Angeleyes - eARC

  Then those were loose.

  The hood came off, and I was in a small cubicle with the dolly blocking me in.

  “Remove your clothes and put on the coverall,” someone said. Everyone present were female. They were in shipsuits with armor and gear belts. The coverall was screaming fluorescent green, and thin paper.

  I stripped. They didn’t probe me, but I know I was ultrasounded. The coverall didn’t help keep me warm. But I may have just been chilled from fear.

  I decided I was going to do my best to resist interrogation. Maybe the crew could get off the station, or at least into some hole somewhere and ask the habitants for help. If I was lucky, I was going to spend my life in an Earth prison.

  But I was pissed as hell at their reaction. Yeah, it was necessary, but fuck, I felt like I’d been held up to block bullets.

  The guards emptied out my wallet and imaged everything, then dropped it all into a bag. They kept my phone. I hoped there wasn’t anything too incriminating on there.

  I wasn’t even sure how much damage we’d done to them. We’d slowed down some shipments, and killed a few control drones, but was it really an effective thing, military-wise? I didn’t know.

  They left me in that cell. It had water and a toilet, and a bare rack with no mattress. It was a featureless poly block with an overhead light strip.

  I have no idea how long I was there. I didn’t sleep and didn’t get hungry, but I did feel dizzy. I may have been gassed. Or it may have been just fear.

  I had no track of time, except that I knew I should be tired and hungry, even though I wasn’t. I drank water because I needed to, and peed when I needed to.

  Eventually, I heard steps outside, and a lock slide. The lock was much louder than it needed to be. Probably to scare prisoners.

  Two guards in masks and armor motioned me out, and I complied because I knew they’d drag me if I didn’t, and hurt me in the process. They threw a bag over my head and cinched it so I couldn’t see and could barely breathe. They didn’t dolly me, they just cuffed me with cables and guided me along.

  I went right, left, right, and then shortly left again, into a room. The door clanged. It was amazing how sensitive my ears were even through the bag, because my eyes weren’t. I could smell my breath, though, and it smelled sour and scared.

  The cuffs were pulled and I was guided to sit on a reclining bench.

  “What is your name?” The voice was male and in standard English.

  “Aonghaelaice Lillyan Kaneshiro.” I was scared that was the wrong answer.

  “Date and place of birth?”

  I told them, in Freehold standard.

  “What is that in Earth standard date?”

  “I’m sorry, I have no idea.”

  “You don’t think it’s important to know the calendar of the parent planet?”

  “I know Earth time and use it when traveling, but I was never told what the Earth date was.”

  Right then something punched me in the gut. I curled up and couldn’t breathe, didn’t dare puke and couldn’t find a position that didn’t make me feel worse.

  “I don’t like your attitude,” the voice said. He sounded Earth American, in his forties, maybe.

  I think he hit me just to establish the dominance he already had anyway, and I think the fucker enjoyed it.

  “Well?” he asked.

  I couldn’t speak, just let out a moan that was more “eep” than anything.

  Hands grabbed me from both sides, and someone started pouring water over the bag. It trickled over the coverall.

  When I tried to inhale, the cloth bag came with it. I tried tilting my head, but they held me down and I got liquid in my nose and panicked. I tried to scream, and just barely managed to hiss out, “Please top ur rownin me.”

  “We’ll stop when we feel like it. You are a filthy scum terrorist.”

  I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t not breathe, and was held tight so I couldn’t thrash. I desperately tried not to inhale, because I also realized the wet fabric wouldn’t let gas exchange. I felt CO2 burn in my muscles and lungs.

  I passed out.

  I woke up mumbling, something about Teresa having nice hips, and Roger being in the shower with me. All dream.

  “When did you first acquire false ID?” someone asked.

  “When I was ten,” I said. I had. I didn’t realize they meant this time around. I was too disoriented.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I wanted to travel. It’s hard to get some places without local ID, so I got some, and I have real ID as well. I’m not trying to scam, just work and travel.”

