Rina stood in the middle of a graveyard. She wanted to run away, but her feet were chained to the ground. All of the graves faced her, they were situated around her in huge concentric circles, growing larger and larger until she couldn't see where they ended. In the circle nearest her were five graves - the five boys, her brothers. She could see their faces peering out at her from beneath the soil, wearing accusing, angry frowns. Just beyond them, in the next circle, she saw her father and Mike and many of her friends and subordinates within the Rebels. They all wore identical expressions of anger and betrayal. Beyond them were more of the Rebels, and people from Refuge, and on and on and on... too many graves to count, all because she had given in. She could almost hear their accusations, and the wind whispering the words, "You killed us... you killed us..."
"I didn't mean to!" she shouted to the world at large. "I tried! I fought for you! I did my best! I'm dying for you!"
Still the accusations didn't stop. Suddenly a chalk-white Arthur rose out of his grave. "How could you do this to me?" he whispered with lips that had once kissed her hand... An elusive memory flitted just out of reach and then disappeared. "I... I thought you truly cared for me. I know I loved you."
"I didn't mean to," she pleaded with him. "Please, I tried..."
"Well it wasn't enough," Heero said firmly, standing on her other side. "Now we're dead because of you. You never were quite strong enough, were you? That's why you needed us. But now we're dead. You would have done better to leave us with the Alliance."
"No, that's not true!" she shouted, but he suddenly turned to stone and then crumbled away to dust.
"Hey, this was a great life," Herc said sarcastically. He was suddenly standing behind her, and Rina had to twist around to look at him as her feet were rooted to the ground. "All sixteen years of it. Do you have any idea on what I missed out on? My entire life, that's what. Thanks for nothing." He slowly faded away.
"I don't think she understands," Michael's voice said in her left ear.
"No," Rina whimpered, trembling. "Please, no more."
"No, that's right, she doesn't," Kan replied, standing on her right side. "She's never understood what we were."
"I think..." Michael said slowly, "That she's even more strange than we are. At least we know who we are... or at least, we knew. She... she's stuck in some sort of limbo, not quite human, but not what our designers planned either. Completely unique and alone, wouldn't you say?'
"I agree. At least we knew what we were, while we were still alive. But you tried to take that away from us, didn't you?" he suddenly growled into her ear.
"No," Rina sobbed.
"Yes," he replied, mocking her. "I think you were so desperate to find anyone else, not to be alone, that you were willing to pull us down with you for that. And you did it." He bowed once more to her, this time mocking her, and then vanished.
"I thought I was helping Arthur, but all the time you were just using us for yourself," Michael said, and then also faded from view.
Now only Arthur's ghost was left. "Why don't you just give up?" he whispered. "You're already too late to save us. Now I can never tell you..." he trailed off and started fading away.
"No, don't go!" she pleaded.
"Why not?" he demanded, suddenly strong and vengeful. "You're the one who killed us, Eight!"
she thought suddenly, and opened her eyes.
She was tied to a chair in a darkened room. She felt weak, that was from lack of food, and her body ached from the daily beatings she still received. The IV that fed drugs into her system was still in place in her arm, and as she watched, Yirtz came out of the shadows, an angry expression on his face. I didn't break, she thought, relief washing over her. I made it through again. She discovered she was still sobbing, still shaking.
"Your resistance is impressive, even for what you are," he said to her. Rina didn't answer him. Because of the training she had given herself and the situation in which she found herself, this particular method of torture was ineffective with her. The idea was to expose the victim to their worst nightmares, to break down their resistance, but since Rina's worst nightmares always stemmed from her betraying everyone around her and causing their deaths, this only strengthened her resolve. It's only a matter of time until they figure that out, though, and move on to other methods. In the last several weeks, as the torture had suddenly intensified, Rina had come to accept the fact that her death was the only chance she had to escape the fate she had hallucinated. But they had yet to give her an opportunity to kill herself. "Under other circumstances you might make a fascinating case study," he commented. "Unfortunately, we do not have the time for that now. Take her back to her room."
As the guards removed the restraints that held her to the chair, Rina almost fell to the floor as her muscles failed to hold her up. "Side effect of the toxin," one said to the other. "She won't be able to move for hours." As always, her arms were sheathed in the metal cuffs and held close together in front of her, so they just grabbed her by the arms and started dragging her back to her room. But this time, they didn't bother to chain her legs. Rina didn't know whether it was because she was growing a tolerance to the drug, or what other reason, but she regained control of her muscles long before she normally did. She kept herself completely limp, though, so as not to tip off the guards, in case there was an opportunity. They'd almost reached her room when they passed another guard at the intersection between two halls, holding a gun - a real gun - in his hands.
As they passed him, Rina suddenly swept her left foot out and tripped up the guard holding her. Regaining her feet, she jerked her arm away from the remaining guard and stepped up to the one with the gun. She could already hear the other two drawing their dart guns as she jerked the gun out of the hands of the guard, and twisted it around to face herself. Because of the awkward position her hands were in, she could barely hold the gun trained on herself, much less aim it. As the first dart hit her back, she pressed the gun against her abdomen and pulled the trigger. Pain blossomed from her stomach as the second dart hit her, and she dropped to the ground, panting heavily. Her breath seemed to come short as she lay there. she thought, and everything went black.
------------
Heero sat in a planning meeting, organizing another strike in the Phoenix's name. He might refuse to take the title, but he was the Phoenix in all but name. No one had protested his leadership in the first few days after Rina was captured, during the frantic scramble to change codes and moves stores, and after that no one asked him to step down. With the other four to help him, the Rebels were working as efficiently as ever, and even making gains against the Alliance. But with Rina missing for more than two months now, all of the feeling of triumph had gone out of it, at least for those who had known her. It was probable that the lower levels of the Rebels never even knew the Phoenix had been captured. A few people noticed the absence of Rina Krace - it was difficult not to, not after the way all of the stations kept showing pictures of her for the first week, but none of them ever connected Rina with the Phoenix.
Everything was relatively normal, when suddenly Arthur gasped and clutched at his stomach. "Rina, no!" he shouted, and collapsed to the floor.
"Arthur!" Both Mike and Michael were instantly up out of their seats, while Heero stood by and stared in shock. This was how it had happened with Rina, many months earlier. Heero felt a moment of panic - Arthur couldn't be sick like that! Arthur was the most like Rina of all of them, and somehow managed to comfort them even when they wouldn't admit they felt anything. They couldn't lose him now!
"It's Rina," he muttered when he came around. "She tried to kill herself."
"How do you know that?" Mike asked.
"I can feel her," Arthur moaned. "Please, Rina, don't die," he murmured to himself. "Don't give up yet."
Michael looked at Heero. "I did some research before, trying to discover why Arthur is so different from the rest of us. On Earth, some people believe in something called empathy."
Heero frowned. "Like understanding another's pain?"
"Yes, but more than that - actually feeling another's pain. Many mothers claim to know instantly when their children are hurt or afraid. I think that Arthur may have some of that gift, or whatever it is, which is why the emotional training didn't work with him. At least, that explains why it didn't. I wouldn't have mentioned it, except for this..." he trailed off, a concerned expression on his face.
"But what good is it to know if someone is hurt if you can't do anything about it?" Kan demanded, angry in his frustration.
"It isn't something you learn," Michael said, also sounding angry. "It just is. Don't you think Arthur would have turned it off if he could, while we were working for the Alliance?"
"So you think that it's true," Heero said. "You think Rina really tried to kill herself?"
"Isn't that what you would do?" Herc asked disapprovingly. Heero started to turn, to yell at Herc something about his behavior that would make him be silent, but he stopped himself. He wasn't going to let any emotions get control of him.
"Yes, I would." He stared at Arthur, who was still lying prone on the floor, muttering to himself. "Do you think she succeeded?"
"Arthur would know that, wouldn't he?" Herc asked. Heero was astounded by how quickly they accepted the impossible claim that Arthur could know things like that, then realized that he was accepting it himself. Arthur always had been different, and since joining the Rebels he'd developed a knack for knowing where they were needed without having any explanation why. Heero had been roused more than once during the night because Arthur wanted to check out something in the colony. More often then not they'd found trouble on the streets. So in a way it wasn't surprising so see Arthur reacting to something he couldn't possibly know about.
The meeting was essentially over, although Rina would disapprove of them halting business on her account. There was no way any of them could concentrate until they found out whether she lived or not.
