Now, all he could do was wait and see what his new tormentors had in store for him.
After a wild ride at Supertime speed to a destination impossible for him to determine, the SG ship made rendezvous with another vessel, the shape of which Zarex could not see. He could tell there was a meeting only because the SG ship came to a dead stop in space, and dark figures began beaming aboard just out of the corner of his eye.
Then he was moved again. This time under a blackout, meaning the force field was increased to the point where he could not see anything. He relied on his memories of friends and good times to get him through this very dark period. When he was able to see again, he realized he'd been released from the force field and was being dragged down a passageway by two huge SG soldiers. He'd been stripped of everything, including the Twenty 'n Six containing his faithful robot, 33418.
The guards remained mute as they pulled him along the corridor. This was definitely not a Starcrasher he was on now; the passageway was curved, a design element not found on any Empire starship. They eventually arrived at a doorway that was covered with strange hieroglyphics. Suddenly the door opened, and Zarex found himself staring into a dark and very strange control room. It was cramped, oval-shaped, and stuffed with odd, almost unrecognizable metallic gizmos, some of which appeared to be alive. They were full of tubes and glands and pumping and spurting weird liquids. Sections of the control room floor were covered with vomit. The smell was overwhelming. Zarex felt his stomach do a flip. He couldn't imagine a place as disturbing as this.
One of the guards pushed him through the open door. The moment he crossed the threshold, he was hit by a bright yellow beam. It struck him with the force of a Z-gun blast. He dropped to the deck — hard.
His body began trembling uncontrollably. He went blind. The screeching in his ears became deafening. It felt like he was being ripped in two.
He was dragged to his feet and thrown into a hovering chair. It was covered with a sticky red substance Zarex could only guess was blood. He heard a crack and felt something tear across his face.
The pain was unbearable. Another crack, this one ripping through the skin on his shoulder. Incredible pain, blood spurting everywhere. A third crack; this time it felt as if a slice had been taken out of his torso. Excruciating pain— but then he was able to open his eyes.
He was looking at about a dozen individuals. Crowded around his chair, under a single bright light, they were looking right back at him. Half were wearing red SG uniforms. They were huge, with strange weapons hanging from their belts, and skin that was also the color of blood. One of them was holding an atomic whip. A well-known favorite of torturers across the Galaxy, Zarex had already tasted the weapon three times — and was about to have a fourth. The other six figures were standing back in the murk. Zarex could barely see them. They were very short, half the size of the huge SG soldiers, and appeared to be wearing gray uniforms. It was impossible to see their faces, impossible to see anything more than shadows. But Zarex was sure at least a few of them were standing in the pools of vomit.
He was hit again with the atomic whip. This time across his throat. Then it came again. And again.
And again. Blood flowed into his eyes; he was half-blinded once more. His chair suddenly went horizontal. Now he was on his back, facing straight up. The light was shining directly above. A gaggle of probes dropped from the ceiling and began violating him in every orifice. Even while this was happening, he was hit by the atomic whip again. And again. And again.
He finally passed out; the pain was that intense. But even then, there was no relief. In his unconscious state he saw horrible little beings with large heads, huge eyes, and no mouths poking him, pinching him, sticking awful things into him. He tried to scream but couldn't. He tried to fight, but his arms would not move. The little beings were swarming all over him. The horror seemed like it would go on forever.
He woke from this nightmare somehow, only to find he'd been beaten with the whip even while unconscious. Judging by the burns and welts on his body, the flogging had gone on for several hours, even though in his experience lately, seconds seemed like eternities and an eternity could pass by in a second.
He was back sitting upright in the blood-sticky chair. He could not move now; he could barely see.
The room was darker but at the same time seemed to be glowing an even deeper bloodred. And twice as many figures were standing around him, most of them Solar Guards, again all dressed in red, with sickly crimson skin. They looked as demonic as he did angelic. The probes were gone, but now he seemed to be held in place not by bonds but by the force of will of his tormentors. In a strange way, Zarex understood this.
One of these characters drew close to him now. This man stank; his body odor was overwhelming, his breath like a bilge trap. He was dirty and sweating and had an aura of disgust surrounding him.
"What do you want of me?" Zarex finally wailed, not out of pain but out of frustration.
"We want nothing from you except the pleasure of torture," the man hissed back at him. "There is no need to beat any information out of you. We already know what your cohorts are up to. We know their plans."
Zarex laughed in his smelly face. "That's a lie…"
"Is it?" the man asked back. "How so?"
Zarex didn't mince words. "Because only a handful of people within your reach know what is to take place, and they are all beyond reproach."
The man let out a horrible laugh. "You assume we have a spy in your midst? We are above such things. Look at us. Don't you think we can just look in on your friends anytime we want?"
"We are as powerful as you," Zarex shot back. "What protects us from you is that we are the exact opposite of you."
The smelly man laughed again; Zarex heard some gurgling noises coming from behind him.
"You are new at this game, as we once were," the man hissed at him again. 'Too bad for you."
Another crack of the atomic whip lashed Zarex across his face; it hurt tremendously. He decided to play their game.
"If you know what our plans are, then tell them to me," he said to the smelly one. "Prove you're not lying."
"You really doubt that we know?" his torturer asked.
"You cannot know," Zarex taunted him, "because you cannot read my mind. And you have not successfully captured any of my friends and made them talk. If you had, you wouldn't be bothering so much with me. So I dare you, then; tell me of our plans."
The smelly one laughed again, but this time it sounded like a shriek. He came up very close to Zarex's face.
"There is a point in space," he began in an ominous whisper. "It is inside the Two Arm, inside the Moraz Star Cloud, inside the No-Fly Zone. You simpletons have termed it Zero Point. You are very familiar with this place because it is where you so cleverly disappeared just before we were to drive the stake into you the first time. It is also where you reemerged when you foolishly decided to return to this side of things."
The smelly man got even closer.
"Your plan is this: you sent ahead one ship of the twelve you were using to hide in… in…" It was clear he could not speak the word, but it didn't matter. "This one ship comes out — lays the land, so to speak — for the others to follow exactly seven days later. How do you know on the other side that seven days have passed? Because you have people back there counting, wasting their time and energy, but ticking off the seconds one by one. Then they, too, will break through to the other side. And when they do, we will be waiting for them — and we will destroy them. And then the clash of pure good against pure evil that must take place every million years or so will happen again — and our side will win. And we will rule until the next battle in another million years."