Rebel (The United Federation Marine Corps)

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Michi raised her head as he pulled out a pair of pliers from the bag the fourth man, Chen, held out for him. They were simple, ordinary household pliers. Michi had used similar ones a thousand times, never thinking about how evil they could be.

  “What say you, right or left?” he made a show of asking the other three. “What, left you say? I am at your command.”

  Michi started breathing hard as Fordyce grabbed her free hand and held it up, admiring it as if it was a piece of art. Michi twisted and brought her arm forward, breaking free of his grasp. She punched out, but Fordyce ducked back out of the way.

  “A fighter! All the better. Fighters last longer. You two, grab her arm and hold it down,” he said.

  Gunter and Chen stepped up to grab her arm. Michi struggled, and she managed to land a punch to Chen’s nose, starting a flow of blood. Within seconds, however, they had her arm pinned to the table. Chen licked at the blood on his face, then with a smile, pushed his face onto her left breast, wiping some of his blood off.

  “Ah, yes, now we have the hand trapped like a dove. And look, no ring on the finger. Wasn’t she supposed to be married? What was his name? Franz Galipili? Did that man leave her at the altar?” he asked in mockery.

  “Fuck you, you bastard,” Michi blurted out, knowing she was playing into his hands.

  “That’s some mouth you have there, young lady. I was going to offer you to Chen here as a wife since you seem to be missing a man, but I don’t know if he’s going to want you now.”

  “Oh, I ken teach her manners, never you fear,” said the man holding her arm down. He leaned forward and licked her face, from chin to eyebrow.

  Michi tried to headbutt him, but he was too quick, and he jumped back out of the way.

  “Temper, temper, Miss MacCailín. That will get you in trouble sometime,” Fordyce told her.

  His play-acting was infuriating Michi, and she wanted to lash out. Then, somehow, the absurdity of that hit her. She’d been shot. Her calf was on fire after being stabbed. She was naked, and two men were holding her down while a third was threatening her hand, and she was worried about the personality game her torturer was playing? She actually laughed.

  “Oh, something funny? I can assure you that nothing is,” Fordyce said, suddenly serious.

  Have I hit a nerve? she wondered.

  She didn’t have time to wonder for long as Fordyce reached in and wrenched her ring finger up, grabbed it with the pliers, and twisted. She let out a blood-curdling scream as her universe descended into a maelstrom of pain.

  “Please . . . please,” she called out. If she had known where Jessep was, she was afraid that she would tell them before enduring that again.

  It took minutes for the intense agony to fade to an aching throb that kept time with her pulse. She didn’t want to imagine what her hand looked like. It wasn’t until she finally began to get control of her thoughts that she noticed the other jack, Derrick, had left.

  “‘Please?’ You said ‘please.’ Please what?” Fordyce asked her.

  “Just, please, what do you want?” she whispered, ashamed of herself.

  “Oh, we’ll get to that later. Now, I’m afraid you’re going to have to pay for your sins,” he told her.

  He took the piers and put them against her lips. She clenched them tight.

  “No? No teeth? OK—I don’t want anyone to accuse me of being uncaring,” he said, back to his facetious attitude.

  He brought the pliers lower off her face and started down to her belly when he stopped, then brought them up to her right nipple. He closed the pliers, slightly squeezing the nipple, but not too hard—yet.

  Michi tensed up. She knew what was coming, and she tried to fortify her will.

  “You seemed to be proud to flash these around for everyone to see in your oh-so-clever camcordings. So how about it if I just yank this bad boy right off, huh?” he said, moving slightly to get a better angle.

  “No!” shouted Gunter.

  “Excuse me?” Fordyce said with mock incredulity.

  “You said, for me helping you, I can, you know, have her.”

  “And so you will, but later.”

  “But if you take that nip off, well, I don’t like that none. I want her whole when I do her,” he protested.

  Michi took in a deep breath. She had rather expected this as soon as she woke up in captivity. She thought she had steeled herself to the inevitable, but when faced with it, she realized that she was not the strong one to just shrug something like that off.