-------------
"It was a very close thing," Commander Laskin reported. "We barely managed to save her life. Actually, it was the presence of the drugs that did that. They slowed her circulation and respiration so that she didn't die from blood loss before we could get to her. As it was, we had a devil of a time patching her back together, and she never would have survived if she wasn't what she is. She's still very weak - she won't be up to any serious questioning for weeks yet." His expression was mixed, half angry and half admiring. There was also a hint of puzzlement on his face as he reviewed the reports of the last few torture sessions.
"Damn!" Cambel exclaimed. Despite what he had seen of the girl, he'd never expected her to resist torture this long. Yirtz had informed him that he was about to start the girl in the chamber next week, and was certain it would break her. Now they'd have to wait for her to heal.
"Sir, I believe there may be other ways of trying to get inside her mind," Laskin said cautiously.
Cambel oriented on him. "And what would that be?"
"I was liaison between the military branch of the Alliance and the head of the project for several years," Laskin replied. "I've seen quite a good deal of Director Yirtz's creations, and I believe I may have something of interest to tell you about Yirtz and his creations."
"And what is that?" Cambel asked, interested in an outside opinion. He'd known Laskin was involved in the project as liaison, but had been too afraid to ask his opinion of Yirtz. The disgusted looks and comments he kept making were a strong indication of how he felt, but this would be better.
"The way Yirtz regards his creations is flawed for the sort of work he's doing. He acknowledges only what he built into his creations, to the exclusion of all else. One of the boys, designated Four, had a natural gift that could have been a great weapon. He was somewhat like this girl, in that he understood humans. Utilized properly, he could have been as effective and dangerous as any of the others, without ever killing anyone, which he despised."
"A weapon that doesn't like to kill?" Cambel asked doubtfully. Whatever he had expected, this wasn't it.
"Yirtz has a similar attitude," Laskin said calmly, and Cambel stifled a grimace of distaste. "He refused to see that his creations were not entirely of his making, and tried to squash any differences between them. Since Four was the most different, he spent a good part of his time in the chamber, where Yirtz tried to torture the differences out of him. Yirtz had a similar level of success as he is having now with the girl. You see, he didn't create her entirely himself, so he persists in thinking that she must be weaker than his creations as a result. That sort of thinking is innately flawed, and can have disastrous results, as was demonstrated by the loss of Project Titan."
"I've seen the behavior you describe," Cambel admitted. "What would you recommend?"
"Continue the torture when she is healthy enough," Laskin advised. "But in the meantime, try a different approach. Find someone, a psychologist or something, who can understand her and get into her mind. We have to find her weakness before we can exploit it, and we have to understand her first."
"It's a good suggestion," Cambel said thoughtfully. "And what's more, I like it. There's a certain irony that we might be able to use the techniques she used against our boys against her. I'll assign someone to find an appropriate person for the job." He realized that the comments before had very little to do with the suggestion. Laskin had been telling him this for a reason, letting him in on insights into both Yirtz and Project Titan that he'd never had before. But why? Was he trying to warn Cambel about Yirtz, or was it something else?
"If I may suggest, sir," Laskin said, a gleam in his eye. "Why don't you give the job to Yirtz? He won't have anything to do until she's healed, and if he participates in the project, he may learn something useful about himself."
Cambel thought that the reasons Laskin had mentioned, while good, were probably not the ones that had prompted him to suggest Yirtz. But he might as well let Laskin have his fun. He had made some good points. "Do it," he ordered. "I'll sign off on any papers you need. It should be an... educational and humbling experience for Yirtz, don't you think?"
"Yes sir!"
-------------
Dr. Scott Andrews grumbled to himself as he climbed out of the shuttle, then stopped to stare. Of all the places he'd thought he might be headed, the top-secret headquarters of the Alliance was not one of them. He'd been in the middle of a project on Earth, trying to make psychological profiles of possible Rebels there, when all of a sudden he'd been pulled away from his work without any sort of explanation. New orders, that was all they would tell him when he asked what was going on. And now they'd brought him to the headquarters of the Alliance sector in charge of Alpha colony...
Dr. Andrews was a colonist himself, although he hadn't been back to the colonies in almost a year. He'd been a brilliant student, and lucky enough to win one of the few scholarships provided by the Alliance to take the most promising colonists to the better schools on Earth. Once on Earth, he'd fought hard to overcome the stereotypes most Earthlings had of colonists, and graduated at the top of his class. His thesis was written on how genes affected a person's behavior, and how knowledge of those genes also affected people. Once he'd finished with graduate school, the Alliance offered him a position as an officer in their Intelligence Corps. He wasn't entirely comfortable with everything that they did, but understood how it was necessary to maintain order. He'd proven himself excellent at interrogations, but requested and was transferred off that duty, which is how he ended up where he was now, building profiles of possible troublemakers. He didn't have as much power or prestige as he might have had if he'd continued his work interrogating prisoners, but at least this way he could live with himself. Now they only asked him to do interrogations on very-high level prisoners, dangerous criminals who killed without a second thought, and Scott had no problem interrogating them.
So what was he doing on a top-secret base on Centari? The cost alone to get him there was staggering, there had to be a pretty good reason for them to bring him up here. What was it, a high-level prisoner, or did they want him to do the same work on the Rebels up here that he had been doing on Earth?
"Follow me, sir." One of the soldiers who'd brought him here started off at a brisk pace down the hall, forcing Scott to break into a half-trot to keep up with him. He was delivered to a door, undistinguishable from any other, and told to enter on his own. Nervously he pressed the button and the door slid open in front of him. It opened into an office of some sort, richly furnished without seeming opulent. A middle-aged man with red hair and piercing blue eyes sat behind the desk, and standing next to him was a short, somewhat dumpy man wearing glasses and a lab coat, and behind him, a young man with blond hair in a uniform. Scott carefully saluted. "Sir."
"Welcome back to Centari," the man behind the desk said, standing up and extending his hand. "I am Chancellor Cambel, and this is Director Yirtz, who has selected you for this project." He didn't introduce the third man.
"What project is that, sir?" Scott asked, shaking his hand. He didn't even blink over the fact that the man who had introduced himself as the Chancellor was not the man that spoke as the Chancellor on broadcasts. He was familiar with the steps that had to be taken to protect public figures.
"We require your help interrogating a prisoner."
"I haven't done that sort of work in years, sir."
"I realize that, but this is a very important prisoner, and one where your talents may be useful."
"Who is this prisoner?"
"It is not common knowledge yet, but we have managed to capture the Phoenix."
"The Phoenix!" he exclaimed. Even on Earth he'd heard of the Rebel leader who was such a nuisance to the Alliance. He felt a pang of regret that he'd been captured - in several of his communications with his parents they'd been very supportive of the Rebels, despite his attempts to make them stop mentioning such a dangerous topic. "That's wonderful news for the Alliance, sir, but what does that have to do with me?"
"Quite a bit. You wrote your thesis on how genetics affects people's behavior?"
"Yes, sir," he responded, mystified as to what that had to do with anything and why he'd been brought here.
"The Phoenix is not a normal human. She was engineered as a weapon for the Alliance, but escaped some time ago."
"She? The Phoenix is a woman?"
"The Phoenix is a genetically engineered weapon," Director Yirtz corrected him. "It isn't human." The blond man standing beside Yirtz frowned slightly.
"That's why we brought you here. You may be uniquely qualified to tell us how the genetic engineering affected her mind, and how we can use that during her interrogation. You will not be called upon to perform any of the interrogation personally, your only job is to find out more about how the Phoenix's mind operates. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Director Yirtz will provide you with all of the information on the genetic manipulation you need, and with guards, when necessary."
"Guards?"
"The Phoenix is a very dangerous individual - Yirtz will show you a tape later to demonstrate that. Right now she is unable to move, weak because of a failed attempt to commit suicide."
"Suicide!" His professional curiosity was taking over. People who tried to commit suicide were more complicated than most, and more interesting. This added a whole new element to the task they'd set before him.
"Yes, we believe she was attempting to kill herself so that we couldn't break her. She came very close to succeeding, but we managed to save her life. For now you may see her alone, but in a few weeks, unless she is tied down, you will need a guard with you at all times, for your own protection.
"I see."
"We have already arranged for you to have an apartment off-base, if for any reason you need to interview people who should not be brought here, and Director Yirtz will show you to your quarters on base now, and provide you with reading material. You may start questioning the prisoner tomorrow, if you wish."
Scott nodded. "Yes, sir."
Director Yirtz led him out of the office and down several halls. He paused in front of a door with two guards in front of it. "This is where the prisoner is kept. You may view it now for a moment if you wish."
