She walked with careful steps down the hallway, her destination a little further along. If the schematics she’d looked through were accurate, there should be an emergency ejection pod not too far from where she was being interrogated. All she had to do was get another fifty or so feet and…
The electronic whir of an opening door was followed by footsteps, then a figure appeared in her peripheral vision just before slamming into her.
She looked at the face of the body that had banged into her and saw that it was her interrogator, his upper chest and face now smeared with the white and yellow contents of the sandwich he’d been holding.
“Ah, man, that’s my lu-“
He then realized who he was talking to.
Sam looked down at the small bag of chips in his hand. With a quick swipe, she snatched them from his hand.
“Thanks, they didn’t really feed me in there,” she said, giving her interrogator a wink before taking off at a brisk pace.
“Hey, hey!” the interrogator said, yelling down the empty hallway. “Stop! Someone!”
Sam kept her pace until she reached the massive arch of the room that led to the pod. She checked the lock, and sure enough, it had been opened. She opened the door and stepped into the curved interior of the escape pod, checking to make sure that the zero-atmosphere suit was in working order. She buckled herself in, hit the launch sequence, and pulled open her bag of chips, the smell of sour cream and chives rushing up to her nostrils.
“God, I hate sour cream!” she said over the monotone voice of the launch protocol.
Then, with a blast, the pod rocketed into the space above the colony, the force pressing Sam against the seat. Once the pod reached its apogee, Sam opened the blast shield of the craft, revealing the endless slate expanse of the lunar landscape, a star-strewn sky above. Hitting the rockets, she propelled the craft back down towards the surface, where it impacted with a thunderous crash that severely rattled the pod. Once stopped, Sam noted with frustration that her chips had spilled all over the floor of the pod.
But she knew she didn’t have time to snack. If the computer was correct, she had a four-mile trek back to Universitet. Strapping into the zero-atmosphere suit, she opened the back hatch of the pod, the sunless stretch of gray endless before her, aside from the dome of lights that was the city she had just escaped from. With no plan in mind but to get back to the Meridian, she bounded onto the surface of the moon and started to walk.
Chapter 18
Sasha Vasiliev looked into the face of his interrogator, a short, balding man with a girth that gave his body the appearance of almost a perfect sphere, and waited for him to talk.
“Dr. Vasiliev,” he said, looking at a slate in his hand, his voice sounding constricted with fat and phlegm. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“I’m starting to get tired of everyone telling me that,” said Sasha, boredom in his voice. “I know this. I have many degrees, I’m a genius, et cetera.”
The interrogator flicked his eyes up at Sasha.
“Humble, too, I see,” he said, tucking his slate into the wide front pocket of his jumpsuit, the slate forming a rectangle in the fabric across his belly which made it appear to Sasha that he had swallowed a TV whole.
“I mean, what do you want me to say, I suppose.”
“What I want you to say, Doctor, is what you know about the cargo.”
“You mean, you spent all that money and didn’t even bother learning exactly what it was? Not a very savvy consumer, I see.”
Sasha watched the interrogator’s fleshy, ugly face tighten in anger. He understood that what he knew about the cargo could very well make the difference between them being able to use the nano material as a weapon or not, and the longer he could hold out on telling them, the greater the chance that he could think of some way to break out.
“Listen, pretty boy. It doesn’t even matter if I get the information that I’m looking for out of you; we’ve got a team of engineers working on that ship of yours, and it’s only a matter of time before they get into your research data.”
“Then why bother with me in the first place?” asked Sasha.
The interrogator shrugged.
“It’s what they pay me for. Besides, I’m an admirer of your work. Your research on the cytoplasm distribution of pre-natal Martian andro toads was beyond compare. I’d love to get into that brain of yours.”
“As much as I enjoy the topic of andro toads, I’d find the conversation much more pleasurable if I wasn’t bound to a chair while we had it.”
The interrogator raised a finger and opened his mouth, the small nub of his jaw spreading his chins like wet dough. But before he could speak, the door of the interrogation room opened and in stepped a petite, slim-limbed girl with washed-out brown hair tied into a loose bun, fair skin, and bland features hidden behind a large pair of brown-rimmed glasses. The door shut behind her, and when her brown eyes settled on Sasha, a small gasp slipped past her lips.
“Dr. Plembo, hello,” she said, entering the room as though she weren’t sure whether she belonged or not, her eyes still on Sasha. “I’m Galentina Sharron, your assistant.”
Dr. Plembo sighed and shook his head.
“Then get in here, girl; you’re disrupting the flow of this process.”
“Yes, Doctor,” she said, scurrying to the doctor’s side.
“You have a little helper?” asked Sasha, looking over the girl, her face turning a deeper shade of red the longer his eyes stayed on her.
“Yes, I do,” said Dr. Plembo, irritation in his voice. “This little gnat is going to be watching the evening’s proceedings.”
“And what might those proceedings be?” asked Sasha, only looking away from Galentina for a moment, her mousey face having trouble holding his gaze.