  I was hauled off that bench, and tossed onto something else. Someone ripped the bag off and scraped my face in the process, then wrapped a blindfold over my eyes and cheeks. I still couldn’t see, but at least I could breathe.

  They were strapping me to a frame, and I felt very exposed. All of a sudden, every centimeter of me was twitching.

  Then I felt something pinch my big toes.

  Whoever was doing it wore gloves, and I felt alcohol wipes. They didn’t feel like sensors of any kind.

  The suit was ripped open, then they played gyno and slid something cold and hard up inside me. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it was bad. It wasn’t surgery, but I didn’t want anything touching me there, but I had no choice. The fingers on my labia were cold. I mean, not only not romantic, but not hurtful. I was just a thing they were examining or probing.

  I felt a really sharp tingle between the egg inside me and my toe. It went from buzz to tickle to a clench of excitement to actual pain.

  “Ow!” I said, and regretted it. They knew how to hurt me.

  “It’s all up to you,” he said. “You talk, nothing happens. You act stubborn, it hurts more.”

  Electric shock from cooze to toe. I understood it. It meant no current through the heart. So they wanted to keep me alive, and they did want to hurt me.

  “I’ve told you what you asked!” I said in a panic. I didn’t want to be zapped or worse, and I knew I’d tell them everything if they did. I wanted to comply with anything that didn’t give away the team, so I wouldn’t have to do that.

  “Your answers were too cute. So, you have false ID. How many, and where?”

  My Caledonia ID was real. My Freehold ID was real. My Novaja Rossia ID was a transient authorization, and real. I knew what he wanted, but those were easy to find and if he couldn’t find the people who did it, I didn’t want to burn them. The only fake ID I had was the one for aboard ship. So I had to tell them about that but make it sound like it was my idea to make it.

  I tried to remember how someone had told me they did that.

  I took too long. I think I felt voltage spark inside me, and it fucking hurt. I cramped up like an orgasm gone terribly wrong, and I could feel the muscles down my thigh rippling. I screamed and everything went fuzzy.

  I heard blood rushing in my ears, and the lights came back slowly. I’d fainted. The mask was off now and the lights were too bright in my face, dark everywhere else.

  “I needed to work and the war made it hard for Freeholders to sign on ships. So, I—”

  “You will not use that term. You are a ‘Grainne colonist.’ There is no war, only a liberation action. It is important that you understand and use proper terminology.”

  “Fine. Either way, I needed work and couldn’t do it on my real ID.”

  I guess he didn’t like my attitude again. I got shocked hard enough I thought I really was dying, then realized I’d been hit on the cheek as well, with some sort of baton. It came back the other way and hit my temple.

  I woke up again, gasping, cold and ready to vomit.

  “Awake? Good. You will act in proper respect to UN authority. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” was all I could say.

  “My chosen pronoun is xir.”

  “Sorry, xir.” I hoped I got the pronunciation right, with that “zh” sound from Spanish. Gods, really?
His voice was pure male. There was nothing the slightest bit trans about his presentation. If his psychology was that far off from his physicality, he either needed to fix his brain or fix his body. Maybe that conflict and anger was why he was taking it out on me. Or maybe he was just a fucker. Or maybe he was lying to try to confuse me and find an excuse to hit me again. That would make him a dishonest fucker.

  “So, you created false ID to travel with.”

  “Yes.”

  “That is a felony offense with a stiff penalty.”

  “I wasn’t doing anything illegal. All I’ve done is moved around systems. You can find a bunch of ships I’ve crewed on,” I said.

  “We have that. What we’re concerned about is the information you’ve given to the rebellious factions, and the actual sabotage you’ve performed.”

  “I haven’t sabotaged anything.”

  Something smacked my cheek and it burned and stung. I saw it in his hand. It was a flat rubber sheet, heavy enough to slap. It probably wouldn’t leave any damage except a welt. But the pain made me cry. It hurt. I wanted to curl up and couldn’t.