Scott nodded again, uncomfortable with the way Yirtz kept referring to the prisoner as 'it'. Yirtz nodded to the guards, one of whom opened the door. Scott was momentarily blinded by the bright lights in the room, which he identified as a common interrogation technique, then stepped inside. There was a bed in the center of the room, the headboard of which blocked any view he might have had of the occupant. He noticed beside the bed some medical equipment monitoring a heartbeat, and the presence of IV fluids. He walked closer, and stopped short. Lying on the bed was a young girl. She looked to be about fourteen or fifteen, with a peaceful expression on her face. He saw bandages wrapped around her upper arm and stomach. On her lower arms were large metal cuffs, and those were currently attached to the top of the headboard, so that if she woke up she couldn't tamper with the wound.
Scott spun around and ran out the door. He glared accusingly at Yirtz. "You didn't tell me that the prisoner was a child!" he said loudly. "I can't interrogate a child!"
Yirtz frowned. "I don't see why you all insist on referring to it as a child. It isn't a child, has never been a child. It isn't even human."
"It's a little girl!" he practically shouted. "How old is she? Fourteen, fifteen?"
"Actually, it is sixteen years old. And it isn't a little girl - it's a dangerous weapon, and it's the Phoenix. Come along, I'll show you the tape of it's performance."
Unwillingly Scott followed Yirtz away from the girl. Then he saw the tape of her capture, where she cold-bloodedly killed eleven men. "It isn't human," Yirtz repeated, his voice low. "It was designed, just like a gun, to be an efficient killing machine, and now it's turned on us. Many more people will die unless we can figure out what is going on in it's mind. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. I'll do it," Scott replied. Yirtz was right. The girl... the prisoner couldn't be human. No human could do the things he had just seen.
-------------
"So, Commander, what do you think of Dr. Andrews?"
"Is there a problem with him?" Laskin asked, well aware of where this conversation was headed.
"Well, for one thing, he's a colonist."
Laskin kept his expression calm. "He can't have Rebel leanings - he never would have survived so long in the Alliance if he did." It was true, he'd investigated the man himself.
"Oh, he's always been completely loyal, and has had great effect searching out Rebels on Earth, but they've never tried him putting him up against his own people. Besides that, he seems rather inexperienced. You don't think Yirtz would endanger the project by picking someone he knew wouldn't be up to the task?"
Laskin frowned. "No. Unstable as he may be, I can't see him jeopardizing the project just because he feels a little put-out. He knows that success here is paramount to his survival, and he's not one to risk himself. If he picked this doctor, he must have good reason for it." And he did. Laskin had investigated that as well because he didn't trust Yirtz, despite the reasons he'd mentioned. Dr. Andrews was young, but brilliant in his own field. His insights might be invaluable.
Laskin had intended to do this task himself, trying to get into her head, but since his first and only meeting with her, he'd been doubting himself, and double-guessing his instincts. It enraged him that she had no doubt done this to him, with this specific purpose in mind, but the fact remained that he had been tainted, and no longer trusted his own judgments. Andrews would be able to bring an unprejudiced view of her, one that Laskin could check against his own observations. Then they might get somewhere.
"I'm glad to hear it. If you thought that Yirtz had become so unglued as to risk the project because of his own personal problems, I would feel constrained to eliminate him immediately, and he may still have some use. In this case, I think we'll leave the young doctor in place, at least for now."
------------
When Rina finally regained consciousness, the first thing she became aware of was that her stomach hurt. I don't think this is Hell, and it's definitely not Heaven, and it isn't oblivion, either, so I must be still alive. Damn it. Rina opened her eyes and saw that her surmise had been correct - she was still alive, and she felt awful. They must have had one hell of a time saving her.
A feeling of despair washed over her. She had failed to kill herself, and they were obviously determined that she wouldn't have another chance, based on how they'd tied her hands. Now it was only a matter of time until she broke. Maybe it would be enough for the boys to figure out some way to stop the Alliance, to protect Refuge. It was the only thing she had left to hope for.
She heard the whisper-soft sound of the door opening, but couldn't move enough to see who it was. Probably Yirtz come to gloat about her failure. Rina was surprised when a colonist, about thirty years old with a boyish face, walked into her room carrying a chair and a pad to write on. He sat down and stared at her for a minute. Finally she said, "OK, I'll bite, who the hell are you?"
"My name is Dr. Scott Andrews, and I'm here to do a psychological profile on you."
Rina tried to let out a sharp bark of laughter, but cut herself off when the attempt caused sharp pains to shoot through her stomach. "What, they can't torture me for a while so they're going to try psychology?"
He nodded, looking uncomfortable. "That's the most of it."
Rina closed her eyes and thought back. "Andrews, huh? I think I read one of your papers, back when I was trying to decide what I was. It had some decent insights, but most of it was completely routine."
"And what do you know about psychology?" he asked angrily.
"I know enough to get my doctorate degree, if I ever wanted to. My studies weren't as specialized as yours, but they're a lot more useful."
He scribbled furiously on his pad. Rina wondered why the Alliance had picked him to study her - his paper had been excellent, much, much better than she was giving him credit for, but he was a colonist. He was obviously uncomfortable with her, although whether it was fear of the Phoenix or discomfort because he knew what they were doing to her, she wasn't sure. It still didn't make any sense for them to pick him, unless he truly had been converted and had no loyalty whatsoever to the colonies. On the other hand, he was bright enough that they might think it was worth the risk to use him. "You're a colonist," she said, deciding to play this out. Maybe she could find a way to use him herself. "Why are you working for the Alliance against your own people?"
"You mean, why aren't I a killer like you?" he asked in a perfectly normal voice, but Rina caught an edge of anger behind it.
The accusation stung her, just as Mike's accusation had stung so many months earlier. Rina closed her eyes and carefully composed her face. "We're fighting a war here. People die in wars. At least I've never killed innocent women and children."
"And you're saying the Alliance does? Director Yirtz was right, you are nothing more than a weapon who's misfired."
"If you're stupid enough to believe anything he tells you, then you're obviously too stupid to be of any use to the Alliance. I can't imagine why they brought you here," she said, matching his disinterested tone. Then she closed her eyes and refused to speak again.
-----------
The next day he came back, and the one after that. Sometimes she refused to talk to him, sometimes she talked at length, although never about anything useful. Scott grew more and more uncomfortable with his assignment, because the more he talked to her, the more human she seemed. On the few times he could get her to talk about it, he got the impression that she disliked killing. At least, most days she was like that. Other days she described the operations she had planned and told him statistics about the number of people who had died, all things the Alliance already knew, but they served to remind Scott what she really was. Still, he maintained doubts about whether or not she was human, and whether she did or did not enjoy killing. Of course, when he mentioned that to Yirtz, the man said that Scott was allowing himself to be manipulated, that she was created for killing, so how could she hate it. And of course he referred to the Phoenix as 'it'. Whenever Scott had doubts as to what she really was, though, he could replay that tape, watch as all the expression drained from her face and she killed eleven men.
He spoke a few times with the young man who had been present at his interview the first day, and discovered that he was some sort of special investigator. He seemed to be the only one who was interested in his honest opinions about the girl... the Phoenix, and asked some fairly probing questions. But he never gave Scott any indication of whether he approved or disapproved of his observations, so Scott continued on the way he had been, uncertain.
One day, when she seemed to be particularly talkative, he ventured to ask a question that had been in his mind since the first day. "Why did you try to kill yourself?"
She glanced down at the white scar splashed across her stomach - there was little external evidence remaining to show that she'd been shot, although only a few weeks had passed. The doctors said that her insides still looked like a mess, and that still a week or so remained until she was well enough for the interrogation to continue. Then she glanced away. "That's a stupid question," she said in a disapproving tone. "Especially since the answer is so obvious, and everyone here knows it. Ask one of them."
"I want to hear it from you," he said patiently. It wasn't the answer that mattered so much as the way she spoke and whether or not she was going to say it at all.
"Typical," she muttered, and he thought she was going to go silent on him, but she continued to speak. "I tried to kill myself so that they couldn't continue to torture me and get the information in my brain."
"For the survival of the Rebels," he said, making a mental note that whatever had twisted her mind had done it quite well, so that she was completely loyal to the Rebels, even beyond her own life.
"Stop making assumptions."
"So what was it for?" he asked, his tone perfectly neutral, not showing the surprise and curiosity he felt.
"To save lives, and not just of the Rebels."
