Adam leaned over Keryn’s shoulder. “And what has your man learned?”
“Apparently, it takes a large number of soldiers to occupy an entire planet. Enough that you have to leave a Destroyer — the Ballistae, I believe they call it — with little to no crew on board.”
“They’re running on a skeleton crew?” Adam asked excitedly.
“They’re barely running the ship at all,” Alcent replied. “It’s in space as a deterrent. If we can not only get the codes for the hangars but also get the codes to dock with the Destroyer, I can get us an even better ship for interstellar transport; a ship that carries quite a more effective arsenal than a personnel carrier or fighter.”
Keryn’s eyes grew distant as she imagined commanding her own Destroyer. Captain Keryn of the DestroyerBallistae, the Voice added. It’s a good title and does have a nice ring to it.
“Then it looks like we have all the answers. Does this mean we have a deal?” she asked.
“Oh, we most certainly have a deal,” he replied excitedly. He coughed and cleared his throat, slicking his dark hair back and reasserting his composed demeanor. “If you both will follow us, we’ll show you our capabilities.”
Keryn and Adam followed the Alcent as the slipped back out the front window. The two bodyguards, their eyes scanning as they moved, covered the rear of their formation. Alcent cut across the commercial district, weaving through tight alleyways and disappearing into alcoves that seemed to go nowhere, but always dumped the group onto yet another back street. Even in the bewildering snow-covered streets, Alcent moved with a clear purpose through the city. The party moved out of the commercial district and entered an area comprised mostly of squat, one-story stone structures. These structures, which had once been home to the up and coming merchants of Miller’s Glen, were long since deserted. The Terrans had little interest in these buildings and the survivors, herded as they were like cattle from the fields to their sleeping areas and back again, were forbidden from entering this part of town. Once the Terrans had swept this area clean following the invasion, they had little reason to return aside from the sparse patrols.
Alcent led the group through the haphazard buildings. The roads leading through these stone homes and shops wound chaotically through the city, remaining on a straight path for no more than a few hundred feet before twisting away at right angles. The group approached a non-descript gray building. They walked up to the dull metal door and Alcent leaned forward, knocking out a quick code. His knuckles reverberated on the metal, the echo carrying clearly in the crisp night air. With a groan, the metal door swung inward and the group entered.
Keryn heard the Voice let out a cry of joy as her own mouth opened in surprise. Within the non-descript gray building, dozens of workers moved between stacks of wooden crates. They stopped intermittently, lifting assault rifles from boxes to check operability or placing grenades in pouches attached to combat vests. Other workers folded Terran uniforms; the black suits and fitted helmets with faceplates strikingly offset by the blue and yellow tiger stripes signifying unit designation. The bustle of activity implied an army marching to war. Which is true, the Voice said in awe, only the Terrans have no idea that it’s happening right underneath their noses.
“What was it you said you did before the invasion?” Adam asked, his voice sounding breathless as he watched a darkly dressed Uligart lift a rocket launcher from one of the crates.
“Simple merchant,” Alcent replied with a grin. He turned toward them before continuing. “You lived up to your end of the bargain, now let me live up to my end. These men are now your men. These weapons are now your weapons. How long will it take before you’re ready to strike?”
“Two days, tops,” Keryn replied, her childish glee barely concealed. “That’ll give us enough time to organize the men into assault groups and brief them on their responsibilities. Then, we’ll strike.”
“Then I’ll let the men know. Day after tomorrow, we send the Terran’s back to hell,” Alcent said, his own animosity toward the Terrans no longer disguised. “I look forward to it.”
“Two days,” Adam whispered behind her. “With your plan and his firepower, the Terrans don’t actually stand a chance.”
Two days, the Voice bemused. I can’t wait!
CHAPTER 22:
The door to the observation room opened and Horace’s bulking shape slipped through the doorway. Taking his place next to Yen, they both stared through the one-way glass at the dejected and sobbing form of Vangore, whose body shook with pain against the metal chair.
“Do you truly believe there was more than one person involved?” Yen asked without taking his eyes from Vangore.
Horace shrugged. “Does it matter? The questions I asked him are real concerns and, as of right now, he doesn’t have the answers for me. Either way, he’s an admitted murderer and will be executed.”
“But you are still concerned about how he transported the body?”
“Of course,” Horace replied. “I’m the Security Officer and, somehow, Vangore moved a body of a senior officer through the halls without anyone noticing. You can’t tell me that you aren’t intrigued as to how he pulled that off.”
Yen nodded. “Granted. I really would like to hear his answer to those questions. I just…” Yen paused, leaving his sentence unfinished.
Turning, Horace looked down on the smaller Yen. “You just?” he asked.
“I just wonder if the Crown is really the best way to go,” Yen said. He gestured toward Vangore, who rolled his head limply from side to side. “In four hours, you got the confession you wanted, but at what price to his mind? Can he survive another four hours of the Crown without his mind melting?”
Turning back toward the prisoner, Horace grunted to himself. He knew that there was at least some truth to what Yen was saying. Lithid research had proven that there were certain parts of the brain that worked as inhibitors, physical membranes that worked as mental blocks, compartmentalizing thoughts into “secrets”. The chemicals used by the Crown deteriorated these membranes until prisoners were willing to answer honestly any question posed by the interrogator. Should the prisoner be exposed to lengthy sessions under the influence of the Crown, however, the chemicals began acting as bile, seeping into the abdominal cavity. Like an acid, the chemicals spread, destroying parts of the brain controlling motor functions, speech patterns, and memories. Leave a prisoner under the influence of the Crown for long enough and they were left in a completely vegetative state.
“And if we don’t use the Crown,” Horace asked, “how do you propose to get the answers we need?”
Yen turned to the Oterian, matching his stern gaze. “Let me talk to him. It’s been a long time since anyone has used the psychological methods of interrogation, but I believe he is worn down enough from the Crown that he would be responsive to a more sympathetic face. I can get the answers from him without wasting any more of our time.”
Horace frowned and crossed his massive arms across his chest. He was clearly not receptive to the more primitive form of interrogation.
“Let me try,” Yen said. “The worst that can happen is I don’t get an answer and you reapply the Crown.” Reaching out, Yen patted the enormous Oterian arm. “Take an hour’s break; get something to eat and drink. Most importantly, let the Captain know that her former Communications Officer is guilty; she’ll be eager for that information. By the time you get done, we’ll know whether or not my technique was effective.”
“Maybe I could use a break,” Horace replied. As he pulled away from Yen’s hand, Yen retracted the blue energy that had pierced the Security Officer’s arm. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he said as he walked out the door.