Afterburn

by S. L. Viehl

  Liana stared back at her. Have you not punished me enough?

  I do not know. Carada frowned. I cannot remember.

  Terror spiked through Liana. What else do you not remember?

  The big female met her gaze. I remember why I am here, and what you will do for me. Never fear that.

  Fokrej swam in behind them, and a hatch closed. May I be of service, my lady?

  The marks on my body have been examined. Liana bared her teeth. They have been scanned. New marks will be questioned.

  Carada said nothing. Neither did Fokrej, who sidled against the big female while smirking at Liana.

  It did not take long for the transport to cross the land between the medical facility and the docking pads at Main Transport. Along the way Liana had the chance to look out and see the land-dwellers going about the business of their daily lives.

  How bizarre it was, to see soil not covered by water, and the erratic, sometimes jarring motions the land-dwellers had to make to cross it. They seemed almost like two-dimensional bottom-feeders, for they could only go back and forth in linear directions, their lower limbs barely clearing the ground before returning to touch it again. It must be like living forever bound and tethered.

  Burn can do that. She knew ’Zangians could live above or below, although they preferred the water. His people were also making an evolutionary shift that would drive them out of the sea, and in ten or twenty centuries they would be forced to live on the surface permanently.

  Liana.

  She tore her gaze away from the viewer to see the valet hovering, and Carada gone. What?

  He gestured toward a docking ramp that led from the transport to the waiting ship. The ambassador is waiting.

  The ship had been attended to by the Transport workers and was restored close to its original condition; the bodies cleared out and the liquid atmosphere drained and replaced. The new liquid felt cooler and tasted less salty than Liana was accustomed to, but it was acceptable.

  I will go and see to my quarters, she said, moving past Fokrej.

  He allowed her to make it all the way to the corridor before he caught up with her. The ambassador’s orders were very specific, my lady. His barbs latched into the soft surface of her hide again, but there was nothing secretive about the way he touched her now. You are to come with me.

  Liana showed no emotion as the valet guided her through the corridors to an isolation tank. She had been brought here three times since they left Ylyd, and she had learned that resisting only made it worse, and the punishment harsher and longer.

  Fokrej left her to seal the access hatches. Once they were locked in and alone, he dropped his pose of the obsequious servant and darted at her, his veils spread wide. A fine, netlike, iridescent material now covered his barbs completely.

  Put on your correction tether, he ordered her.

  Liana slipped her flukes into the floating straps anchored to an alloy anchor at the bottom of the tank.

  Fokrej came over and secured the straps. It has been too long, hasn’t it? But you have been so good before today.

  Before he had joined Carada’s staff, Fokrej had been one of the few males to serve in Ylyd’s security forces. Too physically weak to serve as a soldier, he had concentrated his efforts in their intelligence division, where he had been taught his specialty: the effective and relentless interrogation of prisoners.

  You humiliated the ambassador. You openly defied her and spoke when you were told to be silent. Part of Fokrej’s routine was to list Liana’s imagined crimes, and give her the opportunity to argue or plead. He seemed to think any protest she made was a form of groveling. Do you wish to deny this?

  Liana merely stared at him and waited.

  Nothing to say? A shame. You were so verbal earlier. He darted around her, drawing it out, waiting for her to make the slightest movement. Thanking that butcher for your life the way you did; that showed an enormous lack of taste, dignity, and self-control.

  Liana felt him slow as he came around behind her, and then the first slap landed. A sensation like a hundred thousand barbs stung her hide before pain radiated down into her flesh. Water rushed into her gillets and out through her gill vents as she tried not to fight the pain.

  The ambassador gave you specific instructions, and you ignored them. Fokrej struck her a second time, this one landing across the base of her back veil. You have been told repeatedly that such public disobedience will not be tolerated.

  Liana panted. The neural web Fokrej used to lash her hide was a clever device. It sent bioelectrical charges through her nerve endings and into her brain, where it stimulated her pain receptors. The intensity of the charges could be adjusted to inflict anything from mild discomfort to mind-rending agony. The effects lasted several minutes, but never left any permanent physical wounds or damage, and could be administered as often as desired without fear of killing the recipient.

  That was the beauty of the device, and why Fokrej enjoyed using it so much. With the web he could torture someone as much as he wished.

  Liana understood the power of pain. In the right hands, it became a tool to shape and bend a mind to another’s will. Because of her unique affliction, she was also able to think through pain, and isolate it, and in many ways disconnect it. She had used that enormous self-discipline before, to great effect. The last time Fokrej had beaten her, she had endured in silent indifference until she had lost consciousness.

  It was different now. The male who had helped her—who had saved her life—was probably only a short distance away. Knowing Burn was so close and yet had no idea of what was happening to her made it impossible to disconnect. Liana found herself fighting the need to cry out and call to him. She didn’t want to leave his world. She wanted to latch onto his back and have him sweep her away from this hideous trap that her life had become.

  Remember the one. Endure for the one. Fight for the one.

