(Undisclosed location, 3 years after the Liberation of Darwin)
When the black hood was snatched off, he began his recitation. “Dunne, Michael. Prisoner 12-5427-3349.”
He focused directly in front of him despite the single, harsh, overhead light. Expecting to see an interrogator across the table, he found instead a metallic mask at eye level attached to a conduit with wires cable-tied to the outside, like the primitive totem of a technological tribe. The red LED of an active camera glowed through one eyehole. The crosshatched grid of a microphone darkened the other.
The black mesh of a small speaker perched behind the mouth emitted a synthesized voice. “You are not a prisoner.”
“Then why am I in these?” Dunne demanded, shaking the chains of the four-point restraints that were locked into the eyebolt set into the floor beneath the table. Everything in the spartan room was cold, utilitarian and gunmetal gray, offset only by his bright orange jumpsuit.
“So, you will answer our questions.”
“Who are you?” Dunne asked.
“The people you betrayed,” the voice intoned.
“I’ve betrayed no one,” he said.
“We will be the judge of that. Tell us who you work with.”
“Come in here and ask me yourself. I won’t answer questions from a talking head.”
“I think you will.”
Guards in pixilated black camo with black gloves and ski masks preformed a drowning simulation on him. When they had wrung all the information they could from him, the mask commanded, “Inject him with Nepenthe and take him to his cell. When he forgets, we’ll begin again.”
---
When the black hood was snatched off, he began his recitation. “Dunne, Michael. Prisoner 12-5427-3349.”
He focused directly in front of him despite the harsh, overhead light. Instead of an interrogator, he found a metallic mask at eye level attached to a conduit, a red LED glowing through one eyehole, a microphone darkening the other. A small speaker perched behind the mouth emitted a synthesized voice. “You are not a prisoner.”
“Then let me go,” Dunne insisted, rattling the chains of the restraints that were locked into an eyebolt on the floor beneath the table.
“First, you will answer our questions.”
“Why am I here?” he asked.
“You are a terrorist. Tell us about your cell,” the voice commanded.
“Come in here and ask me yourself. I won’t answer questions from a sock-puppet.”
“I think you will.”
Guards in black camo with black gloves and ski masks prodded his torso with electro-shock batons. When they had coerced all the information they could from him, the mask intoned, “Inject him with Nepenthe and take him to his cell. When he forgets, we’ll begin again.”
---
When the hood was snatched off, he began his recitation. “Dunne, Michael. Prisoner 12-5427-3349.”
He focused in front of him despite the harsh, overhead light. Instead of an interrogator, he found a metallic mask attached to a conduit, a red LED glowing through one eye, a microphone darkening the other. A speaker behind the mouth emitted a synthesized voice. “You are not a prisoner.”
“Then let me go,” Dunne insisted, testing his restraints.
“First, you will answer our questions.”
“How long have I been here?” he asked.
“This is your first interrogation. Tell us about your friends,” the voice demanded.
“Come in here and ask me yourself. I won’t answer questions from a marionette, only a real person.”
“I think you will.”
Guards in black camo injected him with psychotropic drugs. When they had extracted all the information they could from him, the mask intoned, “Inject him with Nepenthe and take him to his cell. When he forgets, we’ll begin again.”
---
When the black hood was snatched off, he began his recitation. “Dunne, Michael….” Then his eyes focused on the man in black, LOW OrbIT combat fatigues sitting directly across from him, separated only by the table. Gantt. Dunne looked down, noticing the restraints on his wrists then the orange jumpsuit, a number in place of his name across the chest. “Whose prisoner am I now?”
“No one’s,” Gantt said. “We liberated you.”
“Then what are these for?” Dunne said, raising his restraints. Gantt keyed the datapad in front of him on the table. With a snick Dunne’s wrist shackles popped opened and his chains fell to the floor. Dunne rubbed his wrists, wincing slightly as he noticed the bruises. He assessed his surroundings.
The gray tubular chair was hard, but with the restraints gone, he could sit up straight again. The table in front of him was an equally utilitarian, gunmetal gray, its legs encased by the plascrete floor just like the chair and the eyebolt for the restraints. On the wall across from him there was a mirrored window through which he knew they were being monitored. Behind him was an armored door. The only light came from an overhead recessed into the ceiling, which cast a pool centered on him and spilling onto the table and floor. At least it was dimmer than the last interrogation cell he remembered, though that one was more alien and only came through in flashes, like most of his memories since he’d been captured on Anarchy. How long had it been?
The room rumbled and shook, sometimes closer, sometimes farther away as if outside the room, an assault was raging.