  Then they ran current through the probe and out my toes.

  For a moment it was the most amazing orgasm I’ve ever felt. Everything clenched down and my brain melted.

  Then everything kept clenching down, and it was the worst cramps I’ve ever had, and it felt like someone was burning my clit off with a torch. My legs locked up, too, and I could feel those muscles pounding and cramping, down to my toes. It felt like they’d curled to my heels. I screamed as I peed myself, and that hurt worse because it let the electricity flow better.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” he said, smiling a creepy smile and running a hand down my side.

  I wanted to throw up. I wasn’t sure if they were going to rape me for real, or just torture me with the worst tingler in the world. I knew I was helpless, and I knew I’d say anything to make it stop if they did that again.

  “Tell us where you hid out in Caledonia.”

  That really wasn’t very secret among skulkers, and it gave me an easy out. If I could just talk long enough, we’d get through today.

  “I spread for this guy in maintenance named Edwin Marrot. He was a Mechanical Rate Three, and worked in . . . I think it was the enviro section, but it might have been the utilities section. Whichever one deals with filtration, but also does routine deck duties. Smart enough, but no genius. He was very friendly. We had four regular cubbies we’d use, and it really was hot, having him shove me face first into the bulkhead. Gods, I love a strong man. He had a favorite spot . . .”

  It worked. They let me talk. I slowed down after about a half hour, and I was soaking wet the other way, remembering how he’d handled me.

  I stopped and said, “I need a drink, please, xir.”

  He nodded, and someone behind me held up a tube with real water, cold and fresh. I sipped, gulped and sipped again.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Tell us about the hideouts, not about your boyfriends.” He emphasized it as “boyfriends.”

  “Right. Well, as I said, I have the code to that storage. It’s only a temp and quickie, but you can hide there most of a day, and if you know the schedule, indefinitely, as long as you keep your gear tight. Even if they get off sched and find you, usually all that happens is they chase you off, and if you run fast, you’re gold. There’s lots of those. I can probably point to several on a blueprint. Do you have a blueprint? And I bet the pattern is repeated around the hub. I’m sure there’s others.”

  “We’ll come back to that. Where did you hide the stuff you smuggled?”

  “Oh, the main corridor is easy. First, you have to enter the service corridor, I think it’s Seven Charlie in Alpha Red . . .”

  I talked for two hours. I told them everything I’d told Juan about those routes, because I assumed he’d consider them compromised anyway. I knew how often the dumpsters were emptied along there, and made hints about stashing stuff. I told them about the overheads, and the under-decks, and the power conduit last.

  “Well, let’s check some of those statements,” he said.

  Someone else shouted, “Not to fifty!”

  Enough voltage slammed through my cunt to open a cargo hatch. I blacked out screaming.

  I woke up panting, writhing, face covered in vomit. The idiots were lucky I hadn’t aspirated it.

  “It’s what I told you,” I said through tears. They were real. I was lost, helpless, hopeless, pissed the fuck off and disgusted.

  “Keep talking,” he said.

  I talked for what I hoped was another hour. I made up some crap about storing stuff in the warehouse behind Tad’s Backy, because he tried to demand head for a short debt once. If they tossed his place, I’d laugh.

  “I’m thirsty,” I said.

  “Keep talking.”

  “So thirsty. And tired.”

  I really had no trouble faking tired. That jolt had been stronger than most workouts, all at once. I’m sure there’s thirty-fours who’d love it.

  “What did you smuggle? We know there were weapons involved.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t take any weapons. Tobacco and some leather is all.” I hoped if I admitted to nondangerous felonies of forbidden material, I could get them away from the terrorist thing they wanted to push. A criminal was much safer. They’d parade me for publicity and I’d stay alive, and maybe I could get a lawyer later.

  “I want to know about the weapons.”

