a posture of affected nonchalance. This should, I thought, get me noticed (and possibly killed).
It didn’t take long.
One of the larger guards-a stout brick of a man as wide as a fat church and as ugly as a hospital cafeteria-ambled over to me and politely used his fist to ascertain exactly why I was not working. ‘What seems to be the problem?’ one blow seemed to ask. ‘Are you feeling ill?’ the uppercut to the solar plexus seemed to enquire. Finally, after he had exhausted his questions, a small circle of beefy men, as curious as he was about the puzzling situation, had formed around me. I stayed silent and clung to my cart-chair. I thought of breaking my painkiller ampoule then, but thought better of it. Around me brows were being furrowed on heads not used to any kind of furrowing, and sleeves were being rolled up so that the act of punching would not be impeded by loose fabric that might soften the blows. As I sat there, waiting to be clobbered into submission, a head peered through the throng of forearms. It was a chap who looked like a supervisor, with a gizmo in his hand that cast a yellow light up and down my face.
As his device scanned me, an angry bleep issued from it.
He frowned apologetically to the circle of guards. “No trace, lads. No trace of this one on the system. New fish, this one. You know the drill-first offenders get re-education.”
There was a groan of annoyance from the circle of guards, and a few pulled me to my feet and propelled me with them. Shoves and prods carried me toward the exit at the extreme end of the chamber. I fear I may have smiled, since one of the guards carting me along looked at me with an expression that seemed to indicate that he believed that I had fornicated with his mother and then kicked her into a field of landmines. He endeavoured to wipe the relieved smile from my face. As the blow hit me-a powerful slug that I felt wipe out the memory of my third birthday-and I dwindled toward unconsciousness, I remember thinking of Space and wondering if he was suffering the same level of violence at the hands of these accursed Aplubians.
I took a long sip of coffee and stretched back in the seat, smiling warmly.“
Relax, kid. I know you didn’t do anything. I just have to ask a few questions. Cigarette?” I offered the pack and he took one from it with shaking hands. With Funkworthy away chasing up his end of the investigation, I was left running the good cop/bad cop routine solo. Funkworthy usually took the good cop role, but even if I say so myself, I was doing a pretty good job of earning the kid’s trust. He looked like he was relaxing.
Snoopel had gotten me a room fit for my purposes-a drab grey box without windows but with thick walls instead. I was very particular about the thick walls. The detective had also lined up my top three suspects for me, so that I could work through them in order. I decided to start with a servant boy who had been pouring wine for the higher ups-he had had access to the Queen’s glass and he’d looked pretty nervous, so I had set him up in this room first.
I chuckled at the suspect, who was dumbly clutching the cigarette and looking uncomfortable. “That thing’s no use without a light, kid.” We shared a laugh and I snapped open my lighter. He took a drag.
“Thank you. I appreciate that you have to be thorough, Captain Hardcore, but I’m afraid to say I was seated at the opposite end of the hall and, as Tonpo Fillyfondle will tell you-”
Fwhack! I slapped the cigarette out of his mouth.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?! THERE’S NO SMOKING HERE!” I screamed at him.
He looked dumbstruck. I admired the red handprint on his face. It takes technique to imprint one so indelibly. The kid had just met ‘bad cop’ (who was also me). He looked off-balance, which was exactly how the game was run. I smiled and settled into the rhythm of interrogation.
“But… you gave that to me!” he protested.
“Oh, I’ve got something to give to you!” I waved a fist under his nose. He shrank away. “That’s right: A PUNCHING. Now, speak! I know you know who did it, and if you don’t spill that info in the next eight seconds, you’ll be spilling blood. Because of punching!” I waved my fist again to remind him.
The kid quaked in his seat. “I-I-I d-don’t know, I s-swear, please, I honest- I really- I’m tellin’ you the t-truth I-“ he stammered, boggle-eyed.