  Fokrej had once told her that his favorite fantasy was wrapping someone in the web and leaving them in it, so that he could see how long it would take for insanity and death to set in. He thought, if the victim were regularly fed, it might take years.

  Liana lasted an hour. Stop it, stop it. I am sorry. I will never do it again.

  You are begging? Already? Fokrej glided against her, rubbing himself against her oversensitized hide. But you have taken twice as much punishment before and not capitulated, Lady Liana. He lashed her again. I do not think you are ready to surrender yet.

  Liana didn’t know what to do; before this he had always stopped. Being tethered as she was prevented her from fleeing. Fokrej was aroused—obscenely so—and it made her sick to realize that perhaps he couldn’t stop himself now. I am. I will obey her.

  You will obey me, Fokrej corrected. When she repeated it, he shook his head. I still do not hear sincerity in your voice. You must do a better job of convincing me that you mean what you say. He came around to face her and raised one webbed fin, intending to slash her across the face with it.

  Enough, Fokrej.

  Carada entered the tank and moved between the valet and Liana. When Fokrej began to whine, she used a fin to sweep him aside.

  Liana concentrated on her breathing, but never took her eyes from Carada.

  I had hoped this would not be necessary again, the ambassador said. It is not what I desire for you.

  Liana knew what she desired, and knew she was powerless to deny her. The dead cannot be bled.

  Fokrej made a sulky exit from the tank. Neither Liana nor Carada acknowledged his departure.

  I have promised to obey, Liana said. What more do you want from me?

  Only this. The ambassador swam closer, so they were eye to eye. One more rebellion will result in immediate and dire consequences for Ylyd. Life or death, Liana. If you wish the consequences to be life, you will do exactly as you are told, and nothing more, from this point forth.

  Yes. That single word hurt more than Fokrej’s beatings. Liana closed her eyes. I will do whatever yo
u want.

  “If I don’t speak to Administrator Hansen today, I will petition the council to have her removed from her position,” the Transport supervisor warned, the hundreds of thousands of spines covering his body bristling.

  “I will make note of that, sir.” Emily added the threat to the lengthy message she had already recorded. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

  “Unless you can pilot a transport, no.” The relay terminated.

  Emily closed the channel and added the message to the pending queue. When possible she had done what she could, but most of Ana’s callers wanted more specific information or actions than she could give them. As a result, there were almost three hundred requests, messages, and threats piled up and waiting for a response.

  “If I ever think about applying for administrator training,” she said to the potted Jorenian windfern next to her console, “I’m depending on you to talk me out of it.”

  Her console had been so busy that she hadn’t been able to accomplish much of her own work, and a stack of transfer datawork still waited to be input. As she closed down the office channels for the day and forwarded all calls to the emergency contact center, she resigned herself to eating yet another solitary meal at her desk. She was tired of prep-unit food, so she called a café at the Trading Center and placed an order to be delivered.

  The door panel chime sounded. She released the lock and smiled as her new Omorr friend bounced in. “Hello, Hkyrim. What brings you to my side of the colony?”

  “I have not seen you for six days, so I made some inquiries. I also intercepted your meal order downstairs.” He placed two food containers on her desk.

  After Hkyrim had learned what Terrans ate, she’d never expected him to agree to dine with her again. “This is so nice of you.”

  “I truly do hate eating by myself. This”—he checked the label—“chef’s salad sounds . . . interesting.” He gave her an uncertain look. “Is it made from real chefs?”

  She grinned. “Afraid not. It’s synpro cut into matchstick shapes—none of which are or remotely resemble a chef—and sprinkled over chopped up botanicals. With the dirt washed off,” she tagged on quickly.

  “I will admit a heartfelt sense of relief to hear that.” He tapped the second container. “I was rude enough to assume you wished some company and brought my meal as well. It is all dead this time.”

  “Hallelujah.” Emily pushed aside the backlogged datawork. “Let’s eat.”

  Sharing the meal was much easier this time. They didn’t concentrate on their different cuisines, but rather each other, and chatted about work and the new acquaintances they had made. Hkyrim spoke of finding friends among the hospital staff who did not mind his occupation, but still found little time to socialize. Emily confessed that she had been too busy working to put much time into friendship starting.

  “I am hopeful that our chief pathologist will request more forensic technicians to supplement the staff,” the Omorr said. “We have had so many procedures to perform that he canceled all of our off-duty days until after the Peace Summit.”

  “I heard about all those mercenaries who were killed,” Emily said. “Are you working on them?”

  Hkyrim nodded. “I had a protracted disagreement with the chief pathologist regarding the cause of death. Most were exposed to a rapid and extreme increase of atmospheric pressure, which was thought to have killed them. It is true that exposure to suddenly increased pressure can create equalization problems, but it is usually a sudden decrease of pressure that is fatal.”

  “I know divers on my homeworld used to suffer from something called ‘the bends’ before re-breathers were invented,” Emily said. “But how does pressure change hurt someone on a ship? I thought the atmospheric equalizers would compensate.”

