WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) (14 page)

“Son,” he had said, “over half the United Worlds would no longer exist if it wasn’t for the fine men and women of the Fleet. I’d rather you assist as the lowest-ranking man in the Services than take a well-paid civilian job.” Even now his compelling desire to help hadn’t dimmed. The question was — was the Fleet actually helping? Barlow shook his head. Now he was beginning to think like a traitor. It was all this unbearable waiting. It had been two days since his meeting with the Admiral.

He was even monitored while in the privacy of his own quarters. Neopol suspected him, that much was certain. The rest of the crew had also been affected. The news that their Captain was in trouble was spreading like a contagious airborne disease. Of course it was almost impossible to keep a secret on a ship, even a vessel this size. His crew was confused and worried; he could see it in their faces.

Captain Barlow smiled, recalling Lieutenant Commander Pagett’s expression when Janson was looking the other way. Pagett had attempted sign language, making strange faces and obscure motions with his hands, hoping to divine what sort of trouble he was in. The only signs that had really communicated were the obscene gestures he made toward Janson himself. Despite all the strain he almost laughed out loud.

Barlow grimaced. What would it be like? The other crew members who had been on duty with him had already had mindtap. They hadn’t suffered from the experience, each staying off post for no more than one shift. The use of mindtap had to be kept confidential. If any Freeworld found out, there would be enough rebellion to equal the Hundred Year War. Thus each crewmember had to be given a memory wipe, also illegal.

Surely it would happen soon. In the last two days he had discovered how far a person could sink. This rollercoaster of emotions was driving him mad. He had even woken from a bad dream one night, calling out for his mother! He hadn’t done that since he was a boy. Yes, bring on your mindtap, Neopol. Just let’s be done with waiting.

“Captain?” It was Janson, currently his own personal shadow, speaking in his emotionless tone.

“Yes?” His heart seemed to stop.

“The Admiral has requested that you accompany me to the detention deck, sir.”

“Fine. Let’s go,” he heard himself say. The waiting was over.

There are so many choices to make in life, tough decisions, and opportunities to make grave mistakes. I was lucky because if I was uncertain, I merely thought of my father. At those times I simply asked myself, what would dad do? And then I would do that. Why? Because like a compass pointing true north, my father had an unfailingly ability to chose the honorable path.

— Private records, Captain Jon Barlow

O
utwardly composed, Barlow walked into detention while his eyes took everything in. The room was white and there were lines of chairs all with soft restraining straps, neatly placed. An antiseptic smell pervaded, as in a medic’s room. Someone had cleaned up, no doubt, after the Delians.

Admiral Neopol stood welcoming, like a gracious host. He had a crisp white coat thrown over his fleet uniform that gave him the professional air of a physician. The man was enjoying himself, Barlow realized.
Sadistic bastard.

“Welcome, Jon,” Neopol said. “Glad to see you could make it.”

Barlow felt a calming anger. Damned if he was going to give Neopol the pleasure. “Yes, sir, and I thank you for the generous assistance of your aide.” His comment was courteous, but the tone of his voice left no doubt as to the sarcasm in his words.

The Admiral’s genial smile froze. “You’ll regret that remark. Sit down.”

“Yes, sir.” Stupid thing to do, Barlow admonished himself. To irritate the person who held his career and even his life in his hands. Yet he still felt perversely pleased to have annoyed the Admiral.

Janson strapped Barlow’s feet, hands, waist, forehead and neck. He was quite unable to move. The straps were firm, but not uncomfortable.

A bot wheeled in some equipment.

“What is this, sir?” Barlow asked suspiciously, his eyes moving with the device. “I understood HC ordered mindtap.”

Neopol gave a malicious laugh. “They did and mindtap you shall have. Except first we shall conduct a purely scientific experiment on the subject of pain.”

Barlow stared stupidly. He couldn’t divine the purpose of the machine.

“Surely, Captain you’ve seen a probe before?”

Probe? Not a nerve oscillation probe? Barlow eyes widened with an understanding all too clear.

“Ah,” the Admiral’s tone was jovial. “I perceive that you comprehend precisely. Good. You see, we have some questions to answer.” Neopol had clearly warmed to the subject. “First, how much pain can an individual endure before unconsciousness? Believe me when I tell you I have examined this question on many occasions and have logged my findings most scientifically.”

Barlow felt too stunned to speak.

“Two, what will an individual be willing to do to stop the pain?” The Admiral’s face lit with interest. “From my experience only 8% of people never give in; that is to say, 92% reach a breaking point at some stage of interrogation.” He spread his thick, well-manicured hands. “It appears that the pain is too much.”

