by Chris Hechtl
“How would they know?” another reporter demanded as another piped up. “Was that confirmation?”
“I can't tell you what is going on since I don't know myself,” she said.
“Does it have anything to do with the secret visits to the ground? The Marine recon base he has been visiting?”
“Again, no comment.”
“Does it have anything to do with the recent battle in Destria? There are rumors of an elite powered armor unit there.”
“No comment.”
“There are also rumors that he was in the shuttle accident from five weeks ago. Can you confirm or deny that?”
“I can confirm he wasn't involved in the shuttle accident.”
“Then you do know where he is!”
“No, I just know he wasn't there. We've all seen the passenger manifest by now.”
“What's so secret?” a Neochimp asked, clearly vexed at being stonewalled.
“We have classification levels for a reason,” she replied stonily. “Secrets exist for a reason. When he is ready to tell me or you, he'll do so or someone else will.”
“But we're talking about the whereabouts of the president!”
“And he has good reason for not saying. So do I. When he's ready, he'll let me know, and I'll let you know. And no, I'm not giving you a hint. Next question.”
She had to weather a series of similar questions before she ended the daily news briefing. Once she was clear of the podium and off stage, she stalked to her office. She flung herself into her chair and snarled, rubbing her temples. “Who would want this job?” she muttered. After a moment, one of her deputies silently came in and gave her a steaming cup of tea to sooth her nerves. She smiled her thanks and lapped at it for a moment, then put a call in to the administration.
“Come on, pick up, pick up,” she muttered. “Pick up, pick up,” she chanted, getting more and more annoyed by the delay. She was annoyed when the signal was passed around until someone picked up.
“Yes, Madam Press Secretary? You did well,” the secretary of state said as her image took up the screen. She sat back in her chair, giving the cat a better view.
“Ma'am?” the Neocat asked eyes wide in surprise.
“You called. I answered,” the woman replied with a slight smile.
“Who is in charge, you I take it, ma'am?” Liobat asked instantly. “We haven't had any cabinet meetings. No one told me anything. I've been playing deaf and dumb but that has to end now.”
“For the moment. So, you can answer that question. Admiral Irons is getting reports and does his best to answer them when and if he has time.”
“Where is he? Why can't I know?”
“Because you and your office slip things sometimes. I know. My staff doesn't.”
“Oh.” The Neocat blinked. She apparently wasn't the only one being kept in the dark. She wasn't certain if she liked that or not.
“And no, as you said, no hints,” Moira said. “Yes, I watched your conference. I had a free moment in between doing my job and his,” she said wryly. “Surprise surprise,” she said, clearly amused.
“Why audio only, ma'am?” the press secretary asked.
“Because I'm indisposed at the moment.” There was the sound of running water after a second.
“Oh. Sorry, ma'am.”
“Don't be. I don't like this anymore than you do. It's out of my hands; the best we can do is damage control. Try to …,” she stopped herself.
“Ma'am?” Liobat prompted when she heard the secretary stifle a giggle.
“Sorry,” Moira said, getting her snicker under control. “I was going to say try to do your best herding the cats, but that's a bit of an issue with you,” she said.
The Neocat flicked her ears and then snorted softly. “Yeah,” she said, some of her good humor restored. “I personally think of them as barking dogs. Dogs that bark and howl when they want something.”
“Yeah, that actually fits better than my analogy,” Moira said thoughtfully.
“And like a dog with a bone, they won't let it go easily,” Liobat warned. “This is going to get bigger and bigger as long as it is a mystery, ma'am.”
“Understood. Hopefully, we'll be able to let you know so you can let them know.”
“When?” Liobat demanded.
“I have no idea. When Admiral Irons comes up for air I guess,” Moira replied with a sigh.
“Great.”
“Anything else?”
“I can't think of anything to distract them. Anything that does come up will latch onto his disappearance. I've got my fingers crossed nothing bad happens until he does, but we can't do that forever. We need to get on with the business of governing.”
“Agreed. We are. He'll be back,” Moira replied. “We have a daily list of news. Try to stick to it if you feel uncomfortable. If they press you, stop taking questions.”
“That's even worse. I don't want the media turning on us.”
“I know,” Moira mused.
“Does Miss O'Neill know?”
“She knows he's gone. I don't know beyond that how much she knows. She was asked to not tell anyone. She's caught in a crack.”
“Just like the rest of us.”
:::{)(}:::
“April, damn it girl, if you know something and you aren't telling me …,” Pete Knox said. His ansible avatar was impassive and his sentence was as well. But she could easily imagine the snarl there.
“I know he's gone. I don't know much more than that. I made a promise to not tell.”
“Damn it, this is news! How could you sit on this?”
“Are you threatening to fire me over it? Over protecting a source?” she asked stiffly.
There was a long pause. Finally, he answered with a single word. “No.”
“Good to know.”
“But you can't be objective. This is a problem.”
“I am being objective, Pete. I'm hand-off on any of this,” April replied. She'd had enough inquiries in-house. She didn't like getting called out on the carpet by the boss.
“Lady, if you weren't so good at your job, you'd be out on your tuchus in a heartbeat,” Pete said.
