Captain Braca paced about the hall adjoining the interrogation chamber.
There were several such chambers aboard the Command Carrier. In an
uncharacteristically impatient move, he entered the chamber.
"Progress?" He barked the question, the techie steeled himself not to
visibly flinch.
"Very little, Captain. This subject is impervious to the chemicals we have administered so far." The tech turned to monitor the life signs of the listless Interion. Braca scarcely hid his impatience at the tech's incompetence.
"Leave us."
"Sir?" confusion made the tech sound unsure. Captain Braca was a yes man, not given to temper and barked commands like many of the other captains.
"I command you to leave us!" the captain's frustration with the tech was escalating, over a half dead Interion found on planet. The tech could not fathom why this woman had any importance to the Peacekeeper captain, but orders were not his to question.
"As you command." The tech took one last look at the vitals monitor screen. He knew better than to lecture Braca on the vagaries of interrogation, but the cocktail this Interion had in her system, coupled with her injuries on planet, had her hovering closer to the edge of death than safe interrogation allowed. He bowed slightly as he backed from the room.
The Captain looked at the unfocused gaze of his subject.
"Why did you survive the blast?" he mused, more talking to himself, puzzling things out, than questioning the woman. "Who are you?"
When this Interion was found alive at the blast site of the small band of rebel Sebaceans, something seemed to shift inside Braca. He was a ruthless and intelligent strategist, not given to acting on feeling and notion. Yet the fever pitch in his mind regarding this prisoner was so pervasive it distracted him from his work seeking to locate the crew of Moya.
With a strength more suited to warriors than peace loving peoples, the Interion woman spoke. "I am no one to you. Perhaps 500 cycles ago you and your Peacekeepers would have welcomed my counsel. Now you scoff at me for being useless, a non-warrior. You know nothing of me and for that you will never know how sad that loss is for you." She reached up and laid her palm on his cheek.
He flinched back from the contact, sure she was trying to trick him. Braca, as any Peacekeeper, was unaccustomed to and distrustful of this unselfish, almost maternal affection. For a microt he reeled from an intense longing for something that he never had. Angered at his own reaction as much as the cavalier rejection of his power, he responded "we shall see."
He turned on his heel and strode to the far side of the chamber. From a nearly invisible compartment in the shelving unit, he pulled what looked like a helmet of meshed wire.
"Not as effective as the Aurora chair, but sufficient for you." He spoke as he fit the wires to the head of the woman. Her eyes went wide as the prototypical central core of the aurora project drove into her mind. This prototype had been abandoned because it left the subject dead, and if not, it wiped all useful information clean. Braca did not care. He had been tested to an edge he had long thought his self-control had mastered.
The interrogation drugs must have made the pain even more intense, but the Interion woman was silent. The contortions on her face and the tears for her secrets revealed were her only concession to the deadly invasion of the aurora cap.
Braca was riveted by what he saw on the screen. How had this colony evaded notice so long? Because they were no threat? Gypsies, hybrids, weaklings? Damaged beyond use to the Peacekeepers, they were unwanted. But their numbers had grown and they could be a threat, hiding in the solar flare environment. Braca was trying to convince himself that this raid was mission critical. He would have to convince Grayza.
His attention was returned to the screen by a face, one that seemed hauntingly familiar.
"His name!" he spat the command as he froze the image on the screen.
The woman had taken all she was physically able to take and she could not resist this evil.
"Ashan" she whispered.
Braca felt no response to the name, yet the visage was important.
"His whole name!"
Braca felt the world tilt as the jolt of the name hit. The implications for this colony were much, much larger now. As the Interion woman slid into death, she had whispered the full name of her beloved son in law, "Ashan Crais Ferrian."
"Very little, Captain. This subject is impervious to the chemicals we have administered so far." The tech turned to monitor the life signs of the listless Interion. Braca scarcely hid his impatience at the tech's incompetence.
"Leave us."
"Sir?" confusion made the tech sound unsure. Captain Braca was a yes man, not given to temper and barked commands like many of the other captains.
"I command you to leave us!" the captain's frustration with the tech was escalating, over a half dead Interion found on planet. The tech could not fathom why this woman had any importance to the Peacekeeper captain, but orders were not his to question.
"As you command." The tech took one last look at the vitals monitor screen. He knew better than to lecture Braca on the vagaries of interrogation, but the cocktail this Interion had in her system, coupled with her injuries on planet, had her hovering closer to the edge of death than safe interrogation allowed. He bowed slightly as he backed from the room.
The Captain looked at the unfocused gaze of his subject.
"Why did you survive the blast?" he mused, more talking to himself, puzzling things out, than questioning the woman. "Who are you?"
When this Interion was found alive at the blast site of the small band of rebel Sebaceans, something seemed to shift inside Braca. He was a ruthless and intelligent strategist, not given to acting on feeling and notion. Yet the fever pitch in his mind regarding this prisoner was so pervasive it distracted him from his work seeking to locate the crew of Moya.
With a strength more suited to warriors than peace loving peoples, the Interion woman spoke. "I am no one to you. Perhaps 500 cycles ago you and your Peacekeepers would have welcomed my counsel. Now you scoff at me for being useless, a non-warrior. You know nothing of me and for that you will never know how sad that loss is for you." She reached up and laid her palm on his cheek.
He flinched back from the contact, sure she was trying to trick him. Braca, as any Peacekeeper, was unaccustomed to and distrustful of this unselfish, almost maternal affection. For a microt he reeled from an intense longing for something that he never had. Angered at his own reaction as much as the cavalier rejection of his power, he responded "we shall see."
He turned on his heel and strode to the far side of the chamber. From a nearly invisible compartment in the shelving unit, he pulled what looked like a helmet of meshed wire.
"Not as effective as the Aurora chair, but sufficient for you." He spoke as he fit the wires to the head of the woman. Her eyes went wide as the prototypical central core of the aurora project drove into her mind. This prototype had been abandoned because it left the subject dead, and if not, it wiped all useful information clean. Braca did not care. He had been tested to an edge he had long thought his self-control had mastered.
The interrogation drugs must have made the pain even more intense, but the Interion woman was silent. The contortions on her face and the tears for her secrets revealed were her only concession to the deadly invasion of the aurora cap.
Braca was riveted by what he saw on the screen. How had this colony evaded notice so long? Because they were no threat? Gypsies, hybrids, weaklings? Damaged beyond use to the Peacekeepers, they were unwanted. But their numbers had grown and they could be a threat, hiding in the solar flare environment. Braca was trying to convince himself that this raid was mission critical. He would have to convince Grayza.
His attention was returned to the screen by a face, one that seemed hauntingly familiar.
"His name!" he spat the command as he froze the image on the screen.
The woman had taken all she was physically able to take and she could not resist this evil.
"Ashan" she whispered.
Braca felt no response to the name, yet the visage was important.
"His whole name!"
Braca felt the world tilt as the jolt of the name hit. The implications for this colony were much, much larger now. As the Interion woman slid into death, she had whispered the full name of her beloved son in law, "Ashan Crais Ferrian."