I was too young to realize what was wrong as a child. All I knew back then was that I hated and couldn’t stand the stuff, just like my peas, and spinach, and non-crunchy meats…looking back, I realize that I was a pretty picky eater.
As I got older, I came to the realization that I didn’t like the stuff because my lungs seized up in an asthma attack every time I smelled it!
Whatever this stuff was, it had the same effect. I jerked and heaved, but couldn’t get more than a few quickly cut off mini-breaths of air.
"Greetings Mr. Vekna," said a shadowy figure I realized was looming over me.
I wish I could say I glared, or spat, or shook my fist in a ‘we won’t take this anymore’ fashion, but if you’ve ever tried to do any of that stuff while having a respiratory arrest, you understand the relative difficulty involved. The mind might be willing, but the body simply isn’t able.
“My name is Commander Justin P. Suddian,” he said. My eyes blinked enough to temporarily clear my vision, and I could see a man in a Caprian SDF uniform and wearing a black hat. Ship’s security, I wondered? Then I saw that his black-gloved hands held a large syringe. Parliamentary Intelligence Service, I wondered in confusion? He worked the plunger sending a squirt of grey viscous fluid shooting out the end.
I stared up at him helplessly, my breathing had improved but I was still too weak to do much of anything. Once more, my vision blurred into a dull white haze; my sight was still intermittent and limited from long hours of unconsciousness that had left my eyes dry and sore from disuse.
Through the haze, a flash of motion preceded the shock of deep pain that exploded in my left thigh.
“And I’d like to have a little chat,” said the man, and I felt an abrupt increase in the pressure on my leg. Without further warning, a sensation like fire and lighting mixed together exploded throughout my leg.
By now, whatever they’d done to simultaneously wake me up and incapacitate me, was wearing off enough that I could wheeze out a single word.
“Wh-what,” I gasped, my eyes watering from the pain. My eyes began to water from the pain, which with a little blinking helped clear the film clouding my vision. When it did clear, the sight of a pair of stone-faced parliamentarian officers made me wonder if it had been worth the effort. The rush of fear and dread that shot through my gut, and clenched my bowels up tight, was agonizing but nothing compared to the crack of pain that shot down my throat when I tried to swallow. The guy with Commander’s insignia smiled…the type of smile that convinced me I was much better off unconscious.
“Why don’t we start with a simple little chemical interrogation,” he suggested, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. In fairness, I suppose that for a murderous, mutinous, and let’s not forget soon-to-be-torturing-parliamentary-scum-bucket like it him, it probably was.
“Why,” I wheezed in a voice that for all its harsh, raspiness, seemed unusually faint, even to me.
The Commander snapped his fingers. “John Henry, this simply won’t do. Mr. Vekna needs his throat well lubricated before we begin,” Suddian said impatiently.
“I prefer Mr. Eden, Sir,” the other man deadpanned, as he brought over a foul tasting, pale green concoction so thick that it barely slid out of the cup when he held it to my lips.
It was almost as foul as I’d imagined, which was saying something. However, it had the fringe benefit of reducing some of the raspy sensation in my throat, and left it feeling freshly scrubbed…with sandpaper.
The Commander just smiled until I had drunk my fill, because after all, what was I going to do? Refuse until they forced it down my throat with a funnel? I’d seen that happen on one of the holo-dramas, and I didn’t care to go through the experience.
“That’s quite enough, John Henry,” he said indulgently to his assistant.
“Yes, Sir,” the other man sighed.
“A chemical interrogation, huh,” I said as lightly as I could manage. What the heck, I figured there was nothing I could do to stop them, and besides, there wasn’t too much that I’d done or knew that they didn’t already have the files on anyway.
“Well…” I trailed off. I was going to say that this was pretty light stuff for the loser of a ship coup to have to go through, at least compared to all sorts of other things my mind could imagine. But for once, I wisely held my tongue, figuring there was little point to giving the man ideas.
I wish I could say I laughed in the face of danger, but when you are essentially powerless and at the mercy of your childhood boogeyman come to real and actual life, there’s really nothing to laugh about. I did manage to keep from jumping and crying out in terror, or breaking down and begging right then and there.
See, I was supposed to be a big tough Admiral or at least a hardened rebel. I needed to make it at least a half hour before giving up, just so they’d believe me when I told them I had finally given up.
“Before we begin, I’d like to make one thing absolutely clear,” the Commander said, his mouth twisting as a slightly crazed look briefly crossed his face. I was certain his smiling mask had been dropped solely for my ‘benefit.’ “Your Uncle has given strict orders that you are not to be touched,” he finished after the deliberate pause.
“That doesn’t sound like him,” I grudged, not prepared to be very charitable towards my murdering, pirate uncle, the same one that had just tried to kill me.
The Commander’s smile never wavered as he fumbled for something on his belt until I heard an object hit the floor. After he bent to retrieve what he had dropped there was a click…followed by a faint crackling thrum. As he rose so I could once more see the delight in his face, “Normally, I would prefer to save this for later on in our…ah, discussion, but just so we’re clear…” He let the words sink in before proceeding in a darker, much more malignant tone, “I don’t…take orders…from a Montagne―any Montagne—and certainly not when it means pampering a treacherous, bloody-handed, rebel Montagne scum like you.”