  The lights went out again, and my entire lower half went numb.

  My vision came back in splotches, and I was in agony. It felt like I’d shit myself, but it might just have been sweat and residue and leftover paper from the coverall. The bench was really hard under my back and ass, then. I’d been there a long time.

  His voice softened. “All you have to do is tell us. You’re going to prison, but you don’t need to suffer. Just tell us where the drops were made, who’s hiding where, or who was hiding. We’ll take it from there. You’ll be jailed under the code for illicit information transfer, minimum security, non-violent, and out in a few years. But if we have to dig, I expect we’ll find you had an active role. At that point, you start getting multi-life.”

  I gave him a pissed off glare through the blindfold. It was all I could do.

  He said, “Look, you don’t owe them anything. You’re all going to wind up in jail or dead. You should choose jail.” Bargaining, so earnest sounding. I knew he was lying.

  I wanted to scream at him that he was a complete idiot, and already had real intel. I couldn’t do that, and the rage mixed with the pain and fear.

  I let my eyes slump closed and thought about cuddling Juletta to calm my BP and pulse. It must have worked. The tech on monitors said, “She’s fading. You can keep her conscious, but I don’t think she’ll be coherent.”

  “Fine. Unplug this petty criminal trash and toss her in a can.”

  I forced myself to remain limp and not tense up as they unfastened me and pulled the wires. The scraped my toe when they pulled the clamp off and I let my foot jitter. It hurt, but not as much as anything else.

  They grabbed me under the arms and it tickled. It took everything I had not to squirm. Then they had me under arms and by ankles, and just carried me like a sack for a few seconds, out a door, down a passage and into another door that was code locked. I wouldn’t have risked looking even if I wasn’t masked, but I listened carefully.

  Another door opened, old style on hinges, and I was dragged past the frame. They didn’t drop me on the deck, but they did just let me slump down, then pulled off the hood and locked the door behind me.

  It was a different cell, and managed to be even less pleasant than the first one.

  The deck was cold. There was a squat toilet at one end of the cell, and it was just long enough my feet didn’t hang into it. This was a short-term sitting cell, not a detention cell. The light was directly overhead and bright enough to be annoying without being
daylight. The air was cold, too. I was able to squat painfully, and there was running cold water and some astringent soap, but at least I could get clean.

  I did nap at least, because I had no idea how long I was going to be there, and I had to recover however I could.

  Some time later I woke up as something dropped through a slot. It was a food bar. It was both tasteless and nasty at the same time, but I made myself eat it. The only water was from the wash faucet.

  I had no idea if I’d slept two segs or two divs. I was still exhausted and weak. I lay back down, twitching against the cold deck, waiting for body heat to warm it so I could doze back off. I put my arm up to block out the glare.

  I did sleep, but woke when the door clanged. I wasn’t sure if I’d be treated better if I cooperated, or presented as still dysfunctional. They answered that question by grabbing my arms and dragging me upright. I half-walked as they dragged me, while someone else threw a bag over my head.

  I was taken to what felt like the same frame, and it was still sticky.

  The hood came off.

  An old bald guy said, “Welcome back. I’m Mister Jones. Mister Smith will be back later. We’re not allowed to work more than ten hours each.” He smiled a really, really scary smile, and nodded. The bag went back over my head and was rolled up past my mouth, then taped to my face.

  They wired me up, something large and hard in my ass, probe in my vagina, sharp clamps on both toes, and there was a bare tingle.

  “Contact,” someone said.

  Then I felt like I’d been hit by atmospheric lightning. My ass puckered, my entire guts clenched down into my cooze, my legs cramped and kept on cramping. I was fastened loosely enough I was able to smash something with my toes, too.

  I puked up nothing, just dry heaves that burned my throat.

  “I will repeat that any time I am unhappy with your response. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I swear the local transformer overheated when they zapped me.

  “‘Yes, Mister Jones,’ is the correct answer.”