“So where are we?” Dunne asked. “Those explosions don’t sound healthy.”
“An abandoned mining facility,” Gantt said. “Those are seismic ranging shots from a patrol cruiser.”
“Then why are we still here?”
“We need some answers before we go,” Gantt said, keying his datapad. “If you help us, we won’t leave you here for LOW OrbIT. The tribunal already convicted you under the articles of section 37.”
“A terrorist?” Dunne laughed. “That’s almost funny coming from you. Last I heard, you were switch hitting for the other side.”
Gantt lowered the pad. “You never were too bright, were you, Mikey?”
“Then, what’s with the uniform?”
“Nick Michaels commandeered you from the normal channels for three days to process you here, off the books. His operation is event horizon dark, so he’s forced to rely on people with, shall we say, less than pristine backgrounds. When I got word, we moved in. Someone must have fired off a distress signal before we consolidated our position.”
“So, where’s that leave me?”
“LOW OrbIT got everything they could out of you in a Sky Cell. Your transport was headed for Terminal before Michaels intercepted you. That means he thought you still had something he wanted. What’d you offer him this time, Mikey?”
“I never offered him anything,” Dunne said. “All I remember is that someone betrayed us twice, first on Darwin then on Anarchy. And I know it wasn’t me.”
“Try again,” Gantt replied. “You gave LOW OrbIT the codes on Darwin. The limo’s security was disabled. Because of you, Abrami never stood a chance. You gave him up once, why not again?”
“No, no way.” Dunne pushed back from the table as far as the anchored chair would let him. “I never betrayed Abrami.”
“Drop the act. No one else could have done it.” Gantt interlaced his fingers in front of him on the table.
“And that proves I did?” Dunne said in disbelief. “What about Venn? He was with us that day.”
“They’re your codes, not his,” Gantt insisted. He smiled at Dunne’s confused expression. “You don’t think we were dumb enough to give the same ones to everyone do you?”
“I don’t care what your records say.” Dunne rose to his feet. “There’s a mistake.”
“There isn’t. I double-checked the logs myself. Now, sit down,” Gantt ordered, pointing to the chair.
After a moment of hesitation, Dunne complied.
“I would never sell out Abrami,” Dunne insisted, more controlled now. “After Anarchy, I’d think you’d know that.”
“Just tell me what happened that day, Mikey. And make it fast. We don’t have long before that cruiser finds its mark.” A rumble shook the room as if on cue. Both Gantt and Dunne looked up at the ceiling.
“I don’t remember much.” Dunne sat back.
“Then start with what you do.” Gantt consulted his datapad again. “You were supposed to drop Abrami at a meeting in sector 2-1-gamma that day. Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.” Dunne said. “That was Abrami’s call.”
“The gunships tracked you to sector 3-4-delta, five klicks away. Why is that?” Gantt persisted.
“I don’t know.” Dunne’s expression became a mask. He’d been through this type of interrogation many times before.
“Really? Because the LOW OrbIT marines landed in that same sector the day after you and Abrami disappeared,” Gantt said. “That’s just a coincidence?”
“It must be,” Dunne insisted, his gaze blank, “because I had nothing to do with it.”
“Nothing to do with it?” Gantt snarled. “Your codes disabled the net.”
“Wasn’t me,” Dunne said, focused on a point beyond Gantt’s shoulder. “It couldn’t have been.”
“Then tell me, Mikey,” Gantt pressed, leaning into his line of sight. “How did they get inside our perimeter without tripping a single alarm?”
“I. Don’t. Know.” Dunne repeated, nodding to emphasize each word.
“Did you give someone else your codes?” Gantt badgered. “Could Abrami have sold us all out and gotten burned when the deal went sour?”
“Not a chance.” Dunne glared at him.
“How can you be so sure?” Gantt demanded.
“Because I know him,” Dunne insisted, his voice tight and quiet. “He’d never collaborate with LOW OrbIT. Just like you know I wouldn’t.”
“I saw the aftermath at the school, Mikey,” Gantt hissed. “I know exactly the kind of betrayal he’s capable of.”
“It was a mistake, Gantt,” Dunne sat back deflated, shaking his head. “Everything that happened that day was a mistake. Abrami never authorized an attack on children. Someone higher up the food chain must have given the signal. I’d take a look at your girlfriend, Z. It fits her profile better than his.”
“Z didn’t sell out Darwin, Mikey. She barely made it out alive.”
“That’s not the story you told on Anarchy.” Dunne’s eyes narrowed.