Okay, that didn’t sound too good. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” I said quickly, as the Commander slowly cocked his hand back, “we seemed to be doing better with you calling me Mr. Vekna, how about we go back to—”
Pain flooded my body as the Commander’s hand struck with a sharp crack. It had to be the worst pain I had ever experienced, and really, words can’t do it justice. It was certainly worse than being shot in the neck by my uncle, the memory fresh as my whole body clenched and the wound tore open anew. No question it was worse than the stomping by Oleander. The plasma grenade was up there of course, as well as the dripping Bug ichor that burned the hair off my head, but not the worst. I would even say that this particular pain was worse than losing my hand on Tracto during Akantha’s family introduction. Yeah, no doubt about it then, it was the worst sensation I had ever felt in my entire life.
I am sad to say, my half-hour goal vanished and I was screaming like a little girl in less than five minutes.
When my body had stopped seizing, and I no longer made high-pitched squealing sounds that tore my throat rawer, I squeezed my eyes closed and took a pair of deep breaths in a desperate—and obviously futile—attempt to regain some shred of my composure.
Leaning in close for effect, "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. I found his attitude entirely too clinical for my taste. Then he let the angry vindictive satisfaction I had been expecting leak through, "But it remains the last resort when other, more humane routes, like chemical interrogation have run their course or been proven completely ineffective," the Commander finished with as much intimidation as he could put into the words.
“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, i
f 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, but 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 little False Admiral just came perilously close to telling me how to do my job, wouldn’t you say,” asked the Commander, his tone making it clear that I was subject to his every whim.
“Very perilous, Sir,” agreed his assistant, this Mr. Eden.
Suddian sighed emphatically. “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 with a sly grin.
“I’m forced to agree, Sir,” agreed Mr. Eden with a little more enthusiasm than I would have liked.
“Proceed with the injections, John Henry,” Suddian said.
The assistant busied himself over me with a pair of giant syringes.
“We have IV locks in your arms and legs, as well as the good side of your neck to maintain your fluid levels,” the Commander said conversationally, “we could use them to painlessly administer these injections, but instead we'll inject the solution directly into your muscles. It's much more painful of course but it's also much more effective on so many levels than an IV, including the length of time we'll be able to avail of its effects.”
I grimaced as Mr. Eden grabbed my butt cheek, and then tensed as he drove the needle home. I tried hard to relax when he did the other cheek a minute later, to no avail.
“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 mused with satisfaction.
“If you say so,” the words rolled out, with a nonchalance I certainly didn't feel or could have imagined at that moment. And now that he had mentioned it, I did feel something, I just was not entirely sure what it was. My tongue felt dry and cottony, worse even than before. Mr. Eden, seeing my difficulty, helpfully poured another cup of that vile concoction down my throat.
“Let’s start with some questions to establish a baseline,” the Commander suggested, more than a hint of eagerness in his words.
“The sooner we can get this over with, the better,” I agreed a touch too happily for the situation. Luckily, I left out the 'and the faster I get my revenge' part. Whether it was the drug itself or the fact it had numbed the pain, the clarity of my thinking had improved slightly. It may have also even liberated it a bit, as I came to some realizations.
Jean Luc had to die for his misdeeds. I decided everyone who helped him needed to go too, though I thought I might withhold judgment in some instances. Of course, I had no idea what I was going to be able to do from the royal retreat or, in the worst case scenario, if they decided to relieve me of my head.
“Whatever happened to my crew and my…” I quickly decided to avoid mentioning 'lancers', which might upset him, “Wife?” I finished lamely.
“Other than a few we have in the brig awaiting interrogation, they're all dead. That includes your wife and the partisans among your crew,” 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 at least be disheartened by his declaration, instead I felt calm in a slightly detached sort of way. Commander Justin P. Suddian needed to die, sprang the thought like a revelation from Saint Murphy himself. That is when I knew the drug had gotten to me. “State your 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 pinging sound from something the assistant, Mr. Eden, was holding.
“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 obliged, 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 growl of frustration and stood over me with clenched fists.
I smiled at him sheepishly. What could I say…that I had 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 demanded, 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 obligatory, “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 find a place on my rapidly growing list—assuming I was around to make him pay, of course…something still very much in doubt.
Mr. Eden’s device gave off a harsh, strident noise, prompting him to report, “Lie.”
“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 actually did feel like I was a stooge with the way the Imperial Rear Admiral had played me, and the lie detector confirmed as much, but the Interrogator was misinterpreting my response!
“No!” I blurted and the hand held beeped again.
“Lie,” Mr. Eden chided, followed by a beep of 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 snarled, as he rounded on Mr. Eden, “he shouldn’t be able to lie to us anymore. Increase the dosage, John Henry.”
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-no, that’s really not necessary," I assured him, my voice going from raspy to a hoarse nothingness as my cry of pain eclipsed my damaged vocal cords ability to keep up. The injections right into the knots left by the last pair, made the pain several
times greater than the first set.
“With each new dosage the pain of the injection will increase and the process will continue until we get what we want,” the Commander said smugly. “Now…for the last time, when did you start working for…or with…Admiral Janeski?”
I carefully considered my answer, to make sure I told the truth.
I carefully considered my answer, looking for one that would be both truthful and accurate. “Never,” I started judiciously. “That is, I never worked for the man directly. He would order me onto the bridge and to public events for photo ops and the like, just routine ceremonial stuff Parliament required as part of my duties; nothing like you seem to be implying.”
“Truth,” pinged Eden.
“What do you know about a group called the Sisters of the 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, as he bent to stare into my face, his eyes searching as if trying to read my expression.
“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 James Vekna on the Throne,” he snarled.
Admiral's Trial (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 2