"Can't you be more specific?"
"I thought we agreed no more stupid questions today."
He sighed. With anyone else, there might have been a chance that he could trick them into revealing something, but she never missed a trick, and he wondered if he'd revealed anything himself without realizing it. The only information he had gotten was about her personality and how her mind worked, which, of course, was his job, but he wished he could do more. He decided to provoke a response. "You always claim to have a great respect for life, for a killer."
"Why do you always insist on calling me that?" she asked in a weary tone, as he had known she would. She hated being called killer, and surprisingly enough, she didn't like being called Phoenix, either. That was a definite contradiction with what he'd been told, and he made a mental note to mention it to his superiors. "What has fixed this image of me in your mind? You're supposed to enter a situation like this with an open mind, and you obviously haven't done that. Bad practice."
The truth of her statement hit him - he usually did try to enter each new case with an open mind and making no assumptions, but that had been impossible here. First he was told that she was the Phoenix, which put a whole set of expectations in his mind, then he saw her as a little girl, and finally as a cold-blooded killer. Three entirely different images in his mind before she even spoke a word. Of course, he also called her killer to get a reaction, but that did match the image in his mind. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then said, "I've seen the video of your capture."
"Oh." She fell silent for a second, then said, "Do you know how many people the Alliance has killed? Do you have any idea what they'd do if they manage... when they manage to get into my head?"
"Don't start on this again," he said disgustedly, and privately wondered what had happened to her mind that her view of the Alliance was so twisted, that she viewed it as a dominating organization rather than a organization that enforced peace. Certainly there had been excesses at times, but becoming a Rebel wasn't the solution. Outright killing was never a solution. In part, Scott had remained with the Alliance as long as he had because he believed that the only good solution when there was a problem with a government was to join that government and affect changes from the inside.
"Fine, I won't." She sighed and tried to shift position, impossible the way she'd been bound to the bed. "It's pointless, as long as you persist in thinking of the Alliance as the good guys. It's ridiculous, really. The guys were less stubborn than you, but then they were smarter than you too."
"That's enough," he said sharply. Information about 'the guys', the other products of Project Titan, might be useful, but it also opened him to charges of conspiracy. It was far too dangerous a topic for too little gain. "We were talking about your capture."
"Fine, we were. Do you want to hear me say that I killed them, or do you want me to deny it, so that you can write down that I'm delusional or a liar?"
"I want the truth," he said calmly. He knew the truth, and he knew that she knew the truth. Her response would be based solely on how she thought that she could affect him the most strongly. This was the sort of thing that could be useful, the things that he passed along to Director Yirtz.
"I can't believe that you're still working for the Alliance," she muttered. "How on Earth do they get so many honest people to work for them? Fine. I killed them, one at a time. There was no accident about it - I could have spared their lives, and I didn't. I deliberately took eleven lives, and I would have taken more if I could." She paused and stared at him, obviously gauging his reaction. "I see you don't like the idea of killing, rather ironic, for a member of the Alliance. Let's take it a step further... Do you want to know how I felt while it was happening?"
"What did you feel?" he asked, trying not to feel sick. She seemed deadly serious and almost cheerful at the same time, and it helped cement the image in his mind of her. A killer who had no sympathy for those she killed, one who felt no remorse, either.
"Absolutely nothing. The Alliance created me well, and even though I didn't undergo the same emotional training as the others, it still affected me. I felt nothing when those men died, no sympathy for them, nothing for the people around me, who had to be terrified. The only thing I was thinking about was how to kill more of them before they caught me. I felt no different than if I had swatted a few bugs, that's how I felt."
Scott just stared at her in absolute horror.
"So, doctor, are you still interested as to why I did it?" her voice was mocking, but he forced himself to nod yes. This could be valuable information, and it was the first time he'd been able to get her to talk this much about herself. It was good, direct information - he couldn't pass up this opportunity.
"There are three reasons actually. The first is that if I let them live, eventually they'll be back on the front lines, trying to kill my people. By eliminating a possible enemy now, I may save some of my people later. Second, it adds to the reputation of the Phoenix, those few who know about me, that I could kill so many people so easily. It may make them hesitate later, and that might also save some of my people. The third reason is also quite simple, when you think of it. I try but I still can't control what I am. I am what the Alliance made me, and that is, quite simply, a killing machine. I was just performing my function." She smiled grimly. "Are you happy now?"
He shot her a look of pure horror and rose to leave. At this point he didn't care if he was giving up an opportunity to learn something, he just wanted to get away from this girl/thing that the Alliance had created.
"Dr. Andrews!" her voice rang out commandingly before he could reach the door.
He turned to look, dreading whatever was coming. "What?"
"Just one more thing for you to think about. If the Alliance's motives are truly good, if the violence is just a case of a little excess, then why was I created?"
"What?" How could she know how he felt about the Alliance's actions?
"I have only one real function, Yirtz has also told you that fact. We were designed to kill. Why would a peaceful Alliance design killing machines with human exteriors and train them as assassins?"
-------------
"Director..." one of the lab aides said quietly. "I think you should listen to the recording of Dr. Andrew's latest interview session."
"I've seen it."
"Well, don't you think we should do something? She... it's obviously trying to turn him against us."
"Let it try. Andrews is very highly rated, and he's never shown any signs of Rebel sympathies."
"He's a colonist, sir, that's evidence enough to pull him off the project if you say so."
"I picked him because his insights have already been invaluable to us. He's identified some problems with our techniques, and now we will be able to correct them. As soon as she's ready to start interrogating again, we'll have a new direction to go in, thanks to him. Unless I see some direct evidence that the Phoenix is having some effect on him, I'm leaving him where he is. Are the braces ready?"
"Yes sir."
"Attach them in a few days, but before she's able to get around on her own. There won't be any more mistakes, is that understood?"
"Yes sir."
------------
Dr. Andrews tried to continue his work as usual, but her words stuck with him. Why would the Alliance create killing machines? It didn't make any sense. He couldn't work up the courage to go back to her room for several days, and the problem was exacerbated, four days later, when he received word that his talks with her would have to be shortened because she had been deemed healthy enough to continue interrogation. As soon as he received that news, he went to her room.
She was sitting up in bed, her hands resting on her lap, the lower part of her body hidden from view by the headboard at the end of the bed. She'd managed to move herself so that she was facing him. "I just received word," he told her. "Your interrogation resumes tomorrow."
"Lets not be euphemistic," she said wearily, staring at the bed in front of her. "It's torture. Interrogation is when they ask you questions, torture is when they do things to your mind and body to force you to answer those questions."
He wanted to tell her that it wasn't like that, that the Alliance wouldn't do that, but he knew it wasn't true. So he remained silent, and walked a few steps into the room. "Why don't you tell them what they want to know?" he suggested softly. "Then they wouldn't..."
"Wouldn't what?" she cut him off softly. "Destroy the few people in the colony with the will to resist their total control? Kill them, or worse, keep them as slave labor? Do you think they won't do the same to me, either keep me as slave labor, or test me to see what went wrong with their project and then kill me? Don't be ridiculous. Every day I resist is one more day for them to prepare for the worst."
He took a few steps closer and froze. There was some sort of wire frame around the bottom of each of her legs, starting just below the knee and extending several centimeters beyond her toes. The frames apparently held her feet in a pointed position, but he couldn't see what other purpose they might serve.
She saw him looking at her legs. "They locked these on me yesterday," she said. "They don't want to take any chances that I might try to kill myself again. They figure if I can't run or even stand up, I can't possibly fight. These things are a lot heavier then they look. I can, with difficulty," her voice became strained as she grabbed one of the frames with both hands and pulled at it, "lift one leg at a time to shift position, but I could never move both at the same time. I suppose I should be grateful they didn't just amputate my legs, but that only proves they're planning to do tests on me after I break. I'd rather they had cut them off then help them later." She stared silently at her legs.
"Phoenix, I... I'm sorry," he said, also staring at them.
She turned to look at him. "Dr. Andrews, you're really a decent person, you just have some incorrect views of the Alliance, and I don't think I'm going to have time to correct them. It makes it impossible for me to ever really want to help you, but you remind me of someone else I know, so I'm going to give you some advice. Get out of here. Get out of the Alliance. Get back down to Earth and start teaching there, or something. People like you aren't going to last very long in the Alliance."
"You know I can't do that."