“Three, at what stage will an individual reach breaking point? Please understand that breaking point isn’t a simple matter of carefully administered pain. It’s a far more complex subject. As you can see, all these questions are interactive.”

“You can’t do this. I’m a Fleet Captain and a free citizen. I know my rights. HC ordered mindtap, not torture.”

Neopol gave a mocking sardonic laugh, “Very good, Captain. But who is to know?”

“You mean to kill me?” Barlow asked in an incredulous tone. “Execution is not permissible, unless the suspect is proven guilty. Such punishment is rarely approved, as those who commit Capital crimes are transported to Cirani.”

Neopol’s lips curled in a thin smile. “My dear Jon, I don’t want you dead. And as for your guilt — ” Anger flashed in his eyes “ — we will discover the proof of that in due course, with or without the use of mindtap. There will be no contravention. Believe me, whatever pain you experience, the memory wipe will ensure you never recall it. So, it never happened, did it?” He spoke with an almost fatherly concern.

“You’re insane!”

“I need not listen to that sort of remark.”

“Help! Help!” Barlow yelled in an instinctive animal impulse.

“Screaming won’t do you any good.” Neopol shook his head, as if disciplining a child. “I’ve had this room soundproofed. You know, I have been listening to your crew. The general consensus is that you are the best Captain they have ever had. Extremely well-liked. Touching, really. Too bad they won’t be able to help you now.” He grinned wolfishly.

Barlow remained silent as he realized his efforts were futile. There was nothing more to say.

Admiral Neopol was a professional. After injecting Barlow with a muscle relaxant to prevent tissue damage, he moved around capably, adjusting for best results. “You may be unaware that the probe has become an exact science,” he said. “You’re lucky to have a master looking after you. The probe has settings from one to five. Most subjects become unconscious at setting three. I have known only three individuals to actually make it all the way to five. Provided they are in good health, a subject can withstand the probe for an hour before physical problems occur. I never continue more than an hour.”

Captain Barlow’s heart pounded. He felt a little dizzy. He couldn’t really hear or understand Neopol’s discourse — his mind was too deeply absorbed with dread of a near and unavoidable future.
Worlds of Perdition. I’m going to be tortured. How will I take it? Can I hold out and keep my secrets? What if Neopol finds out the truth?

“… so you see, the pain experience is so extreme it is beyond normal recognition and description, dealing as it does with nerve endings.” The Admiral had continued the lecture, but Barlow hadn’t heard a word. He understood then that he had become incapacitated with dread. He cursed and a punch of anger relieved his all-encompassing fear. He had had enough of this madman and his peculiar fascination with pain. “All right, Admiral
Jones
,” he drawled his actual surname as an insult. “I find the subject boring. Let’s just get on with it.”

Neopol stared down at Barlow with malice. “As you wish.” Using Icom he toggled the device “on.”

The effect was instantaneous; there was not even time for a gasp of air.

Without restraints, Barlow would have been thrown from the chair.

Barlow’s eyes were dark and wide with astonishment. Nerve spasms screamed throughout his body, as if every living cell was in agony, each crying out at once.

Moments later, the Admiral toggled the device “off.”

Neopol stood close, face to face with him. Barlow, suffering incredible pain, was still sensible enough to be aware of the man. The Admiral studied Barlow’s agonized response as if it were imminently important. It was as though Neopol had been telepathically communicating something or perhaps receiving something from the reaction in his expression. Neopol enjoyed his pain. Barlow couldn’t believe it. Neopol’s own expression was bright, his breath long and deep as if sexually aroused. He looked like he had just witnessed something inspiring or momentous, like the birth of a sun, or perhaps in this case a black hole.

Barlow witnessed Neopol’s rapturous expression with abhorrence, while his breath came in ragged gasps. Despite the muscle relaxant the tendons in his neck were taut. He felt a fine sheen of sweat forming as he absorbed the total shock of an all-consuming pain. He swallowed repeatedly with nausea and thought he might be sick. If he did throw up he planned to make every effort to do so on Neopol. Barlow was aware that Neopol was intently observing and probably cataloging his every reaction on Icom. He was disgusted by it, but couldn’t muster up enough energy to really care.

His eyelids felt heavy, his lids half closed. He opened them fully and glanced at the probe’s setting. To his horror,
it was only on one.
Barlow’s mind reeled. The pain could get worse?
For the love of Jana.
How could anyone survive this? Now, now, let’s look on the positive side, he thought to himself. Only fifty-nine minutes to go! The humor in this ridiculous idle reflection was out of proportion to the circumstances. Barlow began to giggle.