  “Well, never say I’m a man who doesn’t keep his word. Please, my dear companion, take your prize. I can always play later.”

  “What, here? With you looking?” Gunter asked.

  “It’s up to you. You can take her or not, but none of us are leaving,” Fordyce told him as Chen laughed.

  Michi had a moment of hope while Gunter stared at the two other men first, then at her.

  That hope was dashed when Gunter shrugged and said “Well, fuck it. If you want to see me and her getting it on, be my guest.”

  He pulled off his shirt first, bloody from either Chen’s nose or any one of her wounds. Next came his boots, then his pants. Last were his undertights. He stood there, naked and rampant with excitement. Not that there was much of a penis there. He was decidedly under-sized.

  He looked like a bull moose in rut, though, almost snorting in his eagerness. Michi knew what was going to happen, and the act itself didn’t upset her as much as the helplessness, the knowledge that this piece of shit was going to do to her what he wanted without regard to her as a human being.

  She still had her mouth free, and that was the only way at the moment that she could strike back.

  She looked at him as he panted with lust. With her best attempt at disdain, she said, “Oh come on. If you are going to use rape to try and break me, you would do better to give me a man with a big enough tool to do some damage.”

  “What?” he screeched! “I’ll show you damage, you bitch!”

  He started stepping forward, but Chen was laughing uproariously. “She’s got you there. My three-year-old’s got a bigger dick than that!”

  Gunter stopped and glared at Chen. “Shut the fuck up! I’ll show you! I’ll fuck her until she begs for more!”

  “Uh, maybe not,” Fordyce said, pointing to Gunter’s penis which had started to go flaccid as he lost focus.

  With an animal grunt, Gunter rushed Michi, threw her legs open, and pushed himself between them. Except he had nothing left. He had lost it.

  “See, nothing there. You might as well get back to your pliers because this little boy can’t perform,” she said to Fordyce, trying to inject as much of a dismissive tone as she could.

  “You fucking bitch!” Gunter screamed. He scrambled off her and pulled his fist back.

  As Fordyce yelled “No!” that big fist came forward with the full weight and emotion of Gunter behind it, smashing into Michi’s nose and sending her mercifully into the darkness.

  Chapter 34

  Michi slowly came to. While still in the murky state of semi-consciousness, she wondered if she’d been raped. She tried to feel if she had what she imagined that trauma would be like, but with the rest of her pain, she couldn’t tell.

  It was only then that she realized someone was there, someone touching her body. With a start, she willed herself back into full consciousness.

  She was still on the table, whether moments after Gunter had hit her or much later, she had no idea. A man in black utilities stood over her, running his hand across her body, manipulating her. Instinctively, Michi tried to scooch away from him, but without seeming to notice her attempts, the man kept a firm hold on her as he continued his groping.

  “Add a broken clavicle,” he said to another black-clad man Michi just noticed standing behind him, PA in hand.

  The man reached over to Michi’s right arm, which was still cuffed to the bed. He ran his hand down her arm, probing at the wound. Michi gasped at
the pain, but it didn’t seem as if the man was intentionally trying to hurt her.

  He picked up a scanner from beside her and ran it over her upper arm. After glancing at the readout, he said, “Right arm, hypervelocity dart wound, through and through. Hairline fracture of the humerus.”

  “Who are you?” Michi croaked out.

  The man ignored her, instead reaching out and taking the other man’s PA. He read over it, then held the PA over his eye for a retinal scan, certifying whatever was there. He handed it to yet a third black-clad man who had been standing by the door of her cell. The third man took the PA, looked at it, then stepped forward to stand over Michi’s naked body.

  “So, Doc, you’ve got the dart shot in the arm, and that nicked the humerus. You’ve got one blown ear drum, a Class 2 concussion, a fractured and avulsed left ring finger from the middle phalanx distal, a puncture wound to the right calf, a broken nose, and assorted contusions,” he said, shifting his eyes to each spot on her body as he listed them.