“Love you too, schnookums,” she said back.
“Cute.”
“You know you don't want to break my contract. Besides, you and I both know everyone would be knocking on my door to pick me up. I've had to deal with a dozen job offers this year alone. Some offering more money than what you are paying me.”
“As you said, you are in a contract,” he warned.
“I know. I'm staying put as long as you let me run my show my way. Look Pete, I'm not happy about what happened and being in the position I'm in. I got a brief warning from him and that was it. He didn't go into details. He'll be back. When I don't know. We're just going to have to put up with it.”
“Okay. We're going to run a counter. Day … how long has he been gone for?” he asked.
“Thirty-two,” she replied.
“He's been gone over a month and no one noticed until now?” Pete asked.
“Slow news cycle. Everyone's looking at the war front and stuff going on elsewhere,” she replied. “It's also hard to keep up with the man and his schedule. He's usually all over the place, from the yard to the admin complex to consults. He's not big on photo ops and such.”
“Damn. Yeah, that makes sense. Okay, here's what we do. Every report we announce the day he's been missing. Keep running with that. It will put pressure on the administration to give us information.”
“Not really. Liobat doesn't know. She's not that great at lying, Pete; we in the press here know that. It's one of the reasons Admiral Irons hired her. She's a straight shooter like he is.”
“Ah.”
“Are you going to set up a look out for him?” she asked.
“What? Oh, yeah,” he responded. “Good idea. And I'll chalk the time we know how long he's been gone for to sources. It will give us a minor scoop over the competition. But it is a
slim lead. We need more,” he warned.
“My people are doing their best to get more, Pete.”
“I know. Just don't suppress anything.”
“I gave him my word I wouldn't say anything. I didn't say I'd suppress anything. I won't.”
“Good girl. At least you're still on our side,” he said as he disconnected.
She sat back and stared at her desk. She didn't like his parting shot. It bothered her. But, she couldn't get him back for it.
:::{)(}:::
Mason Ramichov woke slowly. As he did so, he did an internal assessment, stretching slowly. He remembered being captured and being brought to sickbay. That made his eyes open in alarm as he sat up. He frowned, looking around the dark room. There was only a little light coming in from the small bared window in the door. He frowned.
He explored himself, running a hand over his bare chest. He was in his underwear he realized, under a thin blanket on top of a thin foam mattress. He found a coverall folded neatly on the floor next to the bed shelf. A pair of slippers were on top of it. His lips curled in disdain. He got up and flinched at the cold stone on his bare feet. He did his best to adapt as he padded around the cell. He noted there was a toilet in one corner as well as a wash basin. He was tempted to just piss in the corner, but decided he would be the one ultimately punished; he'd have to put up with the smell for he didn't know how long. Best to behave, at least for the moment.
Once he did his business he flushed and then washed up. There was no mirror. As the last vestiges of sleep left him, he felt his body. He must have been in stasis; it was the only thing to explain how he'd gotten there. He wasn't certain as to why. Transporting him in stasis certainly made it easier on his captors.
He padded to the door and tried to look out the tiny window. All he saw was a dark stone corridor leading off in either direction. He went back to the coverall and picked it up. He flicked the shoes aside for the moment and shook the thing out. Now that he was awake, he was getting chilly. By the light of the door he could just see the color, a horrible shade of orange.
He shrugged it on and then sat on the bed. He wondered what they'd do with him. On the ship, they'd asked his name and rank and then segregated him. Obviously, they'd want to interrogate him. He wondered what he should do. He closed his eyes and held his hands out to access his implants, but the HUD didn't come up. His eyes flew open in surprise.
He tried several times before he became frustrated and gave up. Either his battery had lost its charge or they'd done something to his implants.
:::{)(}:::
“How is our new friend doing?” Commander Lake asked, checking in on the techs. Each ONI tech had to monitor three personnel. Their max was four. There was a dumb A.I. assigned to each group as well, but a trained organic caught things the A.I. missed. Nuances were hard to filter with the A.I., which was why they had the double coverage.
“He's awake,” Leia replied, indicating the VID feed. “Feeds are good,” she said. “His vital signs are stable. He should be hungry about now.”
“Ah.”
“We're giving him the usual twenty-four-hour treatment—no food, just the water from the tap. Let him adjust; see if it cracks him a little. No thumb screws obviously.”
“No, not for this one. I know the brass is tempted to take him apart but that is messy. Besides, we don't get everything we want; it's all jumbled and takes ages to sort out the nuggets we want. This works better,” the commander replied as she studied the readings. After a moment, she nodded and left the room.
:::{)(}:::
Mason realized he was hungry when his stomach began to rumble. He tried a few meditation exercises but it just dulled the annoyance. It didn't make it disappear. He'd had one bowl movement; he'd wondered if they'd given him something to make him even hungrier but the horrendous shit probably did it. It certainly cleaned him out! It might have been because he'd been in stasis for so long.
He'd tried to keep track of the time, but he had no references other than counting seconds. That got old. The light from the hallway didn't change at all to give him some sort of clue of night or day. His hands had run over the stones; he'd noted they were real. He could be on a station, but he doubted it. It had to be a planet.
