WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) (19 page)

“The heart,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” replied Smith. He placed a small flat sphere of metal directly over the Armaments Officer’s heart. Wright was unable to keep the dread from showing in his expression.

“All set, sir.

“You may begin.”

Wright, despite tight bindings, almost leaped from his chair with a prolonged scream.

“Stop,” shouted Larren desperately. “You’re killing him.”

Neopol nodded. Wright collapsed back into his chair, a gray, agonized heap. Sweat coated his face in a shiny sheen. He panted, short of breath, clearly still in the grip of intense pain.

Dr. Ching scanned. “The subject will survive three more shocks.”

Neopol stood near Larren. “Now, Captain, where was the Delian woman bound?”

“All right, I lied,” Larren said, licking his lips. “We agreed that it was best if I didn’t know where she was going. She wanted to make sure I couldn’t tell anyone if I was interrogated.”

Neopol nodded and Wright was immediately thrown into a convulsion. When the pain circuit stopped beads of sweat dripped from his white, bloodless face.

Dr. Ching accessed Icom and shook his head. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “This man will not survive another shock. My original estimation was incorrect, an unfortunate error in judgment. So sorry.”

Neopol’s eyes narrowed and he moved in close to observe his captive.

Larren swallowed as the Admiral examined him attentively. Neopol’s eyes registered his swallow — the man missed nothing. Larren felt himself sweat and became aware of his breathing — short, fast, shallow breaths. He tried to hide his fear, forcing his breathing to slow, but Neopol appeared to be well aware of every physiological expression of anxiety. Larren felt the pulse pounding in his neck as Neopol scrutinized him, and was certain that the Admiral was alert to the elevated rate of his heart. He was having difficulty remaining motionless. Under an exterior that was valiantly attempting to remain calm, Larren was in a desperate state of panic.

Neopol’s face blazed with a fierce, burning joy. He shook his head and made a “tut-tut” sound. “You’re making this senselessly difficult, Captain,” he said. “I will get the truth in any case. I have authorization to use mindtap, you know.”

Larren’s breath caught at that little bombshell, and Neopol paused and smiled as he watched the ramifications of mindtap sank in.
What next? Larren wondered. Illegal detainment. Torture, and now mindtap. Everything the Admiral did was in direct contravention to UW government law.
Larren knew he would lose all his will once he was injected with mindtap. He would be unable to withhold anything. There was no escape. He could do nothing for Sartha, except perhaps pray and hope the Goddess was merciful.

“I will ask once you once more,” Neopol said. “Where was the Delian woman bound?”

Larren hedged, “If I tell you, you’ll kill my crewmember anyway. What guarantee can you give me that you won’t?”

“Why, you’ll have my word as an officer and a gentleman.”

There was a skeptical silence for Larren’s part, and a patient and interested calm from the Admiral.

Larren was out of choices. Unwilling to jeopardize the life of Wright, he gave in and said, “Very well. She was on her way to Kalar.”

The sensor glowed green, showing that he had told the truth.

Neopol gave a low, satisfied chuckle which turned into a deriding smirk. “Excellent, Captain. You may believe me when I say that when I find her, the woman won’t be maimed or seriously harmed. At least not until I have fully interrogated her first,” Neopol gave a loud and jeering laugh, except there was nothing funny to laugh about. “I wager I could have wasted my time testing you to your death, Captain, without gaining the truth. Yet I knew you wouldn’t risk your colleague. You can’t out-think me. I knew you would give in the moment I mentioned mindtap.” He shook a thick admonishing forefinger at his prisoner. “I warned you that I’ve made an extensive study, Captain, and I’m afraid that you are exactly as I surmised: utterly predictable.” Neopol nodded his head to Dr. Smith.

Mr. Wright began an agonized yell.

“No!” screamed Larren, physically flinging himself against the bindings of the chair.

The scream cut off suddenly, and turned into a deathly, choking rattle. Then there was silence.

“You gave your word!” Larren shouted, but it was too late. Wright was dead. “Why? I don’t understand … why?” Larren echoed, completely stunned. He had accepted that there was little chance he would come out of this alive, but surely his men would. They had done nothing wrong.

The little world of the interrogation chamber sat in a frozen tableau. Every captive stared in disbelief as the death of one of their crew had changed every rule, indeed the whole playing field, entirely. At first there had been an antiseptic smell in the detention room, and then came the odor of men’s anxious or pain-filled sweat. But now there was a different scent. If one could identify or define it, one would say that the room held the stench of terror.

