13

Interrogation

Stephen woke up slowly, with one major asshole of a headache. He felt sick to his stomach, and he was pretty certain he had a broken wrist... Again.

As the fog cleared from his mind, he saw that he was in a medical bunk, once again. This one seemed familiar. It was one of the bunks that the Kl'Deesius provided for medical emergencies. Stephen looked once again at his surroundings, and recognized the interior of the Kl'Deesius cargo hold, where the remnants of ISS Tau Ceti's command capsule once rested after recovery from earth orbit. He also saw about a dozen other beds. They were slightly different to the one he was in, and he had not seen such an arrangement. While the usual support and anciliary components for a medical bed existed, many of the beds surrounding him also had sturdy brackets on them. Attached to these brackets were cords of what Stephen knew to be high tensile-strength flexible rope material, at the ends of which were restraint cuffs. The beds' occupants were all chained up using these restraints, and Stephen recognized one of them as the assailant that had invaded their communal dining area and taken him, John and several others hostage.

Janet was going to be pissed when she found out about the attempt at kidnapping.

"Stephen?" Davidson called out from behind his head.

"Not so loud, please," Stephen winced in shock. "I'm awake."

"Good," Davidson replied in a far gentler tone. He walked into view, and Stephen could see his muscular frame was tensed. He probably wanted to tear a few heads off. "Can you give me a report on what happened?"

Stephen nodded, dry-swallowing. "Water?"

Miradima had stepped into view at that moment. She was carrying a flask with her. "I thought you might need some," she said by way of greeting. "Not too quick. The stun bolt probably disrupted your electrical patterns in your brain. You might be feeling nauseated."

"I am," Stephen replied, containing a dry belch as though his stomach were protesting. He took the flask, toggled the bedside controls so that it inclined him into a more vertical position, and then slowly sipped from the bottle. The hydration helped somewhat, and he carefully sipped a little more. "The others?"

Miradima frowned, her otherwise generous lips in a razor thin line. "Let's just say those hostage takers are going to be dealt with harshly. There were some injuries to the other hostages, but we managed to limit the damage."

"How'd you get back so fast?" Stephen asked. He had known that Davidson and Miradima were supposed to be in the Sol system overseeing Earth's terraforming and the construction of that new ship humanity was going to command.

"Redlined a single jump," Davidson told him. "Given the circumstances, we needed to be back here as quickly as possible. Mira will probably put the ship in for a major overhaul to make sure there's no permanent damage from the jump, but it allowed us to get back in minutes."

Stephen nodded. He was already feeling better from the hydration. "My wrist might be broken," he told them both.

"I know," Miradima replied. She glanced off in a direction Stephen could not see, then nodded. "Someone's going to take a look and see if they can repair the damage."

Stephen nodded.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Davidson asked.

Stephen recounted his experience. He and John were both taking a walk between some of the buildings, taking advantage of the fresh air and temperate climate. The air was laced with fresh plant aromas and a little dew from an early morning drizzle. Janet had to attend to some of her people who had questions about a few upcoming events within their temporary colony, and therefore was not among any of the kidnap victims. As both he and John were walking among the crowds, a number of them threw off their rags - and that was where Stephen had pointed out he should have known something was off because it was too warm to be covered in cloaks, scarves, shawls or anything similar - and grabbed the nearest people to them, dragging them toward the communal dining hall, while firing at anyone who tried to intervene. Thankfully, no-one was seriously hurt this time, but Stephen did note the detonation of at least one IED in the area as the assailants covered their entry into the building. This was all to be expected, given what Stephen remembered of hostage situations from his time in civilization... Before there were the wars that collapsed the previous human society.

"There was something odd about this situation, though," Stephen cautioned. "I overheard some conversation just before the security guys transported in and took us all out. Two of the guys were carelessly talking about some sort of plan, and how it was a waste of time to be taking hostages anyway. One of them told the other guy that there wasn't a point in taking hostages because those in charge were never going to meet their demands. The other guy replied that it wasn't the point. The reason we were being taken was to show force. Show that they could do stuff from under their noses. Then the first guy said something about an exit strategy if they didn't get anything in the next hour, and planned an escape from the building on foot. They didn't get to finish, because that was when we were rescued."

Davidson nodded.

Miradima stepped next to him, turning to face Stephen again. "The Commander in charge of Security Station Fifty Three has conveyed his apologies about the stunning."

Stephen frowned. "Miradima, you know as well as I do that sometimes we have to take firm and decisive action."

Miradima raised a single eyebrow. "That's what I told him," she smiled. "Still, the sentiment is there."

Jason was enraged.

He had just been snatched from the jail facility he had been held in for his "theft". The would-be rescuers were not kind - he ended up with a few bruised ribs and a burst lip, and now he found himself in some dingy room, with a guy who looked like he probably came from Earth in the last few days.

Like everyone else on this fucking planet, Jason had gained weight, muscle and height, and was far more able to think. Any time he looked in the mirror, he could no longer see his ribcage. Instead, he was able to see his muscles had grown somewhat. He wasn't as big as those goons who had brought them all here, but he wasn't a skeletal figure either. And with that, he also had a better ability to think.

He might have used his downtime to think about how he had been dealing with his problems lately. It was obvious even to him, that he had been far too reactionary, aggressive, insensitive, and self-absorbed.

He might have used some of that downtime to reconcile his actions with that of Edward's anger against him. He still couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the parental familiarity right now.

He might even had tried to make amends with their previous leader, Janet Fletcher, if she would even talk to him.