  Michi listened in as if he was describing someone else. It didn’t quite seem real. She noted that nothing was said about vaginal tearing, so she wondered if that meant that her getting Gunter to explode had stymied that.

  “OK, I accept the survey,” the man said, holding the PA up to his eye for the scan.

  He pulled out his own PA, and tap-transferred the report from the doctor’s (for that is what he had to be) PA to his. The doctor nodded, took his PA, and left, trailing his assistant.

  Michi was confused. The doctor had said she had a concussion, so maybe that was an excuse. But what happened to Fordyce, and who were these people? They were military, but their uniforms were black. She didn’t think they were Marines. Was that what the FCDC wore? The Federation Civil Development Corps had a bad reputation, worse than the Marines, but they tended to keep in the background and did not get the same press as the Navy or Marines.

  If they were FCDC, then that was a relief. Anyone was better than the jacks who had held her before. At least these people seemed to care about her injuries. Michi was under no impression that she was in a good place, though. She knew she was in big trouble. She was looking at a long term imprisonment at best; at worse, well, she didn’t want to think about that.

  “Henderson, get in here,” the man barked and another man came in the door. “Get her cleaned up, especially that shit. I hate a dirty work place.”

  Michi tried to look down, mortified. She hadn’t even noticed the smell, but now that the man had mentioned it, she could tell her bowels had let go at some time. She looked back up as Henderson came to stand over her, the disgust obvious on his face.

  “Uh, Chief, how do I, I mean, with what?” he asked.

  “St. Charles’ ass, Henderson. Get a bucket and a rag and just do it. Do I have to take you by the hand?”

  “OK, sure, chief,” Henderson said and scurried out of the room.

  Michi stared at the ceiling, refusing to meet the “chief’s” eyes, even if she felt them on her. Within a few minutes, Henderson had returned, lugging a bucket of water. He heaved it onto the table, and some of the water splashed out over her. He dipped a rag or towel in the water, and then after pausing as if wondering where to start, he placed the wet rag on her shoulder and began to rub. Michi just endured, not that she had much choice. She endured as he rubbed her face. She endured as he cleaned her breasts. She endured as he cleaned off her arms and legs. She endured as he got between her legs and tried to clean up her shit, sliding the rag under her butt until the chief, exasperation evident in his voice, told him to tilt her up on her side.

  Utterly humiliated, she barely noticed the lances of pain that shot through her as Henderson struggled to keep her up, finally using his shoulder to hold her while he scrubbed the table and her ass. Finally, he let her back down and looked expectantly up at his boss.

  “Weak effort, Henderson. But it will have to do for now. Get rid of the filthy water and clean yourself up, then get back here. We’ve got work to do.”

  Henderson grabbed the bucket and hurried out as the chief walked back up and stood over her, looking down at her face. He didn’t say a word, and Michi was feeling the stress rise.

  What the hell does he want? she wondered. Just get it over with!

  Finally, Henderson came back into the room, and the chief leaned in to talk.

  “Miss MacCailín, I am Chief Warrant Officer Three Virag Chopra of the United Federation Civil Development Corps. You are now under custody of the same, initially charged with disorderly conduct, but I should tell you that you will most likely be charged with more crimes under the Federation Charter. You will be questioned with regards to your participation in the attack of May 15, 335 SR, on the Marines at the refinery at coordinates 30.216355 degrees north, 52.207031 west on Kakurega. Are you in fact Michiko MacCailín, Federation ID A4793677277GB, born on May 19, 315—hmm, today is your 20th birthday?”

  Michi nodded.

  “Please speak your response. Is this you?”

  “Uh, yes, it is,” she meekly said.

  “And do you understand what I just told you?” he asked her, all businesslike.

  “Uh, yes.”

  “Private First Class Antonio Henderson, United Federation Civil Development Corps, did you witness Miss MacCailín’s response?”

  “I did,” Henderson said.

  “Hold still,” Chopra told her, placing the PA in front of Michi’s face.