Admiral Neopol grinned. “You want to know why? Well, I did it just
because
, my dear Captain Forseth. Because you didn’t want him dead.”

Neopol walked up and down, looking into the faces of remaining crew. He stopped in front of a man who had blood caked on the side of his face and said, “I will allow special treatment to anyone who volunteers to tell me everything I wish to know.” There was silence. “The first man to come forward will be taken to staff quarters.”

There was an instant response,
from Drake.

Drake’s words came in an obsequious rush, “I will, sir. You can count on me. I’ll tell you everything. Anything you’d like. Please! Take me!”

Larren registered surprise through the shock of Wright’s death. Drake would never betray his crewmates, and the older man had a lifetime of engineering, and police experience to draw on. Drake was up to something, Larren knew. What was Drake planning? A new fear seized Larren. What if Neopol decided to question him about Drake while under mindtap?

Neopol gave a mocking bow and mocking snort. “Of course. Janson. Have two guards remove this man.”

“Yes, sir.” Janson left and returned with two Marines. They released the straps from Drake, placed him between them and left.

“Does anyone else wish to change their mind?”

The room was silent.

“Fine,” Neopol said, apparently satisfied with just one traitor in the group. “Well, gentlemen.” He noted the time. “I believe we have much to discover about ourselves tonight, so we may as well get started.” He looked at Wright’s still form. “One down and six to go.” Neopol’s lips curled and his eyes were bright with a mad sort of excitement. “I am afraid that it is going to be a long night.” He looked toward Larren. There was an unpleasant smile on his face. “You I will leave for last.”

Neopol motioned to Smith and Janson. A bot moved from an outer corridor wheeling the Probe.

H
ours later Captain Larren began to surface from the unconsciousness in which he had, at last, found refuge. Someone was shaking him. Every part of his body hurt. He didn’t want to wake.

“Go away,” he whispered. His throat was raw. It had to be that demon, Neopol. His men were dead.

“Captain, Skipper,” an urgent voice called him, nagging and begging.

Larren wrestled with reality. Neopol had laughed as he discovered each new phobia or secret fear while tormenting his crew. He remembered him actually finding and torturing a cat in front of Heet, the well known animal lover. Neopol had been vastly entertained and amused to discover Heet seemed to suffer equally whether it was an animal under his knife or a fellow crewmember. The Admiral was inhuman … and insane.

Hours, his men had suffered for hours. Then Neopol had started on him. The pain had been indescribable. Still half dreaming, he wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive. All his men were gone — except perhaps Drake. Good old Drake.

“Please, Larren. You must wake up.”

Larren opened his eyes. Focusing, he stared in disbelief. “Drake,” his voice was husky, hardly able to be heard. He had been thinking of Drake and now his pilot stood in front of him. Was he dreaming? “Malcolm?”

“That’s right. Drink this, Captain.” Larren swallowed. It was only water, but it soothed his throat like ice on a burn.

“God, Malcolm, you’re alive.” Larren automatically reached for him, and found he was no longer bound. Larren gripped his friend’s shoulders. “What’s going on?”

The Pilot’s eyes were full as he stared at his Captain. He hugged him gruffly.

“Why, Drake,” Larren managed. “I didn’t know you cared.” He laughed with relief.

“Quickly, sir …” While Drake spoke he pulled Larren to his feet. He put an arm around him, to steady him. “We’re still in detention, but I have a plan.” Drake gave him a sly, eloquent grin. “I don’t think you could’ve thought of a better scheme yourself, sir. Come on. I know a way out of here.”

Larren stood and swayed. With Malcolm’s help he was shaky, but he walked. Burning depravation — that probe. He felt drained. Neopol said that in time he planned to give him a memory wipe and implant. Once implanted, he would actually believe that he had committed genocide. Then he would receive a public trial, and the most extreme penalty possible. Brainwashed as he would have been, he would have not only accepted punishment for something he hadn’t done, but he would have sought it. Larren knew he would have wanted to kill himself if he thought he had committed genocide.

“Let’s go,” Larren said, increasing the pace, the thought of Neopol’s schemes urging him on.

“The sooner the better,” Drake rejoined fervently. The two men weaved through the halls of the great vessel to the docking bay.