I slid my chair over beside him and put a comforting arm round his shoulder-time for ‘good cop’ to step in again, I thought. “Calm down, kiddo”, I soothed. “I know you don’t know anything. I’ve just got to ask. Now slow down”, I laughed. “Look at you. Bet your heart’s pounding a mile a minute. Listen, can I get you anything? A drink?”
“N-no, no, thank you.”
“A sweet tea?”
“No, nothing thanks.”
“A little snack? Something to eat?”
“No, really I’m fine.”
“A beating?”
“A wha-AAAARGH! MY NECK!” I caught him a beautiful blow right to the carotid, or whatever Aplubians have in their necks. He fell to the ground and I stood over him.
“Look at you! Demanding snacks and drinks!” I yelled as he spasmed on the floor. “Do I look like a cafeteria worker?! ANSWER ME!”
“N-no!”
“DON’T ANSWER THAT! THAT WAS RHETORICAL, YOU LIAR! TELL ME WHY YOU’RE LYING TO ME. WHAT DO YOU KNOW?!”
“What’s going on?” he whimpered.
“I ASK THE QUESTIONS HERE! YOU’RE IN MY WORLD NOW! I OWN YOU AND I CAN DO JUST WHATEVER THE DEVIL I WANT. WHY ARE YOU SUCH A LIAR??!”
“I’m not!”
“LIAR! YOU’RE DOING IT AGAIN!” I thundered.
“I swear! I swear I’m not!”
I squatted down next to him, ruffled his hair. “Listen, son. Maybe it’s congenital. Maybe you can’t help it. I don’t know. I’m no brain doctor; I’m just some poor schmuck that has to get to the bottom of this whole big, silly mess. And I’m sorry about that other guy. I’ve never been able to control him.”
He looked intensely frightened as he scanned the room. “What other guy?” he asked in a small voice.
/> “The Bad Cop. Me. BNever mind. We need to get to the bottom of this. But I need your help to do that.” I pinched his cheek in a friendly manner. “I need you to fight that impulse, that irresistible urge to lie to me and just tell me one thing: who did it? Who planted the croutons? One name and this is all over....”
“You’re a lunatic!” he cried, unreasonably.
“Come on…” I coaxed.
“Look, I honestly have no idea.”
“Just one name…” I wheedled.
“Please, please, for the love of all that’s good, leave me alone.”
I shook my head and sighed. I put out a hand but he shrank back from it-the cowardly, lying bastard. I grabbed his forearm instead and even that was all aquiver. My Lord, but I was effective at this! Maybe Funkworthy had been holding me back all these past years. I lifted him roughly to his feet. He looked at me warily, but I smiled reassuringly at him. I smoothed out the lapels of his jacket.
“All right, kid. I can see you don’t know anything. One last question then you can walk out of here.”
“Al-all right...?”
PWAM! I slammed him by the lapels into the wall!
“YOU’RE IN CAHOOTS WITH THE BUTLER, AREN’T YOU? AREN’T YOU?! TELL ME OR I’LL DEFINITELY KILL YOU! Just tell me and nothing bad will happen to you. EXCEPT MURDER! I don’t want anything bad to happen to a handsome young fella like you. BUT I’VE KILLED BEFORE AND FOR LESS! Is lying for a regicidal butler really worth LOSING THE USE OF YOUR KNEES?! Just tell me it was him and we can get out of here and grab an ice cream, BUT IF YOU’RE LYING, I’LL DROWN YOUR MOTHER. So just don’t lie to me, champ. Just give me a name. Tell me it was that butler OR I’LL EAT YOUR BONES! I really like you. I WILL RIP OUT YOUR TONGUE AND SEW IT TO YOUR BALLS SO YOU CAN TASTE MY BOOT AS I KICK YOU INTO EUNUCH-HOOD. Let’s be friends. TELL ME THE TRUTH! WHERE’S THE MASTER BAKER. I love you.”
The Court of Crusty Killings: A Captain Space Hardcore Adventure Page 9