"I knew you'd say that," she said with a sigh, leaning back against a pillow. "Which is why I gave you the advice. You are my enemy after all." She closed her eyes, and he realized that she'd said all she was going to say, and nothing he could do would make her say anything else. It was that silence that Yirtz and the others were trying to break, and he suddenly realized that he couldn't help them with that, not after this. He turned and walked out of the room. He could request some time in Alpha colony, time for him to rest and think, to decide what he was going to do now, whether he really could take that girl's advice. And he had some questions he wanted to ask.
"I didn't mean to!" she shouted to the world at large. "I tried! I fought for you! I did my best! I'm dying for you!"
Still the accusations didn't stop. Suddenly a chalk-white Arthur rose out of his grave. "How could you do this to me?" he whispered with lips that had once kissed her hand... An elusive memory flitted just out of reach and then disappeared. "I... I thought you truly cared for me. I know I loved you."
"I didn't mean to," she pleaded with him. "Please, I tried..."
"Well it wasn't enough," Heero said firmly, standing on her other side. "Now we're dead because of you. You never were quite strong enough, were you? That's why you needed us. But now we're dead. You would have done better to leave us with the Alliance."
"No, that's not true!" she shouted, but he suddenly turned to stone and then crumbled away to dust.
"Hey, this was a great life," Herc said sarcastically. He was suddenly standing behind her, and Rina had to twist around to look at him as her feet were rooted to the ground. "All sixteen years of it. Do you have any idea on what I missed out on? My entire life, that's what. Thanks for nothing." He slowly faded away.
"I don't think she understands," Michael's voice said in her left ear.
"No," Rina whimpered, trembling. "Please, no more."
"No, that's right, she doesn't," Kan replied, standing on her right side. "She's never understood what we were."
"I think..." Michael said slowly, "That she's even more strange than we are. At least we know who we are... or at least, we knew. She... she's stuck in some sort of limbo, not quite human, but not what our designers planned either. Completely unique and alone, wouldn't you say?'
"I agree. At least we knew what we were, while we were still alive. But you tried to take that away from us, didn't you?" he suddenly growled into her ear.
"No," Rina sobbed.
"Yes," he replied, mocking her. "I think you were so desperate to find anyone else, not to be alone, that you were willing to pull us down with you for that. And you did it." He bowed once more to her, this time mocking her, and then vanished.
"I thought I was helping Arthur, but all the time you were just using us for yourself," Michael said, and then also faded from view.
Now only Arthur's ghost was left. "Why don't you just give up?" he whispered. "You're already too late to save us. Now I can never tell you..." he trailed off and started fading away.
"No, don't go!" she pleaded.
"Why not?" he demanded, suddenly strong and vengeful. "You're the one who killed us, Eight!"
she thought suddenly, and opened her eyes.
She was tied to a chair in a darkened room. She felt weak, that was from lack of food, and her body ached from the daily beatings she still received. The IV that fed drugs into her system was still in place in her arm, and as she watched, Yirtz came out of the shadows, an angry expression on his face. I didn't break, she thought, relief washing over her. I made it through again. She discovered she was still sobbing, still shaking.
"Your resistance is impressive, even for what you are," he said to her. Rina didn't answer him. Because of the training she had given herself and the situation in which she found herself, this particular method of torture was ineffective with her. The idea was to expose the victim to their worst nightmares, to break down their resistance, but since Rina's worst nightmares always stemmed from her betraying everyone around her and causing their deaths, this only strengthened her resolve. It's only a matter of time until they figure that out, though, and move on to other methods. In the last several weeks, as the torture had suddenly intensified, Rina had come to accept the fact that her death was the only chance she had to escape the fate she had hallucinated. But they had yet to give her an opportunity to kill herself. "Under other circumstances you might make a fascinating case study," he commented. "Unfortunately, we do not have the time for that now. Take her back to her room."
As the guards removed the restraints that held her to the chair, Rina almost fell to the floor as her muscles failed to hold her up. "Side effect of the toxin," one said to the other. "She won't be able to move for hours." As always, her arms were sheathed in the metal cuffs and held close together in front of her, so they just grabbed her by the arms and started dragging her back to her room. But this time, they didn't bother to chain her legs. Rina didn't know whether it was because she was growing a tolerance to the drug, or what other reason, but she regained control of her muscles long before she normally did. She kept herself completely limp, though, so as not to tip off the guards, in case there was an opportunity. They'd almost reached her room when they passed another guard at the intersection between two halls, holding a gun - a real gun - in his hands.
As they passed him, Rina suddenly swept her left foot out and tripped up the guard holding her. Regaining her feet, she jerked her arm away from the remaining guard and stepped up to the one with the gun. She could already hear the other two drawing their dart guns as she jerked the gun out of the hands of the guard, and twisted it around to face herself. Because of the awkward position her hands were in, she could barely hold the gun trained on herself, much less aim it. As the first dart hit her back, she pressed the gun against her abdomen and pulled the trigger. Pain blossomed from her stomach as the second dart hit her, and she dropped to the ground, panting heavily. Her breath seemed to come short as she lay there. she thought, and everything went black.
------------
Heero sat in a planning meeting, organizing another strike in the Phoenix's name. He might refuse to take the title, but he was the Phoenix in all but name. No one had protested his leadership in the first few days after Rina was captured, during the frantic scramble to change codes and moves stores, and after that no one asked him to step down. With the other four to help him, the Rebels were working as efficiently as ever, and even making gains against the Alliance. But with Rina missing for more than two months now, all of the feeling of triumph had gone out of it, at least for those who had known her. It was probable that the lower levels of the Rebels never even knew the Phoenix had been captured. A few people noticed the absence of Rina Krace - it was difficult not to, not after the way all of the stations kept showing pictures of her for the first week, but none of them ever connected Rina with the Phoenix.
Everything was relatively normal, when suddenly Arthur gasped and clutched at his stomach. "Rina, no!" he shouted, and collapsed to the floor.
"Arthur!" Both Mike and Michael were instantly up out of their seats, while Heero stood by and stared in shock. This was how it had happened with Rina, many months earlier. Heero felt a moment of panic - Arthur couldn't be sick like that! Arthur was the most like Rina of all of them, and somehow managed to comfort them even when they wouldn't admit they felt anything. They couldn't lose him now!
"It's Rina," he muttered when he came around. "She tried to kill herself."
"How do you know that?" Mike asked.
"I can feel her," Arthur moaned. "Please, Rina, don't die," he murmured to himself. "Don't give up yet."
Michael looked at Heero. "I did some research before, trying to discover why Arthur is so different from the rest of us. On Earth, some people believe in something called empathy."
Heero frowned. "Like understanding another's pain?"
"Yes, but more than that - actually feeling another's pain. Many mothers claim to know instantly when their children are hurt or afraid. I think that Arthur may have some of that gift, or whatever it is, which is why the emotional training didn't work with him. At least, that explains why it didn't. I wouldn't have mentioned it, except for this..." he trailed off, a concerned expression on his face.
"But what good is it to know if someone is hurt if you can't do anything about it?" Kan demanded, angry in his frustration.
"It isn't something you learn," Michael said, also sounding angry. "It just is. Don't you think Arthur would have turned it off if he could, while we were working for the Alliance?"
"So you think that it's true," Heero said. "You think Rina really tried to kill herself?"
"Isn't that what you would do?" Herc asked disapprovingly. Heero started to turn, to yell at Herc something about his behavior that would make him be silent, but he stopped himself. He wasn't going to let any emotions get control of him.
"Yes, I would." He stared at Arthur, who was still lying prone on the floor, muttering to himself. "Do you think she succeeded?"
"Arthur would know that, wouldn't he?" Herc asked. Heero was astounded by how quickly they accepted the impossible claim that Arthur could know things like that, then realized that he was accepting it himself. Arthur always had been different, and since joining the Rebels he'd developed a knack for knowing where they were needed without having any explanation why. Heero had been roused more than once during the night because Arthur wanted to check out something in the colony. More often then not they'd found trouble on the streets. So in a way it wasn't surprising so see Arthur reacting to something he couldn't possibly know about.
The meeting was essentially over, although Rina would disapprove of them halting business on her account. There was no way any of them could concentrate until they found out whether she lived or not.
-------------
"It was a very close thing," Commander Laskin reported. "We barely managed to save her life. Actually, it was the presence of the drugs that did that. They slowed her circulation and respiration so that she didn't die from blood loss before we could get to her. As it was, we had a devil of a time patching her back together, and she never would have survived if she wasn't what she is. She's still very weak - she won't be up to any serious questioning for weeks yet." His expression was mixed, half angry and half admiring. There was also a hint of puzzlement on his face as he reviewed the reports of the last few torture sessions.