  The Omorr briefly explained how tissues and blood cells respond to pressure, and the problems air cavities such as the lungs and ear canals present in equalizing. “Even with compensators, people sometimes black out at extreme pressure shifts. The higher the pressure, the more air becomes compressed and harder to breathe. Carbon dioxide levels in the blood rise as well, because exhalation becomes inefficient. But it is too-rapid decompression that causes undissolved blood gases to bubble and block blood vessels.”

  “You don’t think that’s what happened.”

  “No. From the tissue biopsies I’ve performed, I would theorize instead that these males experienced exposure to a toxic substance. I found evidence of well-established gastric and glandular distress, and progressive systemic failure—all of which apparently occurred over a period of several days, not hours.” His gildrells bunched and released in what Emily had learned was an annoyed gesture. “My supervisor dismissed my findings and certified the deaths due to nonequalization of pressure.”

  Absently she caught a round, gleaming cephalopod that his gesture had sent flying and politely returned it to the rim of his container. “What else could have killed them, Hkyrim?”

  He glanced down at the remaining food and then pushed it away. “Emily, I think these men were poisoned.”

  “Poisoned? In the middle of a battle in space?”

  “It would have happened several days before they engaged the planetary patrol. There are several slow-acting substances that can be administered discreetly through air, food, or water sources. The symptoms come on gradually and resemble those of influenza or a bacterial infection: fainting spells, weakness, nausea, and anxiety. Lymph nodes swell and the gastric system responds with vomiting, cramps, and diarrhea.”

  She shuddered. “But if they were all sick, wouldn’t they have noticed? Wouldn’t they have tried to signal for help?”

  “Perhaps; perhaps not. These men are not welcomed on most civilized worlds. Also, the changes in the nervous system that poison causes sometimes induce paranoia and irrational thinking. Adrenaline may have accelerated or masked symptoms, depending on the individual’s level of stress.” He made a frustrated gesture. “I could prove this if the toxicology scans I’ve performed showed a noxious substance or compound, but each test result reads normal. Whatever was used to kill them left no trace behind.”

  “That’s not true,” Emily said, surprising him. “You said there was evidence of problems with their gastric and . . . and some other system—”

  “Lymphatic.”

  “Exactly. If pressure can’t cause that kind of damage, then there’s half of your proof. The other thing would be the poison. You have to find it.”

  “The most coveted poisons break down into ordinary components after the death of the victim. What killed these men appears to be in that category, as I can find no trace of toxins.”

  “You said it was given to them in their air, water, or food, right?” He nodded. “Then you just have to check their ships for trace amounts in the air, water, and food systems, because those things don’t die.” Emily smiled at his wide-eyed look. “We’ve impounded the derelicts from the battle. I just sent the approved datawork over to Transport.”

  Excitement gleamed in his dark eyes. “Would they allow me to board those vessels?”

  “The ships are under quarantine, but medical people happen to be the only ones besides security who are permitted access. You’ll need authorization, though.” She turned to her terminal and punched a few keys before extracting a chip and handing it to him. “There you are. Administrative approval for one Omorr Hkyrim to perform a detailed inspection of the mercenary derelict spacecraft—and pieces thereof—for possible contaminants and pathogens.”

  He examined the chip with wonder. “You can personally approve such things? Just like that?”

  She nodded. “I can also transfer your living quarters, send your annual compensation to your mother, and give you permission to walk without wearing garments through common areas of the colony. You may need some suns screen for that last part. The UV index is pretty high during this part of the revolution to be going around naked.”

  His eyes crinkled in an Omorr�
�s smile. “I had no idea you held a position of such power.”

  “Administrative assistants, Hkyrim, rule the worlds. We just don’t tell anyone that we do to preserve the illusion of order by elected government.” Emily tidied up their containers. “Now I must get some of this work finished. You’ll let me know what you find on those ships?”

  “Absolutely. Tomorrow night, after my shift ends?”

  Emily gave the stack of waiting datawork a rueful pat. “Oh, I’ll be here.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Carada had watched Liana’s punishment from the beginning. She didn’t take pleasure from it, or playing spectator, but her presence seemed necessary to assure the correction did not violate the acceptable limits.

  Liana had nearly reached the final threshold.

  Fokrej, on the other hand, was having more trouble than usual with keeping his twisted libido in check. The little sadist’s perversions made him an effective, if somewhat flawed, tool, but he might soon become a liability. Carada appreciated his talent, which had proved extremely useful in compelling others to do as she wished. She also knew that the puny coward would soon become so depraved that nothing would satisfy him, not even covering himself from snout to flukes with the gore of his victims.

  Carada was still puzzled over some odd, unexpected gaps in her memory. Since coming to K-2, several things had slipped her mind. She felt sure that they were largely unimportant, or she would have remembered them.

  Carada sent Liana to the tank reserved for her personal use, and returned to her own with Fokrej. When they were alone, she isolated the tank from the ship’s communication systems, so that signals could be sent but no one could use the audio to listen in on their conversation.

  At once the interrogator began to whine. Why did you stop me? I had her. He was still tumescent—using the web was love play for him—and extremely agitated. A few more lashes and she would have done anything for me.