But that opportunity had been taken from him as he had been whisked away under cover of some hostage taking scenario that had just taken place over near the communal dining building. So now he found himself in this shitty little room, with some skeletal motherfucker, who wanted to 'talk to him'.

It was an odd disconnect in Jason's mind, trying to reconcile the gaunt and almost emaciated look of this individual with everyone else around him, including Jason himself. Fuck, even Edward looked younger and healthier than this guy. What had he been doing, drinking uranium salts?

"Hello, Jason," the bag of bones said to him.

"Do I know you?" Jason asked, his words dripping in scorn. "Last I checked, everyone from Earth was undergoing medical work to rejuvinate and heal. You look like you just came out of a fucking nuclear reactor."

For some strange, fucked up reason that Jason couldn't work out, the creepy asshole actually smiled at him. Skeletor over there didn't exactly radiate much in the way of a healthy sheen, his skin was pale and papery, and his hair graying, but his teeth were all present, and gleamed white. It threw Jason off. Not even the people from the ISS mission had teeth that gleaming white (though they were far less stained than any of the other survivors), and they were supposed to be the pinnacle of health among the humans.

What was this guy's story?

"You need only refer to me as A," he said in a grave tone. "Don't bother asking me any more about who I am, because you'll only be wasting my time."

"Wasting your time?" Jason asked scornfully. "So far, the only time that's being wasted here, is mine."

"Really?" This A character asked. "You think that sitting in a jail cell with nothing other than you stewing over the injustices done to you by those authoritarian pigs is a good use of your time, do you?"

That got Jason's attention. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the emaciated individual in front of him. While he did indeed resemble a weakened survivor from Earth at first glance, it was rapidly becoming clear to Jason that this guy was not a starving wretch from the surface any longer... If he ever was at all.

And that made him suspicious.

Maybe this appearance of his was carefully cultivated to make him appear weak, to appear like the others, to appear as though he was indeed a mere survivor from the surface.

But he appeared to know too much about what was going on around him to be the sort of person to concentrate on their survival. Even during his time on the surface of Earth, when Jason was being set upon by opportunist bullies like the small guy and the fat fuck who had tried to steal his rations and threatened to kill him (only to be executed for making threats against their fellow survivors in the Phoenix colony), Jason could see that while they were devious, underhanded and self-serving, they weren't all too bright, and had limited support from other like-minded vultures.

This guy was different. He wore his clothing like it was some kind of uniform. The standard issue loose-fitting clothing the survivors were given on this farming planet was adequate, but it wasn't exactly tailored to everyone, yet this guy wore his like it was custom-made. While everyone had gotten theirs dirtied through every day living and often went using them for a few days at a time, this guy looked like his was fresh off of the rack.

His hair, what there was of it, was slicked back and barely a hair was out of place.

It was clear to Jason that this guy took care to project an image, even though he had never seen the guy before.

What was this guy's story?

"You know what?" Jason replied coldly. "You can do us both a favor by just getting to the point. What do you want from me?"

The creep actually had the nerve to smile. Smarmy prick. "Actually... I could ask you the same thing-"

"No you couldn't," Jason snapped back. "You're the one brought me here."

"You'd like me to send you back to that prison?"

Jason didn't know what possessed him. "I'd like you to answer my fucking question. Wanna try that?"

The smile froze on the creepy guy's face, and then fell away. "You might want to be careful."

"And you might want to answer my fucking question," Jason barked. He was fast getting pissed off by this guy. Sure, he might have been cooling his heels in a jail cell, but at least there he knew exactly what he was in for. They didn't try to play mind games with him there. They told him straight, that he was going to stay there until it was time to bring him to trial for his crimes.

Crimes...

And then Jason decided. This guy might actually have a use after all. He pushed a little more. "Now... What the fuck do you want?"

"Hmm..." The unnaturally thin guy smirked, as though he was satisfied with what he was hearing. "You're... Jason, son of Edward. You have a sister-"

Jason stood suddenly, fear and fury coursing through his blood. He would have lashed out heavily at the creepy thin guy, were it not for the sudden appearance of two rather more muscled men, grabbing him from both sides. "You leave her out of this-"

Any hint of levity or humor was gone from the man. "Let me be clear, here," he said coldly, his eyes cold. "You don't get to dictate terms here, Jason Mensar. The next time you try to stand and fight with me will be the time I order your sister's throat cut in the night. It doesn't matter what you say, how you threaten, who you try to warn. You do not hold all the cards here, and no-one will be able to protect your sister if I decide she needs to die for your intransigence."

"I'LL FUCKIN' KILL YOU, YOU MOTHERFUCKER..." Jason struggled against the two strong men, who were like bricks of stone. He didn't see the glance that the thin man gave to the one on the left, but he felt the gut punch that had him laid out on the floor, and he struggled to breathe for almost a full minute as the punch had winded him so severely he could see stars and was doubled over.

"I said..." the thin man sneered. "You do not hold all the cards here." The man stepped over to him, glanced at the muscle-bound freak on the left, and then looked down at Jason, who was only now beginning to get his breath back. "Try that again, and she will die," the thin guy told Jason in an almost whisper tone. "Is that clear enough?" Jason glared up at the creepy guy's face. The guy simply sighed. "No... I can see it isn't. Explain it to him."

And with that, the creepy guy walked smoothly out of the room, leaving Jason to the two men's mercy.

He was going to kill them all... Every last motherfucking one of them. He was-

A blow to the side of his face followed by a kick to the stomach abruptly broke his chain of thought, leaving him only with fury and anger... But it didn't stop there.