Never Surrender (The Empire's Corps Book 10) (31 page)

“And not in an incredibly hot women’s prison either,” his friend added.  “It won’t be a pleasant place to go.”

“I’m sure,” Carl muttered.

He held Paula gently as they walked away from the crate, through a set of metal doors and out into the bright sunlight.  In the distance, he could see a set of glittering towers reaching up towards the sky, each one large enough to hold thousands of people.  But Wolfbane wasn't Earth, he reminded himself, and there was no shortage of living space.  It was far more likely the buildings were office blocks, rather than accommodation ... he pushed the thought aside as they walked past another huge warehouse, then another.  The sun seemed to grow hotter as they finally reached the edge of the complex, then hailed a cab as it drove past the entrance.

“Hey,” the driver said.  Carl couldn't help noticing he wore a black uniform.  “Where to, sir?”

“The nearest Haven,” Carl ordered, as he climbed into the cab.  “And step on it.”

The driver nodded, then guided the cab back onto the road and drove towards the city.  Carl sat back in his chair and watched the population, thoughtfully; a surprising number of cars were firmly bound to the ground, despite a handful of aircars flying overhead.  It suggested a lack of concern for the environment ... or a lack of trust in the automated traffic control system.  Carl contemplated the prospect for a long moment, then dismissed the thought as he turned his attention to the population.  Almost everyone, from young schoolchildren to old men and women, wore a uniform of some kind.

They must want people who don’t wear uniforms to stick out like sore thumbs
, he thought, as his eyes followed a pair of teenage girls.  They both wore unflattering orange uniforms that made them look like escapees from the POW camps on Meridian. 
Maybe they go to boarding school ...

He pushed the thought aside as the cab pulled up in front of the Haven.  Carl had used the hotel chain before, knowing them to be discrete and friendly, but his first impressions were spoiled by the receptionist.  She asked so many questions that, if Carl hadn't known they desperately needed somewhere to stay, he would have taken his business elsewhere.  As it was, he was grateful beyond words they’d spent so long going over their cover stories.  By the time they reached their suite, he was half-convinced they’d blown the whole thing and given themselves away.

This is the worst sort of police state
, he thought. 
Everyone has a place and woe betide them if they go elsewhere
.

“The uniforms are new,” Paula commented, as she walked over to the window and peered down at the street far below.  Hundreds of people, looking no larger than insects, were walking past the hotel.  “I ...”

Carl tapped his lips, then carried out a quick search for bugs.  A visual pickup was hidden within the toilet mirror - he couldn’t help noticing that it would allow watchers to spy on someone in the shower - while a pair of audio pick-ups were concealed within the main bedroom.  He made a show of dropping his bags in front of one of the bugs, then accidentally rendering the other one largely useless by turning on the radio.  If there was a second, undiscovered visual bug, it would be tricky for it to do more than watch them, as long as they were careful. 

“Keep your voice low,” he ordered.  It was unlikely they were being spied on constantly, but there was no point in taking chances.  “This room is bugged.”

Paula frowned.  “What should we do?”

“You?  Get some rest,” Carl said, flatly.  He was used to being watched - there were no secrets within a barracks, although sometimes he wished there were - and it didn't bother him, but Paula was a different story.  “I’ll need to go out soon, just to check out the target.”

“You’ll need a uniform,” Paula pointed out.  She nodded towards the window.  “What can you wear?”

Carl briefly considered Marine BDUs, then dismissed the thought.  He didn't have a set with him ... and even if he had, it would be a dangerous mistake.  His ID card marked him as an immigrant worker - Wolfbane was as welcoming as Avalon - but his presence would still raise questions, if he were caught in the right place.

“I’ll get one,” he said.  There were so many people with uniforms around that mugging one of them for his clothes wouldn't be too hard.  He’d just need some alcohol to give the victim a chance to explain himself when he was found.  “Don’t worry about me.”

“I won't, then,” Paula said.  “Good luck.”

Carl nodded, then left the room.

Chapter Thirty-One

If they were not willing to surrender and serve the Empire, however, their fates were quite different.  The Empire’s occupation forces would do whatever it took to break them, including mass round-ups and purges; at worst, they would even use brain-ripping technologies to break the leadership’s minds. 

- Professor Leo Caesius. 
The Empire and its Prisoners of War.

Avalon, Year 5 (PE)

“Colonel,” Governor Brent Roeder said.  “I was surprised when you invited us.”

“It was a surprise to me too,” Ed said, grimly.  The door closed behind Hannalore and locked, firmly.  “Please could you stay where you are?”

The Governor blinked.  “Colonel?”

“Stay where you are,” Ed ordered, as the security officers appeared.  “I’m afraid we are dealing with a very serious matter.”