"Damn!" Cambel exclaimed. Despite what he had seen of the girl, he'd never expected her to resist torture this long. Yirtz had informed him that he was about to start the girl in the chamber next week, and was certain it would break her. Now they'd have to wait for her to heal.
"Sir, I believe there may be other ways of trying to get inside her mind," Laskin said cautiously.
Cambel oriented on him. "And what would that be?"
"I was liaison between the military branch of the Alliance and the head of the project for several years," Laskin replied. "I've seen quite a good deal of Director Yirtz's creations, and I believe I may have something of interest to tell you about Yirtz and his creations."
"And what is that?" Cambel asked, interested in an outside opinion. He'd known Laskin was involved in the project as liaison, but had been too afraid to ask his opinion of Yirtz. The disgusted looks and comments he kept making were a strong indication of how he felt, but this would be better.
"The way Yirtz regards his creations is flawed for the sort of work he's doing. He acknowledges only what he built into his creations, to the exclusion of all else. One of the boys, designated Four, had a natural gift that could have been a great weapon. He was somewhat like this girl, in that he understood humans. Utilized properly, he could have been as effective and dangerous as any of the others, without ever killing anyone, which he despised."
"A weapon that doesn't like to kill?" Cambel asked doubtfully. Whatever he had expected, this wasn't it.
"Yirtz has a similar attitude," Laskin said calmly, and Cambel stifled a grimace of distaste. "He refused to see that his creations were not entirely of his making, and tried to squash any differences between them. Since Four was the most different, he spent a good part of his time in the chamber, where Yirtz tried to torture the differences out of him. Yirtz had a similar level of success as he is having now with the girl. You see, he didn't create her entirely himself, so he persists in thinking that she must be weaker than his creations as a result. That sort of thinking is innately flawed, and can have disastrous results, as was demonstrated by the loss of Project Titan."
"I've seen the behavior you describe," Cambel admitted. "What would you recommend?"
"Continue the torture when she is healthy enough," Laskin advised. "But in the meantime, try a different approach. Find someone, a psychologist or something, who can understand her and get into her mind. We have to find her weakness before we can exploit it, and we have to understand her first."
"It's a good suggestion," Cambel said thoughtfully. "And what's more, I like it. There's a certain irony that we might be able to use the techniques she used against our boys against her. I'll assign someone to find an appropriate person for the job." He realized that the comments before had very little to do with the suggestion. Laskin had been telling him this for a reason, letting him in on insights into both Yirtz and Project Titan that he'd never had before. But why? Was he trying to warn Cambel about Yirtz, or was it something else?
"If I may suggest, sir," Laskin said, a gleam in his eye. "Why don't you give the job to Yirtz? He won't have anything to do until she's healed, and if he participates in the project, he may learn something useful about himself."
Cambel thought that the reasons Laskin had mentioned, while good, were probably not the ones that had prompted him to suggest Yirtz. But he might as well let Laskin have his fun. He had made some good points. "Do it," he ordered. "I'll sign off on any papers you need. It should be an... educational and humbling experience for Yirtz, don't you think?"
"Yes sir!"
-------------
Dr. Scott Andrews grumbled to himself as he climbed out of the shuttle, then stopped to stare. Of all the places he'd thought he might be headed, the top-secret headquarters of the Alliance was not one of them. He'd been in the middle of a project on Earth, trying to make psychological profiles of possible Rebels there, when all of a sudden he'd been pulled away from his work without any sort of explanation. New orders, that was all they would tell him when he asked what was going on. And now they'd brought him to the headquarters of the Alliance sector in charge of Alpha colony...
Dr. Andrews was a colonist himself, although he hadn't been back to the colonies in almost a year. He'd been a brilliant student, and lucky enough to win one of the few scholarships provided by the Alliance to take the most promising colonists to the better schools on Earth. Once on Earth, he'd fought hard to overcome the stereotypes most Earthlings had of colonists, and graduated at the top of his class. His thesis was written on how genes affected a person's behavior, and how knowledge of those genes also affected people. Once he'd finished with graduate school, the Alliance offered him a position as an officer in their Intelligence Corps. He wasn't entirely comfortable with everything that they did, but understood how it was necessary to maintain order. He'd proven himself excellent at interrogations, but requested and was transferred off that duty, which is how he ended up where he was now, building profiles of possible troublemakers. He didn't have as much power or prestige as he might have had if he'd continued his work interrogating prisoners, but at least this way he could live with himself. Now they only asked him to do interrogations on very-high level prisoners, dangerous criminals who killed without a second thought, and Scott had no problem interrogating them.
So what was he doing on a top-secret base on Centari? The cost alone to get him there was staggering, there had to be a pretty good reason for them to bring him up here. What was it, a high-level prisoner, or did they want him to do the same work on the Rebels up here that he had been doing on Earth?
"Follow me, sir." One of the soldiers who'd brought him here started off at a brisk pace down the hall, forcing Scott to break into a half-trot to keep up with him. He was delivered to a door, undistinguishable from any other, and told to enter on his own. Nervously he pressed the button and the door slid open in front of him. It opened into an office of some sort, richly furnished without seeming opulent. A middle-aged man with red hair and piercing blue eyes sat behind the desk, and standing next to him was a short, somewhat dumpy man wearing glasses and a lab coat, and behind him, a young man with blond hair in a uniform. Scott carefully saluted. "Sir."
"Welcome back to Centari," the man behind the desk said, standing up and extending his hand. "I am Chancellor Cambel, and this is Director Yirtz, who has selected you for this project." He didn't introduce the third man.
"What project is that, sir?" Scott asked, shaking his hand. He didn't even blink over the fact that the man who had introduced himself as the Chancellor was not the man that spoke as the Chancellor on broadcasts. He was familiar with the steps that had to be taken to protect public figures.
"We require your help interrogating a prisoner."
"I haven't done that sort of work in years, sir."
"I realize that, but this is a very important prisoner, and one where your talents may be useful."
"Who is this prisoner?"
"It is not common knowledge yet, but we have managed to capture the Phoenix."
"The Phoenix!" he exclaimed. Even on Earth he'd heard of the Rebel leader who was such a nuisance to the Alliance. He felt a pang of regret that he'd been captured - in several of his communications with his parents they'd been very supportive of the Rebels, despite his attempts to make them stop mentioning such a dangerous topic. "That's wonderful news for the Alliance, sir, but what does that have to do with me?"
"Quite a bit. You wrote your thesis on how genetics affects people's behavior?"
"Yes, sir," he responded, mystified as to what that had to do with anything and why he'd been brought here.
"The Phoenix is not a normal human. She was engineered as a weapon for the Alliance, but escaped some time ago."
"She? The Phoenix is a woman?"
"The Phoenix is a genetically engineered weapon," Director Yirtz corrected him. "It isn't human." The blond man standing beside Yirtz frowned slightly.
"That's why we brought you here. You may be uniquely qualified to tell us how the genetic engineering affected her mind, and how we can use that during her interrogation. You will not be called upon to perform any of the interrogation personally, your only job is to find out more about how the Phoenix's mind operates. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Director Yirtz will provide you with all of the information on the genetic manipulation you need, and with guards, when necessary."
"Guards?"
"The Phoenix is a very dangerous individual - Yirtz will show you a tape later to demonstrate that. Right now she is unable to move, weak because of a failed attempt to commit suicide."
"Suicide!" His professional curiosity was taking over. People who tried to commit suicide were more complicated than most, and more interesting. This added a whole new element to the task they'd set before him.
"Yes, we believe she was attempting to kill herself so that we couldn't break her. She came very close to succeeding, but we managed to save her life. For now you may see her alone, but in a few weeks, unless she is tied down, you will need a guard with you at all times, for your own protection.
"I see."
"We have already arranged for you to have an apartment off-base, if for any reason you need to interview people who should not be brought here, and Director Yirtz will show you to your quarters on base now, and provide you with reading material. You may start questioning the prisoner tomorrow, if you wish."
Scott nodded. "Yes, sir."
Director Yirtz led him out of the office and down several halls. He paused in front of a door with two guards in front of it. "This is where the prisoner is kept. You may view it now for a moment if you wish."