“That was for the benefit of a different audience,” Gantt said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Dunne rubbed his temples as he leaned on his elbows. His head pounded suddenly as if resonating with the seismic bombardment outside. “You tipped me off that day on Anarchy,” he said slowly, looking up at Gantt. “You wanted Abrami to escape but didn’t care a rat’s ass about me. What changed?”
Gantt locked eyes with Dunne, searching. Dunne held his gaze without flinching. Gantt turned away first.
“Michaels knows Abrami has a sister now,” Gantt said, almost as a sigh.
“How?”
“You told them in the Sky Cell.”
“No!” Dunne gripped the table to keep his hands from shaking. “I don’t remember telling them anything in the Sky Cell,” he said, wishing it were true.
“You lasted eighty-four days. That makes you a hero, by the way. The only reason they pulled you out for reconditioning was because you gave them Abrami’s sister. She’s all the leverage they need to draw him out. You can spare her what they did to you.”
Dunne wished his head were clearer. He felt feverish and groggy. His palms itched but he refused to rub them on his jumpsuit. Gantt would see that as a sign of nervousness or deceit. He knew he needed to gather Gantt’s trust if he was going to make it out of this.
“What exactly do you want from me?” Dunne asked.
“We need to find Abrami before LOW OrbIT does. With him, they can roll up our entire organization halfway back to Scorn.”
“And you think I know where he is?” Dunne said. His voice hardened. “I don’t.”
A long moment of silence settled over them. A rumble like distant thunder echoed through the room.
Gantt stood up and turned away. “She’s here, you know, Mikey,” he said with an edge of nonchalance.
“Who?” Dunne asked warily, watching him.
“Abrami’s sister,” Gantt said, turning back.
“Why would you bring her into a war zone, Gantt? She’s got nothing to do with the Revolution.”
“We didn’t. Michaels did. He wanted you to setup an exchange. Not a bad plan, really. Abrami has the girl. Now, we have his sister. All we need is for you to make contact. You want him to see his sister again? Just tell me where he is.”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Dunne replied with resolve.
“That’s not good enough.” Gantt paced along his side of the table like a tiger. “If this facility falls, two more bodies won’t get noticed in the mess. So think out loud.”
“I can’t believe even you’d sink that low,” Dunne spat. “I promised Abrami I’d take care of her if anything ever happened to him.”
“And so you can,” Gantt said. “If this facility takes a direct hit, she dies here with the rest of us.” He leaned in across the table. “Is that what you really want, Mikey?”
“You’d really let her die, Gantt?” Dunne asked, incredulous. “You’d do that out of spite?”
“What happens now is up to you,” Gantt said, his voice cold and unemotional as he leaned back and crossed his arms. “You help us and everyone gets what they want. We secure Abrami, he gets happily reunited with his sister, and you get to disappear. But for that to happen, you need to tell me where he is. Now.”
Dunne collapsed back in his chair, covering his face with his hands. Another explosion rocked the room. Dust drifted down across the table. After a moment, he looked up wearily.
“Ok.” Dunne spread his hands in submission. He leaned his elbows on the table, cradling his head in his hands as he sighed. Slowly, quietly, almost mumbling, Dunne said, “There’s only one place I can think he’d go…”
Gantt leaned across the table to hear. Outside, the noise of the bombardment died away.
Dunne struck quickly, lunging for Gantt’s head with both hands, positioning his thumbs over the man’s eyes. Gantt was faster. He brought up his forearms inside Dunne’s strike, blocking his wrists, forcing his hands away. Dunne used the momentum to snatch Gantt’s datapad from the table. Gantt tried to pin Dunne’s wrist, but Dunne pulled the datapad back across his body to avoid the strike. Before Gantt could recover, Dunne smashed the corner of the device against Gantt’s temple hard enough to shatter the datapad’s screen. Gantt’s head deflected only slightly. No blood was visible as Gantt sprang back out of Dunne’s reach, only the glint of metal beneath his skin.
With the safety of the table between them, Gantt raised a hand to his temple, testing the ragged edges of the wound with his fingers. “How did you know?” he asked, perplexed.
“Because I’d never betray him,” Dunne snarled, brandishing the datapad like a weapon.
Gas drifted down from the ceiling. Dunne slumped across the table, the broken datapad clattering from his grip.
When the guards in black camo entered after the air cleared, the Gantt-construct said, “Inject him with Nepenthe and take him to his cell. When he forgets, we’ll begin again.”
From the control room beyond the one-way mirror, two shadowed figures, one taller, one shorter, watched from behind a dimly lighted console. Nick Michaels leaned in toward the technician and said, “Try the sister next time. We still have two days to find a way to make him betray them.”
© 2011 Edward P. Morgan III