The officers grabbed Hannalore and yanked her hands behind her back, cuffing them with brutal efficiency.  Hannalore yelped in pain, then kicked out at one of the officers.  His companions forced her to the floor and shackled her legs, then searched her roughly.  The Governor turned, overcoming his shock, but Ed caught his arm before he could do something stupid.  Moments later, Hannalore was hustled out of the room between three burly men.

“Colonel,” the Governor said.  He sounded badly shocked.  “What is
happening
?”

Ed felt a pang of sympathy.  The Governor wasn't a bad man, merely someone utterly unsuited to the post he’d once held. His new life as elder statesman must have seemed a dream come true.  But now it had been ruined ... and it wasn't his fault.

“Come with me,” Ed said.  The Governor would need to be interrogated, but it could be done gently.  “I’ll explain in private.”

***

Imperial Intelligence had learned a great deal about interrogating prisoners - and in determining precisely which method of interrogation was best suited for which type of prisoner.  Kitty had learned, when she'd been a new trainee, that there were some people who panicked at the mere thought of physical pain and some people who were just too stubborn to talk, even when their teeth were being extracted without benefit of anaesthetic.  And then there were suspects who were resistant to truth drugs, smart enough to mislead interrogators despite facing everything from torture to mind-rippers ... it was never easy to be
sure
how someone would react to interrogation.

She watched dispassionately as Hannalore was stripped naked and her body examined carefully, before she was cuffed to a chair in the middle of a darkened cell.  It wouldn't be pleasant for her - it wasn’t pleasant to watch either - but it would utterly shatter her sense of how the world worked.  The sudden shift from mistress of all she surveyed to helpless naked prisoner would leave her uncertain and vulnerable, underlying just how much danger she was in.  Kitty recalled being stripped herself, as a new recruit, and shuddered inwardly.  There had been some big strong men in the training class who’d blubbered like children when the interrogators had gone to work, without any overt torture. Merely being naked and at someone’s mercy, cold hands prodding sensitive parts of the body, had been enough.

Her wristcom buzzed.  “We scanned her body down to the atomic level,” one of the officers said.  “There’s nothing apart from faint traces of spliced modifications to help cope with alcohol.  They weren't listed in her medical records.”

“Understood,” Kitty said.  She hadn't taken her gaze off Hannalore, who was now pulling at her cuffs as if she couldn't quite believe she was a prisoner.  “Was she drinking before she came?”

“Blood tests show nothing,” the interrogator said.  “Right now, she’s shocked and disorientated.”

“Get the lie detector online,” Kitty ordered.  She picked up a communications earpiece and slotted it into her ear.  “And then I will go into the room.”

She smiled, inwardly.  The cuffs Hannalore was wearing were more than just solid metal and plastic; they concealed the sensors the computers could use to monitor Hannalore’s responses.  A few testing questions and a lie should be instantly noticeable, although Kitty knew better than to take that for granted.  There were ways to spoof a lie detector and it was just possible Hannalore had been trained to do it.

“The detector is online and linked to the cuffs,” the interrogator said.  “We’re clearing out now.”

“Good,” Kitty said.  She peered through the one-way glass and nodded to herself.  Hannalore was looking broken, even though she was now alone.  It was time to see what she thought she was doing.  “I’m going in.”

The interrogation chamber felt cold as she stepped through the door.  Hannalore looked up at her, but didn't seem to recognise Kitty’s face.  Kitty wasn't too surprised; she hadn't worn a uniform when she'd attended the party, after all.  And her hair was tied up and hidden under her cap.

“I didn't do it,” Hannalore said.  Her eyes were wide and staring.  “I didn't do it.”

Kitty was tempted to ask what
it
happened to be, but there was a procedure to follow.

“I have some questions to ask you,” she said, shortly.  “Answer them as quickly and concisely as you can.  Do not attempt to lie.”

“I have rights,” Hannalore said.  Her voice was threatening to break.  “I demand a lawyer ...”

“Answer my questions,” Kitty ordered.  “What is your name?”

“Hannalore,” Hannalore said.  “Why do you want to know?”

Kitty ignored her question.  “Where were you born?”

“Earth,” Hannalore said.  “I ...”

Kitty kept hammering her with questions, all seemingly insignificant.  There was no
point
in trying to lie, not when the answers were a matter of public record, and Hannalore would know it.  Nor were the questions particularly intrusive.  But they
would
allow the computers to get a baseline for the lie detector, when they started asking harder questions, the questions no one could easily verify.  

And to dissuade her from trying to tell us what she thinks we want to hear
, Kitty added, mentally. 
Torture rarely works well because the victim will eventually start lying to us, just to get the pain to stop
.

Her earpiece buzzed.  “We should have enough for a baseline now,” William Ross said.  He was not only a skilled interrogator himself, Kitty recalled; he was an expert in how human beings reacted to stress.  “She’s currently trying very hard to keep herself from panicking.”