“Why, the torture, of course!” the doctor said, liveliness returning to his voice and a smile spreading across his face as he turned towards the briefcase that he had brought with him and set upon a silver doctor’s tool stand.
“You know, they have machines for that now,” said Sasha, watching the doctor unfasten the smooth, silver latches of the case.
“Yes, they do,” he said. “I’ve even designed some myself. You’re familiar with the Model 7X?”
“I am,” said Sasha. “It was the favorite of the Federation commander I worked under. Direct nerve stimulation, if I remember correctly.”
“You do, youdo,” said the doctor, lifting the lid of the case and revealing rows of neatly arranged, sharp-looking implements.
“Then what’s with the toys?” asked Sasha, looking at the tools but still feeling the gaze of Galentina on his face.
Sasha knew that Galentina was his ticket out of there, and that a delicate touch always worked best with the mousier girls.
“Well, when you’re an expert in your field -mine being information extraction via torture, of course- you find yourself being, well, a little too good for your own good, you might say. Things can get a little boring when all you need to do is press a button in order to send your subject into the deepest depths of screaming agony, you see.”
“I suppose,” said Sasha, narrowing his eyes at Galentina as the doctor’s back was turned, to which she responded with the spellbound expression that he was used to seeing in women when he turned his romantic attention towards them.
He figured direct interest with an appeal to compassion was the right angle to take with this one.
The doctor’s back was still turned. He lifted a syringe, flicking the tip as he pressed on the plunger, a small bit of reddish liquid squirting out.
“So, I’ve grown to prefer the hands-on approach,” he said, as Sasha spoke with his eyes to Gelentina, alternating between a helpless expression, to inspire sympathy, and a commanding one.
Galentina looked worried, as though now concerned for Sasha’s safety as if he had been her lover for years. Without saying a word, she looked around the room, her eyes settling on the slim silver body of
the fire extinguisher.
Yes, please, for my sake, Sasha seemed to say with his eyes to Galentina. But she looked conflicted.
“Galentina, my dear, make yourself useful and prepare the tip-exposer,” said Dr. Plembo as he prepared another syringe.
“Of course, Doctor,” she said in a hesitant, wavering voice, looking at Sasha.
He widened his eyes at the extinguisher. Finally, she began to move towards it, to Sasha’s relief. She took the slim form in her hands, her eyes wide as she looked at the potential weapon. Then, with slow steps, she moved back towards the doctor, still inspecting his tools.
Sasha nodded, now with more imploring, and Galentina responded by raising the extinguisher over her head, aiming it at the head of Dr. Plembo.
“You know, I wouldn’t mind taking the time to really pick that brain of yours. The brain can’t sense pain, as I’m sure you know. I could po-“
With a quick, arcing swipe, Galentina brought the extinguisher down onto the doctor’s head, where it connected with a hollow metal clang. The doctor let out a grunt before collapsing into a heap.
“Oh my God,” said Galentina, dropping the extinguisher onto the floor and covering her mouth with her hands.
“You did the right thing,” said Sasha, affecting his voice with a melodramatic tone. “You saved my life.”
“I mean, I couldn’t just let him, you know…”
“Torture me,” said Sasha, putting on the show he knew she needed to see.
“Yes, I couldn’t let him,” she said, stepping towards Sasha and placing her hand on his face. “I just couldn’t…”
Sasha cleared his throat and gestured with his eyes towards the bindings that were holding him up on the wall.
“Oh, oh, sorry,” she said.
And as she went to work on the straps, Sasha began to think about just how he was going to make it the rest of the way out of there, now, evidently, with a fangirl in tow.
Chapter 19
Captain Dalton led Amelia down a long, curving hallway that coiled upwards. A pair of guards was at their sides, and not a word was spoken as they walked. As far as Amelia could tell, they were ascending one of the spires that she’d noticed sprouted from the city here and there, though what exactly was at the top of them, she could only guess.
Eventually, they reached a massive set of silver double doors.
“You two can stay out here,” said Captain Dalton. “I’d like a little private time with our prisoner.”
The guards moved to each side of the door. Captain Dalton swiped his hand across the scanner, and the doors slid open, revealing a massive office with a large, curved window on the back wall that looked out across the dark lunar landscape. He entered the office, gesturing to Amelia to follow him as he walked in, the doors sliding shut behind them.
“I know,” he said, walking to the window and looking out over the bleak, endless waste of the dark side of the moon. “Not exactly a high-rise overlooking Sausalito, but you have to take what you can get.”
“OK, who the hell are you?” asked Amelia.
Captain Dalton turned back towards Amelia.
“You mean you don’t recognize me by my voice? I’m hurt, I must say. I’ve known you since you were just a little imp, after all, putting holes into, ah, soft tissue at two-hundred meters with whatever gun I put into your hands.”
Amelia’s blood ran cold. She recognized the voice now; it was a voice from her past, a voice that she’d never wanted to hear again.
“Ephraim Drummond,” she said, the words exiting her mouth through clenched teeth.
Drummond responded by moving his hands to the sides of his helmet, pressing a pair of buttons that undid the faceplate with a pneumatic hiss. With a slow lift, he took the helmet from his head, his shoulder-length, sandy-blond hair tumbling out over his shoulders, his ruddy, handsome face painted with that same haughty expression that it had always seemed to wear.