Scott nodded again, uncomfortable with the way Yirtz kept referring to the prisoner as 'it'. Yirtz nodded to the guards, one of whom opened the door. Scott was momentarily blinded by the bright lights in the room, which he identified as a common interrogation technique, then stepped inside. There was a bed in the center of the room, the headboard of which blocked any view he might have had of the occupant. He noticed beside the bed some medical equipment monitoring a heartbeat, and the presence of IV fluids. He walked closer, and stopped short. Lying on the bed was a young girl. She looked to be about fourteen or fifteen, with a peaceful expression on her face. He saw bandages wrapped around her upper arm and stomach. On her lower arms were large metal cuffs, and those were currently attached to the top of the headboard, so that if she woke up she couldn't tamper with the wound.
Scott spun around and ran out the door. He glared accusingly at Yirtz. "You didn't tell me that the prisoner was a child!" he said loudly. "I can't interrogate a child!"
Yirtz frowned. "I don't see why you all insist on referring to it as a child. It isn't a child, has never been a child. It isn't even human."
"It's a little girl!" he practically shouted. "How old is she? Fourteen, fifteen?"
"Actually, it is sixteen years old. And it isn't a little girl - it's a dangerous weapon, and it's the Phoenix. Come along, I'll show you the tape of it's performance."
Unwillingly Scott followed Yirtz away from the girl. Then he saw the tape of her capture, where she cold-bloodedly killed eleven men. "It isn't human," Yirtz repeated, his voice low. "It was designed, just like a gun, to be an efficient killing machine, and now it's turned on us. Many more people will die unless we can figure out what is going on in it's mind. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. I'll do it," Scott replied. Yirtz was right. The girl... the prisoner couldn't be human. No human could do the things he had just seen.
-------------
"So, Commander, what do you think of Dr. Andrews?"
"Is there a problem with him?" Laskin asked, well aware of where this conversation was headed.
"Well, for one thing, he's a colonist."
Laskin kept his expression calm. "He can't have Rebel leanings - he never would have survived so long in the Alliance if he did." It was true, he'd investigated the man himself.
"Oh, he's always been completely loyal, and has had great effect searching out Rebels on Earth, but they've never tried him putting him up against his own people. Besides that, he seems rather inexperienced. You don't think Yirtz would endanger the project by picking someone he knew wouldn't be up to the task?"
Laskin frowned. "No. Unstable as he may be, I can't see him jeopardizing the project just because he feels a little put-out. He knows that success here is paramount to his survival, and he's not one to risk himself. If he picked this doctor, he must have good reason for it." And he did. Laskin had investigated that as well because he didn't trust Yirtz, despite the reasons he'd mentioned. Dr. Andrews was young, but brilliant in his own field. His insights might be invaluable.
Laskin had intended to do this task himself, trying to get into her head, but since his first and only meeting with her, he'd been doubting himself, and double-guessing his instincts. It enraged him that she had no doubt done this to him, with this specific purpose in mind, but the fact remained that he had been tainted, and no longer trusted his own judgments. Andrews would be able to bring an unprejudiced view of her, one that Laskin could check against his own observations. Then they might get somewhere.
"I'm glad to hear it. If you thought that Yirtz had become so unglued as to risk the project because of his own personal problems, I would feel constrained to eliminate him immediately, and he may still have some use. In this case, I think we'll leave the young doctor in place, at least for now."
------------
When Rina finally regained consciousness, the first thing she became aware of was that her stomach hurt. I don't think this is Hell, and it's definitely not Heaven, and it isn't oblivion, either, so I must be still alive. Damn it. Rina opened her eyes and saw that her surmise had been correct - she was still alive, and she felt awful. They must have had one hell of a time saving her.
A feeling of despair washed over her. She had failed to kill herself, and they were obviously determined that she wouldn't have another chance, based on how they'd tied her hands. Now it was only a matter of time until she broke. Maybe it would be enough for the boys to figure out some way to stop the Alliance, to protect Refuge. It was the only thing she had left to hope for.
She heard the whisper-soft sound of the door opening, but couldn't move enough to see who it was. Probably Yirtz come to gloat about her failure. Rina was surprised when a colonist, about thirty years old with a boyish face, walked into her room carrying a chair and a pad to write on. He sat down and stared at her for a minute. Finally she said, "OK, I'll bite, who the hell are you?"
"My name is Dr. Scott Andrews, and I'm here to do a psychological profile on you."
Rina tried to let out a sharp bark of laughter, but cut herself off when the attempt caused sharp pains to shoot through her stomach. "What, they can't torture me for a while so they're going to try psychology?"
He nodded, looking uncomfortable. "That's the most of it."
Rina closed her eyes and thought back. "Andrews, huh? I think I read one of your papers, back when I was trying to decide what I was. It had some decent insights, but most of it was completely routine."
"And what do you know about psychology?" he asked angrily.
"I know enough to get my doctorate degree, if I ever wanted to. My studies weren't as specialized as yours, but they're a lot more useful."
He scribbled furiously on his pad. Rina wondered why the Alliance had picked him to study her - his paper had been excellent, much, much better than she was giving him credit for, but he was a colonist. He was obviously uncomfortable with her, although whether it was fear of the Phoenix or discomfort because he knew what they were doing to her, she wasn't sure. It still didn't make any sense for them to pick him, unless he truly had been converted and had no loyalty whatsoever to the colonies. On the other hand, he was bright enough that they might think it was worth the risk to use him. "You're a colonist," she said, deciding to play this out. Maybe she could find a way to use him herself. "Why are you working for the Alliance against your own people?"
"You mean, why aren't I a killer like you?" he asked in a perfectly normal voice, but Rina caught an edge of anger behind it.
The accusation stung her, just as Mike's accusation had stung so many months earlier. Rina closed her eyes and carefully composed her face. "We're fighting a war here. People die in wars. At least I've never killed innocent women and children."
"And you're saying the Alliance does? Director Yirtz was right, you are nothing more than a weapon who's misfired."
"If you're stupid enough to believe anything he tells you, then you're obviously too stupid to be of any use to the Alliance. I can't imagine why they brought you here," she said, matching his disinterested tone. Then she closed her eyes and refused to speak again.
-----------
The next day he came back, and the one after that. Sometimes she refused to talk to him, sometimes she talked at length, although never about anything useful. Scott grew more and more uncomfortable with his assignment, because the more he talked to her, the more human she seemed. On the few times he could get her to talk about it, he got the impression that she disliked killing. At least, most days she was like that. Other days she described the operations she had planned and told him statistics about the number of people who had died, all things the Alliance already knew, but they served to remind Scott what she really was. Still, he maintained doubts about whether or not she was human, and whether she did or did not enjoy killing. Of course, when he mentioned that to Yirtz, the man said that Scott was allowing himself to be manipulated, that she was created for killing, so how could she hate it. And of course he referred to the Phoenix as 'it'. Whenever Scott had doubts as to what she really was, though, he could replay that tape, watch as all the expression drained from her face and she killed eleven men.
He spoke a few times with the young man who had been present at his interview the first day, and discovered that he was some sort of special investigator. He seemed to be the only one who was interested in his honest opinions about the girl... the Phoenix, and asked some fairly probing questions. But he never gave Scott any indication of whether he approved or disapproved of his observations, so Scott continued on the way he had been, uncertain.
One day, when she seemed to be particularly talkative, he ventured to ask a question that had been in his mind since the first day. "Why did you try to kill yourself?"
She glanced down at the white scar splashed across her stomach - there was little external evidence remaining to show that she'd been shot, although only a few weeks had passed. The doctors said that her insides still looked like a mess, and that still a week or so remained until she was well enough for the interrogation to continue. Then she glanced away. "That's a stupid question," she said in a disapproving tone. "Especially since the answer is so obvious, and everyone here knows it. Ask one of them."
"I want to hear it from you," he said patiently. It wasn't the answer that mattered so much as the way she spoke and whether or not she was going to say it at all.
"Typical," she muttered, and he thought she was going to go silent on him, but she continued to speak. "I tried to kill myself so that they couldn't continue to torture me and get the information in my brain."
"For the survival of the Rebels," he said, making a mental note that whatever had twisted her mind had done it quite well, so that she was completely loyal to the Rebels, even beyond her own life.
"Stop making assumptions."
"So what was it for?" he asked, his tone perfectly neutral, not showing the surprise and curiosity he felt.
"To save lives, and not just of the Rebels."
"Can't you be more specific?"
"I thought we agreed no more stupid questions today."
He sighed. With anyone else, there might have been a chance that he could trick them into revealing something, but she never missed a trick, and he wondered if he'd revealed anything himself without realizing it. The only information he had gotten was about her personality and how her mind worked, which, of course, was his job, but he wished he could do more. He decided to provoke a response. "You always claim to have a great respect for life, for a killer."