  Michi didn’t resist, but kept her eye open for the scan. The ready light flashed green, and Chopra took the PA over to Henderson and got his certification as well. He checked the read out, then slipped the PA into his holster.

  “Now that the formalities are out of the way,” he said, putting his PA back in its holster, “let me tell you what is happening. First, Miss MacCailín, I am sure you realize that you are in a world of shit. Attacking Federation Marines is bad enough, but being the person who instigated the attack will probably result in your execution.”

  Michi knew that, but to hear it actually being vocalized gave it a much bigger impact.

  “I don’t really care, though, what happens to you. My job is simple. I am here to extract information from you that can enable us to protect the Federation and Federation citizens. It is really that simple. And rest assured, Miss MacCailín, that I will get that information. I am a professional and very good at what I do.

  “And don’t think you will be able to withhold information from me. I am not those clowns from Propitious Interstellar’s security. Yes, I have seen the tapes,” he said as he saw her flinch. “Not a bad move, getting your rapist angry enough to knock you out. But nothing you say or do will change the outcome of what is about to happen to you. And I am afraid to say that after this is over, you might wish those jimmyleg[14] goons still had you.”

  The very calm seriousness with which he spoke struck fear deep into Michi’s heart. Her treatment at the hands of the jacks had been brutal. What could be worse? She didn’t want to find out.

  “The jimmylegs might have succeeded over time; how quickly depending on how strong you were. But their methods are brutal and inefficient. You would end up telling them anything, whatever you thought they wanted to know, to stop them. Most of all, though, they enjoy the process, without regards to the information.

  “I, Miss MacCailín, on the other hand, do not enjoy inflicting pain. I won’t hesitate to do what is necessary, but that is only a means to the end. I want the information.”

  He picked up Michi’s mangled hand, looked at it, then shook his head. “See this, Henderson? This is what I was talking about. Torture for torture’s sake, the frigging amateurs. And she didn’t talk, so it was all wasted effort.”

  He dropped her hand and said, “Bring me the I88.”

  Henderson pulled out a small rectangular instrument, then some wires. It was an inanimate object, but Michi imagined she could sense the evil emanating from it. Chopra took it from Henderson, connected the wires, attaching them to Michi.
One wire was placed on her right ear, the other on her left big toe. Michi trembled. The lack of knowledge of just what that thing was was tearing her apart.

  “Miss MacCailín, this is an I88, which is an oldie but goodie, an intensifier. It excites nerves more than any physical stimulus. No one is actually hurting you, but you will believe they are. Your body will believe they are. I am not in love with intensifiers, but I want you to see what I have in my little toolbox. I tried it once myself, and the experience still resonates with me when I am this close to the device. And so . . .”

  He reached and pressed a button, and immediately, Michi’s world exploded into the bright lights of utter agony. Every nerve in her body was aflame and determined to burn up in an orgy of pain. She didn’t know anything—her name, where she was, who she was—only the pain coursing through her. It was the only thing that mattered, and nothing else existed. This other dimension stretched on for days, years, maybe longer.

  And then it was mercifully gone, completely gone. She lifted her head, sure her body had been burnt to a crisp. But she was untouched. She was the same battered, hurting Michi that she had been before that devil device had been turned on. Her body still hurt from her earlier abuse, but that didn’t seem so impactful now that she had something much more severe than physical pain to compare it to now.

  She gasped for breath as she looked up into Chopra’s eyes, and he was just staring at her, expressionless.

  “Fun little toy, huh?” he asked. “And I could use it, again and again until you talked. But you could tell me anything, and we could waste time finding out that you had lied to me.

  “So that puts me in a quandary, right? Luckily, I have a few more tools in my toolbox. Lucky for me, that is. Maybe not for you. No, I’m being facetious. Most certainly not for you.

  “Henderson, the Propoxinal.”

  Michi gulped. She’d heard of it, of course. It was a “truth serum” featured in some recent flicks. In one of them, the chemical had turned people into zombies, their minds destroyed. She realized that was fiction, but still, it was scary stuff.