“You haven’t found a way to fly out of here, have you?”

“I have.” Drake grinned like a pirate. He pointed to a small interstellar shuttle, one that had few comforts but could travel for extended distances. It was the type of craft that was ordinarily used for infrequent courier missions, where urgent messages had to be delivered by hand. He said, “You have the luck of the Goddess, Larren. There is an Omni corridor nearby. I’ve programmed the shuttle’s navigation through
Conqueror
already.”

“There’s room for only one on a ship of that size, surely,” Larren protested.

“That’s right. Your vessel will only be in
Conqueror’s
sights for a few moments. I plan to distract them while you enter Omni. They’ll be only a few hours behind when you exit. You’ll have to find a way to hide yourself on Kalar by then. I have a really good feeling about this, Larren. You only need to get in and go.”

“I’ll not leave without you.”

Drake ignored him. “Everything’s arranged. I’ll distract
Conqueror
, drawing their fire in our sweet
Darla
, while you escape. Rough on the old girl, but she’ll understand. I’ve jammed sensors so the dock will remain open.” He chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “No one will be able to stop us. It’ll work — I know it will.”

Larren’s said in a carefully measured tone, “Why don’t we both get away safely?”

“No,” Drake said with stubborn determination. “I’ve had time to think this over — you haven’t. This is the only way to ensure one of us escapes.”

Larren was about to protest, but Drake silenced him, putting his hand up to stop him. “Listen to me. You saved my life …”

“Irrelevant,” Larren said. “You’d have done the same for me.”

Drake grabbed his arm, gripping him fiercely. “It was everything. It gave me many more years with Verla, years I wouldn’t have had otherwise. I loved Verla, Larren.” Drake spoke quietly. “Now she’s gone.”

“That’s no reason to give up.”

Drake took Larren by his shoulders and shook him, his anger flaring with the insult. “I’m not giving up. I’m giving you life. Don’t you see?” He pleaded. “Go and live your life now, with her.”

Larren said nothing. He had no reply to that.

“She needs you, Larren, to protect her.” Drake’s dark eyes hardened, his face set. “To avenge her.” His expression softened as he released Larren’s arms and stepped back. “God grant that you have the same amount of time together that Verla and I had. You love her. Go to her.
Hurry.”
He gave Larren a shove toward the small shuttle.

Larren hesitated, but only for a moment. Drake was right. Sartha and Ash needed him. Neopol knew they were escaping to Kalar … they were in more danger than ever. He gave his pilot a quick, firm hug, communicating the words he could not say, the feelings he’d never be able to express. “You are my best friend.”

“And you are mine.” Drake smiled. “Goodbye … and good luck.” He ran off to
Darla Wu
while Larren boarded the shuttle. Generators could be heard engaging, and then, within moments, both vessels were away.

On the bridge of
Conqueror
, Captain Pagett sounded battle stations; his voice could be heard throughout the rooms and corridors of the great vessel: “The prisoners are escaping. What for World’s sake is wrong with the hold doors? Don’t let them get away!”

Once outside the warship, the tiny interstellar shuttle engines whirred, well into their boost sequence. There was nothing for Captain Forseth to do; everything was pre-programmed. He was a spectator as he stared out at
Conqueror
suspended above him like a planet.
Darla Wu
had pulled away, making itself a target. The police cruiser was clearly on an attack vector.

Larren imagined Malcolm Drake aboard
Darla.
Drake would be mentally ordering a number of assault programs via Icom, preparing to attack
Conqueror
, a Fleet warship, with the diminutive
Darla Wu
. The vision of his friend, smiling and no doubt whistling tunelessly as he worked, brought a burning sting to his eyes. Malcolm wanted to do this. He had been glad to sacrifice himself — had been willing to die for him. Larren watched breathlessly as a series of
Darla’s
missiles hit the navigation center of
Conqueror
before she could get her shields up.

As Larren began his jump into Omni he looked back toward
Conqueror
. He wanted one last glimpse of his friend, as well as his beloved ship. As he turned his head, he witnessed
Darla Wu
exploding, being blown to kingdom come. Malcolm Drake had known that he could not last long against
Conqueror
. He had intentionally directed his cruiser toward the navigation and weapons sections of the battleship, attempting to at least knock out short-range armament. It was a hopeless gesture, but with fantastic fortune, he had scored a few hits.