"Why do you always insist on calling me that?" she asked in a weary tone, as he had known she would. She hated being called killer, and surprisingly enough, she didn't like being called Phoenix, either. That was a definite contradiction with what he'd been told, and he made a mental note to mention it to his superiors. "What has fixed this image of me in your mind? You're supposed to enter a situation like this with an open mind, and you obviously haven't done that. Bad practice."
The truth of her statement hit him - he usually did try to enter each new case with an open mind and making no assumptions, but that had been impossible here. First he was told that she was the Phoenix, which put a whole set of expectations in his mind, then he saw her as a little girl, and finally as a cold-blooded killer. Three entirely different images in his mind before she even spoke a word. Of course, he also called her killer to get a reaction, but that did match the image in his mind. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, then said, "I've seen the video of your capture."
"Oh." She fell silent for a second, then said, "Do you know how many people the Alliance has killed? Do you have any idea what they'd do if they manage... when they manage to get into my head?"
"Don't start on this again," he said disgustedly, and privately wondered what had happened to her mind that her view of the Alliance was so twisted, that she viewed it as a dominating organization rather than a organization that enforced peace. Certainly there had been excesses at times, but becoming a Rebel wasn't the solution. Outright killing was never a solution. In part, Scott had remained with the Alliance as long as he had because he believed that the only good solution when there was a problem with a government was to join that government and affect changes from the inside.
"Fine, I won't." She sighed and tried to shift position, impossible the way she'd been bound to the bed. "It's pointless, as long as you persist in thinking of the Alliance as the good guys. It's ridiculous, really. The guys were less stubborn than you, but then they were smarter than you too."
"That's enough," he said sharply. Information about 'the guys', the other products of Project Titan, might be useful, but it also opened him to charges of conspiracy. It was far too dangerous a topic for too little gain. "We were talking about your capture."
"Fine, we were. Do you want to hear me say that I killed them, or do you want me to deny it, so that you can write down that I'm delusional or a liar?"
"I want the truth," he said calmly. He knew the truth, and he knew that she knew the truth. Her response would be based solely on how she thought that she could affect him the most strongly. This was the sort of thing that could be useful, the things that he passed along to Director Yirtz.
"I can't believe that you're still working for the Alliance," she muttered. "How on Earth do they get so many honest people to work for them? Fine. I killed them, one at a time. There was no accident about it - I could have spared their lives, and I didn't. I deliberately took eleven lives, and I would have taken more if I could." She paused and stared at him, obviously gauging his reaction. "I see you don't like the idea of killing, rather ironic, for a member of the Alliance. Let's take it a step further... Do you want to know how I felt while it was happening?"
"What did you feel?" he asked, trying not to feel sick. She seemed deadly serious and almost cheerful at the same time, and it helped cement the image in his mind of her. A killer who had no sympathy for those she killed, one who felt no remorse, either.
"Absolutely nothing. The Alliance created me well, and even though I didn't undergo the same emotional training as the others, it still affected me. I felt nothing when those men died, no sympathy for them, nothing for the people around me, who had to be terrified. The only thing I was thinking about was how to kill more of them before they caught me. I felt no different than if I had swatted a few bugs, that's how I felt."
Scott just stared at her in absolute horror.
"So, doctor, are you still interested as to why I did it?" her voice was mocking, but he forced himself to nod yes. This could be valuable information, and it was the first time he'd been able to get her to talk this much about herself. It was good, direct information - he couldn't pass up this opportunity.
"There are three reasons actually. The first is that if I let them live, eventually they'll be back on the front lines, trying to kill my people. By eliminating a possible enemy now, I may save some of my people later. Second, it adds to the reputation of the Phoenix, those few who know about me, that I could kill so many people so easily. It may make them hesitate later, and that might also save some of my people. The third reason is also quite simple, when you think of it. I try but I still can't control what I am. I am what the Alliance made me, and that is, quite simply, a killing machine. I was just performing my function." She smiled grimly. "Are you happy now?"
He shot her a look of pure horror and rose to leave. At this point he didn't care if he was giving up an opportunity to learn something, he just wanted to get away from this girl/thing that the Alliance had created.
"Dr. Andrews!" her voice rang out commandingly before he could reach the door.
He turned to look, dreading whatever was coming. "What?"
"Just one more thing for you to think about. If the Alliance's motives are truly good, if the violence is just a case of a little excess, then why was I created?"
"What?" How could she know how he felt about the Alliance's actions?
"I have only one real function, Yirtz has also told you that fact. We were designed to kill. Why would a peaceful Alliance design killing machines with human exteriors and train them as assassins?"
-------------
"Director..." one of the lab aides said quietly. "I think you should listen to the recording of Dr. Andrew's latest interview session."
"I've seen it."
"Well, don't you think we should do something? She... it's obviously trying to turn him against us."
"Let it try. Andrews is very highly rated, and he's never shown any signs of Rebel sympathies."
"He's a colonist, sir, that's evidence enough to pull him off the project if you say so."
"I picked him because his insights have already been invaluable to us. He's identified some problems with our techniques, and now we will be able to correct them. As soon as she's ready to start interrogating again, we'll have a new direction to go in, thanks to him. Unless I see some direct evidence that the Phoenix is having some effect on him, I'm leaving him where he is. Are the braces ready?"
"Yes sir."
"Attach them in a few days, but before she's able to get around on her own. There won't be any more mistakes, is that understood?"
"Yes sir."
------------
Dr. Andrews tried to continue his work as usual, but her words stuck with him. Why would the Alliance create killing machines? It didn't make any sense. He couldn't work up the courage to go back to her room for several days, and the problem was exacerbated, four days later, when he received word that his talks with her would have to be shortened because she had been deemed healthy enough to continue interrogation. As soon as he received that news, he went to her room.
She was sitting up in bed, her hands resting on her lap, the lower part of her body hidden from view by the headboard at the end of the bed. She'd managed to move herself so that she was facing him. "I just received word," he told her. "Your interrogation resumes tomorrow."
"Lets not be euphemistic," she said wearily, staring at the bed in front of her. "It's torture. Interrogation is when they ask you questions, torture is when they do things to your mind and body to force you to answer those questions."
He wanted to tell her that it wasn't like that, that the Alliance wouldn't do that, but he knew it wasn't true. So he remained silent, and walked a few steps into the room. "Why don't you tell them what they want to know?" he suggested softly. "Then they wouldn't..."
"Wouldn't what?" she cut him off softly. "Destroy the few people in the colony with the will to resist their total control? Kill them, or worse, keep them as slave labor? Do you think they won't do the same to me, either keep me as slave labor, or test me to see what went wrong with their project and then kill me? Don't be ridiculous. Every day I resist is one more day for them to prepare for the worst."
He took a few steps closer and froze. There was some sort of wire frame around the bottom of each of her legs, starting just below the knee and extending several centimeters beyond her toes. The frames apparently held her feet in a pointed position, but he couldn't see what other purpose they might serve.
She saw him looking at her legs. "They locked these on me yesterday," she said. "They don't want to take any chances that I might try to kill myself again. They figure if I can't run or even stand up, I can't possibly fight. These things are a lot heavier then they look. I can, with difficulty," her voice became strained as she grabbed one of the frames with both hands and pulled at it, "lift one leg at a time to shift position, but I could never move both at the same time. I suppose I should be grateful they didn't just amputate my legs, but that only proves they're planning to do tests on me after I break. I'd rather they had cut them off then help them later." She stared silently at her legs.
"Phoenix, I... I'm sorry," he said, also staring at them.
She turned to look at him. "Dr. Andrews, you're really a decent person, you just have some incorrect views of the Alliance, and I don't think I'm going to have time to correct them. It makes it impossible for me to ever really want to help you, but you remind me of someone else I know, so I'm going to give you some advice. Get out of here. Get out of the Alliance. Get back down to Earth and start teaching there, or something. People like you aren't going to last very long in the Alliance."
"You know I can't do that."
"I knew you'd say that," she said with a sigh, leaning back against a pillow. "Which is why I gave you the advice. You are my enemy after all." She closed her eyes, and he realized that she'd said all she was going to say, and nothing he could do would make her say anything else. It was that silence that Yirtz and the others were trying to break, and he suddenly realized that he couldn't help them with that, not after this. He turned and walked out of the room. He could request some time in Alpha colony, time for him to rest and think, to decide what he was going to do now, whether he really could take that girl's advice. And he had some questions he wanted to ask.
