Keryn could feel the warmth of his mouth, the saltiness caressing her tongue as she bit, gently, on his bottom lip. His body responded to hers; his thick arms pulling her naked body closer to his as his fingers caressed the curve of her back, tracing the soft skin of her bottom and running along the length of the leg that pulled his hips into hers. She clawed at his shirt, pulling it erratically over his head and tossing it onto the pile of her own clothes even as her fingers fumbled to undo his pants. Their breath grew labored as their bodies pressed tighter together. Elated, Keryn knew she had finally found someone whose passion and energy matched her own.
Keryn awoke peacefully the next morning, a small smile spreading across her lips from the memory of the night before. As she stared out the window, she appreciated the tangle of limbs as their bodies remained pressed together having fallen asleep in much the same way they had spent the night. Outside the small window, the world remained perpetually dark. Though the clock on the wall said it was early morning, it appeared as though it was the dead of night. A thin layer of frost had settled over the windows and she could see the fog of her escaping breath in front of her face. She snuggled in further against Adam’s arm and pressing her body against his, not eager to leave his warmth even though she knew she needed to get up.
Grumbling, she gently removed Adam’s arm and slid out from under the blanket. The cold washed over her like a tidal wave; her naked body shivered uncontrollably as she pulled away from his warmth. Keryn paused to admire his muscular upper body before covering him again with the blanket. Reaching over, she pulled on the new pants, shirt and jacket that Alcent had provided before turning back toward their spot on the ground.
She stopped just long enough to ensure Adam was still sleeping comfortably before walking down the hall and into the house’s kitchen. Pushing the button on the side of a pot sitting on the stove, she moved to the cabinet while the water began boiling. She pulled out a mug and a packet of instant hot drink mix. Breaking the vacuum seal, she poured the powder and boiling water into her mug, mixing the two into a hearty, if not poor tasting beverage. She clutched the mug tightly in her hands as she walked back to the common room, reveling in the warmth from the glass on her cold hands.
Passing the bed, she heard Adam’s soft snores. She was glad to hear the sound, and she bent over and kissed him softly on the cheek. Once he awoke, she’d fix him a glass of something warm as well before they started the day of manual labor in the city ruins. For now, however, she let him sleep. Moving to the exit door of House 12, she opened the door she had never locked from the night before and stepped outside.
Where the snow had fallen all night, any trace of her movements had been covered. The scanning spotlights sparkled off the fresh snow, refracting the light into a million shining crystals. To her eyes, Miller’s Glen appeared as a gem encrusted wonderland. Ice sparkled off the awning of their house even in the dark night and crunched underfoot as she stepped away from the door. She stood, her breath rolling past her face in large puffs, and admired the scenery and serenity while steam rose from her drink.
“It’s a good day to start a revolution,” she whispered into the brisk morning air.
CHAPTER 20:
Yen stood behind the one-way glass that separated the interrogation room from the viewing area. He had decided not to enter the room with Horace yet. Instead, he allowed the Security Officer to conduct his interrogation and, if need be, his torture without Yen’s interference. There was no doubt in Yen’s mind that Vangore would reveal just enough information to substantiate Yen’s allegation without going into great detail. Vangore would never reveal the specific details of his crime, no matter how intricate and painful Horace’s interrogation. Those memories just didn’t exist; Yen simply hadn’t implanted those memories into Vangore’s subconscious.
Closing his eyes, Yen searched his own feelings but wasn’t surprised that he didn’t find any remorse or guilt hidden within his heart. He had never held a grudge against Vangore and had, in fact, worked well with the Communications Officer while serving on the bridge. But Yen knew that his sense of self-preservation was significantly stronger than any weak emotional bonds he might have built with the Wyndgaart. Therefore, it was with a clear conscience that Yen watched the Oterian shake the dazed Vangore back to consciousness. The microphones hidden throughout the interrogation room piped Horace’s voice into the chamber where Yen watched.
“Wake up, traitor,” Horace barked harshly, striking Vangore roughly on the shoulder. Yen knew that the strike was a wasted effort, since the neural stimulator had disrupted Vangore’s sense of feeling, a sense that was only just now returning. Though the Wyndgaart would be in pain later, any punishment he received now would do little toward making him reveal information.
Vangore’s head rolled from side to side as he slowly awoke. His dazed expression quickly turned to a grimace of pain as feeling rapidly returned to numb limbs, leaving their muscles feeling as though needles were being driven through to the bone. Vangore squirmed against the restraints, trying to relieve the discomfort. Leaning heavily on the table, his dark fur bristling with impatience, Horace watched and waited for Vangore to settle before beginning his interrogation.
Though the prisoner was still in pain, Horace’s impatience reached its end and he cuffed Vangore against the side of the head, ensuring the Wyndgaart’s full attention was on the Oterian.
“I want to make something completely clear, Vangore,” Horace began, his voice a low rumble through the electronic speakers near Yen. “The Fleet has no place for murderers. As far as I’m concerned, you’re as guilty as sin. I’d sooner jettison you through an airlock than waste the time I’ll needed to get a confession. But, you see, the problem is that I can’t execute you until I receive a confession.” Horace leaned forward until his warm breath blew across Vangore’s face. “And I will get a confession and you will be sent out of an airlock, even if there are only a few parts of you left to eject into space.”
Vangore mumbled something as he struggled to keep his head upright. Yen strained to hear what he said, but the microphones weren’t able to pick up his reply. Horace’s response, however, was clearly transferred into the viewing room.
“I don’t believe you, Vangore,” the Oterian growled. “I’ll tell you why I don’t believe you. There isn’t a single person in jail right now who rightly says they committed a crime. What makes me think a slime like you, who killed a superior officer in a time of war, would admit to being guilty?”
“I didn’t do it!” Vangore cried through numb lips, sending spittle flying into Horace’s face. The Oterian lashed out, sending both Vangore and the chair to which he was secured tumbling to the floor. Horace wiped the spit from his face and looked down at the moaning Wyndgaart.
“You did it,” rumbled Horace, “and I will have all the proof I need by the time we’re done.”
Signaling toward the door to the interrogation room, Horace grabbed the chair and set Vangore upright. The door swung open, allowing a pair of security guards to enter, carrying a small but heavy case between them. Setting the case on the table, the left as wordlessly as they had entered, closing the door behind them. Though Yen felt little sympathy for Vangore, he still inadvertently cringed at the sight of the black box. He had never been on the receiving end of a professional interrogator like Horace, but he knew the hell that was concealed within the slick black polymer case.
Though Horace leaned close to Vangore before speaking, the prisoner’s wide eyes never acknowledged the Oterian. Vangore’s eyes never left the black box; his expression clearly displayed the fear that coursed through his body.