He tried balling up one of the slippers to toss it, but they didn't bounce. Finally, he settled back into the bed and stared up at the dark ceiling. He wondered what they'd do to him.
He hadn't spent a lot of time learning about interrogation methods. He usually left that to others. His people were brutal; he knew it. The Feds … it was a little worrisome about what tech they had access to. He'd heard stories about brain downloads and such. Would they do that if he balked? What should he do? He frowned, considering his options. After a while, he tried to sleep.
:::{)(}:::
“He's sleeping.”
“Good. Feed him the subsonics. Let's play on his subconscious. Make him want to confess. See where it leads.”
“Right. Are we sending in a looker or a brute tomorrow?” the tech asked.
“You mean seduction or fear? Based on his psychological profile he'll be wary of both. I think that's why the powers that be opted for this option. The psychologists concurred.”
“Ah.”
“We'll stick to the program. Keep it neutral. We'll play the long game.”
“Understood.”
:::{)(}:::
The following morning Mason was surprised to see a tray of food on the floor when he woke. He frowned at it, and then glanced at the door. He got up and did his business, then checked the food out. It was simple fair, a couple granola bars and a piece of fruit, but he was hungry enough to not care.
He picked the tray up and sat down on the bed and ate it quickly with his fingers. The plate was embedded on the tray, so he couldn't take it off. There was no silverware, not that he needed any. Was that how it was going to be? Keep him from having tools?
“Finished?” a voice asked from the hall. He looked up in surprise to see a face on the other side. The person had their back to the door and seemed to be looking over their shoulder through the hole at him.
“Yeah.”
“Need a moment to clean up?” the voice asked. He realized it was male. The face was human, thankfully. He'd seen some of the aliens and Neos the Feds had. After what he knew his people had done to them, he hated the idea of being at their mercy.
“I'm good,” he said, pushing the tray aside.
“Good,” the guard said as he opened the door and came in. He took the tray as Mason studied him. There was another guard outside he noted. The guard who came in was watching him and hadn't lowered his guard. He wasn't armed. “I'm Mike. I don't suppose you are willing to give me your proper name and rank this time around?”
“How do you know I didn't the first time?”
Mike snorted. “I read the report.”
“So, if you know who I am, then why ask?”
“It's polite,” Mike replied with a shrug. “How do you prefer to be referred to?” he asked as he passed the tray out to someone else and then brought a stool in. He set it down on the floor and straddled it. He pulled a tablet out and keyed it up.
“What do you know?”
“Well, we could go with prisoner. Or lieutenant. Or prince. What is your preference?” Mike asked with a disinterested tone of voice as he held the tablet and looked expectantly at him.
“Lieutenant is fine. Where am I?”
“Ah. Okay, here we go. I'll do this quid pro quo. You ask a question, I'll answer it. Then it's my turn.”
“A game? Really?”
“No, just simple give and receive. That's two for you by the way.”
“Oh, now we're keeping score?”
Mike just shook his head. “Okay, as far as your first question, we're on Antigua. Specifically, we're on an island. You are in the basement of the Latimer house. It's a big mansion the navy bought when it needed the land. We were supposed to bulldoze it and build a prison but
we didn't have the time and needed the facilities.”
“Oh.”
“My turn,” Mike said. “Do you need anything? Medical care?”
“No. You most likely knew that since I was in sickbay. Is this an interrogation?”
“Oh, I don't do that sort of thing. I do an entrance interview. I assess your mental state and see if you can join the population. If I think you'll be helpful, you can go up and you'll have the freedom of the building and the grounds. As long as you stick to the POW code you are safe.”
“So, now I'm a POW?”
“Uh, my turn,” Mike said, wiggling an index finger at him. Mason pursed his lips in annoyance at the silly game. Mike looked at his tablet and then up. “Does the uniform fit?”
“Yes. Am I a POW?”
“We're calling you that for the moment. You weren't caught in an act of piracy, so you are in a gray area legally. Do you wish counsel?”
“No. Am I supposed to confess my sins or something?” Mason asked in amusement as he tucked his feet up under him and wrapped his arms around his legs.
“Only if you wish to do so. Do you wish to confess?”
“No. I'm not the guilty conscious type.”
“Ah.”
:::{)(}:::
“How is he?” the commander asked as she looked over the tech's shoulder at the images. There were multiple feeds on the screen, plus the subject's vital signs.
“Stable. He's not suicidal. He's a little contemptuous. He's still testing the waters. I think he's a good candidate but that of course depends on Mike's final eval,” the tech replied.
“Ah,” the commander said as she went over and pulled a seat up and sat down beside the tech. Leia looked over to her and then away quickly. Apparently, Commander Lake had taken a personal interest in the subject and was making herself at home. Great.
“Do you know where this concept came from?” the commander asked as Mike and Mason kept going back and forth in casual conversational dance.
“The name of the house comes from Terra, specifically a British house during the latter stages of World War II,” the tech recited. “The brits hit on the idea of bugging the house and letting the prisoners talk to each other in comfort. They eventually lowered their guard and talked giving priceless intelligence without the need of turning to harsher methods.”