“That’s my little Amelia,” he said, tossing the helmet onto the desk, which he then sat upon, his long legs dangling over its edge.
Amelia felt a rush of rage run through her as she looked upon the face of the man who had put her through Geist training, the man who oversaw the procedures that pumped her with drugs and augmentations that changed her body and mind irreparably, the man who made her perform so many atrocities in the name of the Federation, the man who swore he’d bring her back into the fold the day she abandoned the Federation. Her eyes scanned the room for the closet object that she could use as a killing tool.
“If I know you -and I do- you’re thinking about just how to end my life. Don’t bother, I insist. If you kill me, not only would you be killed within minutes, but so would the rest of your little crew. They’re just being, ah, interrogated at the moment, but their handlers are under strict orders to make their little questioning sessions turn deadly should my vitals go all straight-lined on them.”
“What the hell are you doing on the moon?” Amelia asked. “Weren’t you the one who told me all about ‘death before dishonor to the Federation’? And why the name change?”
“Oh, you know how that goes; you can’t really go against the party line when they’re writing your paychecks. To be honest, watching you skip out with the Meridian that day was the thing that got me thinking about going, well, call it freelance. As for the name, I couldn’t very well go traipsing throughout the solar system with a name that anyone could look up and track right to my history with the Federation, now could I?”
“You’re a merc, then.”
“Oh, call it whatever you want- a man has to earn his bread one way or another.”
Drummond gestured to a chair in front of the desk.
“Have a seat, my dear.”
Amelia slid into the chair, her eyes not leaving Drummond for a second.
“Now, regardless of whatever history you and I might have, the fact of the matter is, when you got into that cargo, you stumbled across some information that you really, really, weren’t supposed to find out. The Federation might be in shambles, but that doesn’t mean the use of nanoweapons to reduce a nation-state populated by millions wouldn’t attract the ire of any number of do-gooders in the system.”
“Then how about not doing it, did you consider that?”
“Amelia, my dear, those jackasses on the other side of the moon are sitting on what could be the new center of the solar system. If these Lunar Initiative fools can get rid of them, they’ll be free to sculpt this miserable rock into whatever they’d like. And if they managed to put an atmosphere over this place, then, with its proximity to Earth and none of the, ah, baggage of our little home world, not to mention the helium three this place is loaded with, it’d be the new seat of power. And I’d be right here with a spectacular view and the good graces of the people who made it happen.”
“Even if a few million people have to die in the process.”
“Oh, please,” said Drummond, waving his hand through the air as though swatting her words away. “You know what those Gray Eden lunatics get up to over there? Pointless lounging and hedonism that’d make the Eloi blush. Wiping them out quickly and painlessly would be doing them a favor. And they’re the descendants of the elite that turned Earth into the hellhole that it is now; I think it’s high time they paid the price for that particular misdeed.”
Drummond reached into a drawer and withdrew a small green can, popped it open with a fizz, and poured the neon-green liquid into a glass nearby. He took a slow sip, looking at Amelia all the while.
“So,” he said, smacking his lips and setting the glass down. “I’m here for the access codes to the Meridian. Whatever’s in your ship’s databanks will be the key to getting that little nanoweapon up and running. But with the sort of encryption the Meridian is capable of, I’m not expecting even my crack team to break into it anytime soon. So, I’ve prepared a little something in hopes of, ah, coaxing the information out of you.”
“What did you do, Drummond?” demanded Am
elia.
Drummond raised his hand in a “stop” gesture, a smirk on his face.
“Just a little show starring the rest of your crew.”
With that, he waved his hand, the electronics built into his armor activating the enormous TV display.
“I have all of your crew currently undergoing interrogation from some of my finest specialists. I’d put you to the screws myself, but I figure letting you watch, not to mention letting me watch you, would be a bit more efficient.”
“You…goddamn,” said Amelia through gritted teeth.
“Well! On with the show. Let’s start with that copper-topped little pilot of yours.”
With a flourish, he brought up the security footage of a small integration room.
But there was no one in it.
“Where are they? Hmm,” Drummond said, concern slipping into his tone. “Let’s check in on that oh-so-handsome scientist of yours.”
He waved his hand again, replacing the footage with another empty room. He waved again, this time saying nothing. He brought up another room, which Amelia assumed was Benkei’s. It was just like the others, aside from one difference: one of the durasteel restraints on the chair was broken.
Drummond said nothing, but Amelia could see his teeth grinding by the rippling of his cheeks. He tapped his ear, activating his implanted comms.
“Sergeant, could you give me an update on the prisoners, if you would be so kind?”
He then listened, his face growing darker by the second. Without a word, he ended the call, stood, and pointed to Amelia.
“You. Come with me.”
Amelia couldn’t help but allow a grin to break out across her face.
Chapter 20
Drummond stomped down the hallway, Amelia at his side, the guards behind them.
Unknown Cargo (The Meridian Crew Book 1) Page 8