“Continue to record her reactions,” Kitty subvocalised.  She peered down at Hannalore for a long moment, pushing any guilt she might have felt out of her mind.  Hannalore might look young, innocent and the victim, but she had betrayed the Commonwealth.  “I will move on to more serious issues.”

She reached down and lifted Hannalore’s chin until the older woman was staring up into her eyes.  “You have outfitted your mansion with bugs, in order to record what your guests say or do and forward the information to Wolfbane,” she said.  “Is this true?”

“No,” Hannalore said.  “I want a lawyer!”

“She’s lying,” Ross said, through the earpiece.  “I got a very strong ping there, Colonel.”

“I know you’re lying,” Kitty said, aiming to sound saddened rather than angry.  “There is really no point in trying to lie to me.”

“I’m
not
lying,” Hannalore screamed.  “Get me a goddamned lawyer!”

“Still lying,” Ross said.  “She isn't even sure she wants a lawyer.”

Hannalore glared up at Kitty, who met her stare evenly.  “I want my husband,” she snapped.  “He’ll see to it that you're the next one in this damned chair ...”

“I rather doubt it,” Kitty said.  She knelt down until her head was level with Hannalore’s skull.  “Let me be blunt.

“We have gathered enough evidence to convince a judge to authorise your detention,” she said.  “Now, we have interrogated you under a lie detector and ...”

“The lie detector is lying,” Hannalore protested.

“She’s lying,” Ross said.

“Shut up,” Kitty subvocalised.  She cleared her throat and spoke out loud.  “Hannalore, we have the evidence necessary to put you in front of a court on a charge of espionage.  There is a war on.  Even if there wasn't, do you think the councillors you used as unwitting sources of information would stand up and defend you?  They’d be screaming for the maximum penalty.”

Hannalore jerked against her cuffs, but said nothing.

“Right now, your only hope is to do enough for us to earn ... a reduction in your sentence,” she added.  “Do that for us and we can make a deal.  Refuse ... and we will have to put you before the court!”

“This is illegal,” Hannalore protested.  “You can't strip a prisoner naked ...”

“You’re a spy and a traitor,” Kitty said.  She rose to her feet.  “I’m going to leave you for the moment.  When I come back, you can decide if you want to cooperate or not.  If the former, expect to be spending considerable amounts of time answering plenty of questions.  If the latter ... well, the cell will be your home for the foreseeable future.”

She stepped outside and closed the door behind her firmly, then walked to the observation chamber.  Leaving Hannalore alone wasn't a big risk; she was cuffed, barely able to do more than rattle her shackles, and naked.  Even so, she was still under constant observation.  Two pairs of eyes would be peering at her at all times.

“The baseline seems to be working perfectly,” Ross said, as she entered the chamber and sat down.  “There’s no hint she has any form of training to resist interrogation, Colonel.”

Kitty wasn't surprised.  Hannalore had been a society queen - or at least she’d tried to be - rather than a soldier or an intelligence agent.  It didn't keep her from being dangerous, but it did ensure she had little formal training.  Wolfbane would have been happier if she had, Kitty suspected, yet how could they have trained her without sending up red flags?

“That’s good to hear,” Kitty said.  “Although if you could keep the flippancy out of the airwaves in future ...”

“My machines don’t lie,” Ross protested.  “Really.”

“I know that,” Kitty said, tartly.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and watched Hannalore closely.  The woman seemed to have sagged in on herself, her breasts rising and falling in a manner that suggested she was on the verge of crying.  Kitty felt a flicker of pity, but knew she couldn't allow it to dictate her actions.  Hannalore had betrayed her planet and was responsible for God knew how many deaths. 

Bitch
, she thought coldly.

Kitty gave it nearly thirty minutes before she rose to her feet and walked back into the interrogation chamber.  Hannalore’s face was streaked with tears, tears she couldn't wipe away because her hands were cuffed, smearing her makeup and leaving her face looking ghastly.  Kitty sighed inwardly, then peered down at her prisoner.

“I assume you’ve made a choice,” she said.  “What do you choose?”

Hannalore blinked, trying to get the tears out of her eyes.  “What are you offering me if I choose to cooperate?”

Kitty frowned.  Clearly, Hannalore had managed to use some of the time she’d been given to gather herself and
think
.  It would have been admirable if it hadn't been so serious - and irritating.  Still, she made a show of giving the question serious consideration.

“Your life,” she said, finally.  “You would be transported to a farming world, along with your husband, if he chooses to accompany you.  It would not be an easy life, but it would beat being on a penal world or simply having your neck snapped on a gallows.”

“It would be impossible,” Hannalore sneered.  “I can't farm to save my life.”

“You could always remain in your cell,” Kitty said.  “I dare say we could find enough bread and water to feed you for a few years.”