Enraged, Neopol threw the switch once more.

The procedure went on for some time, each shock a unique journey to a place he didn’t want to go.

First the probe flashed on, and a blinding torment pierced him so savagely it blanked out any other sensation …

Then, to his immeasurable relief, the pain stopped, yet each tortured nerve could still be felt screaming. Sweat poured from him now. He was panting, striving for more air, drained and exhausted. It took incredible physical effort to endure such torment.

Neopol, ever observant, spoke softly throughout it all. His tormenter asked questions with a nagging, persistent voice. He sounded so understanding.

Time ran together. Barlow wondered, had he been tortured for hours? Or only minutes? There was little of substance that Captain Jon Barlow could hold on to. Tears poured down his face. He tried not to beg but found himself begging anyway. He cravenly pleaded, lying about the sensor reading, telling Neopol anything while desperately hiding the truth.

Then unexpectedly, Neopol put the setting up, and Barlow lost consciousness.

D
amn it. Too much
, the Admiral thought.
How did that happen?
In his enthusiasm he had accidently put it on the highest setting.

Barlow sat strapped to his chair with eyes closed. His pulse was still high above normal, but it was starting to come down, his breath becoming less labored. That full shock of pain had put Barlow into a deep, deep sleep. Neopol knew that it would be some time before he woke. His subjects did from time to time pass out, but he preferred they experience a longer session before losing consciousness. Adrenaline would wake him, but Neopol didn’t mind the good Captain getting rest for now. As it was, Barlow had a full measure of his own adrenaline burning through his veins. Giving him more may cause him to have a stroke.

The Admiral studied Captain Barlow’s unconscious form. Who would have thought the man would be such a tough case? Although one could reason that the Captain of a Fleet battleship would be out of the ordinary. What had made Barlow do what he did? It was an interesting puzzle, and even though the fellow was proving to be difficult, Neopol felt no discontent. In truth he was enjoying himself immensely. The answer to Barlow was hidden deeply, no doubt interwoven with the mystery of what would break him. But what was it? What was the Captain so successfully hiding? Neopol was beginning to think that torture would not give him the answers he was seeking. He suspected that he could test this man to the death with no better result.

Neopol consoled himself with the thought that if the probe failed there was always mindtap. He didn’t want to use mindtap, however. There was no fun in that. He wanted to find the answer to Barlow himself. He breathed in deeply. The Captain was a strong, young man — his body could take a lot more punishment. Neopol tilted his head as an idea occurred to him. Empathy often broke a subject when anger, cruelty and pain would not. Would that be what solved the mystery of Barlow? Empathy? Neopol smiled a shrewd predatory smile. He could be compassionate and understanding when he wanted to be.

Neopol stood up and pointed to Janson, “Watch him. I’ll be in my quarters, taking a break. Notify me via Icom the moment he wakes.”

C
aptain Barlow enjoyed forty minutes of blissful unconsciousness before Janson notified his superior that his captive was ready to proceed. The next “session” was much more difficult for the Captain than the first. Barlow once more yearned for the blessing of oblivion … to rest, to sleep. But the probe settings were being raised incrementally higher and his body was learning to compensate. While that was bad enough, the real problem was his mental confusion. Captain Barlow seemed to be losing the ability to think. His judgment was affected, his vision blurred.

Pain on; pain off. Neopol talking.

Pain on; pain off. Neopol talking.

It was a short cycling pattern that seemed to repeat endlessly. There was one notion, one thought only, that Barlow stubbornly kept in his mind. He had been repeating it like a mantra:
Don’t tell him about letting the Delian ship escape.

Barlow got to setting four and half and with great relief lost consciousness once more.

When he woke, Neopol stood above him, staring at him with a fatherly look. A fatherly look! Barlow wished his Icom wasn’t blocked. Then he could take a picture and send it to Pagett. Almost any caption would be hilarious. Even something like, “Son, we need to talk” seemed funny. Imagining Pagett receiving such a picture would ordinarily have made him laugh. Right now he simply didn’t have the energy.

The Admiral talked for some time, his voice soft, soothing and persuasive. His words made good sense. Barlow tried to tune him out, to listen to his tormentor’s dialogue as a hum of background noise, but everything was so difficult. Neopol wanted to know: Why didn’t he just give up? It would make things so much easier for him. Surely Barlow didn’t want to suffer, did he? Why was he being so stubborn? Barlow couldn’t seem to remember. He just knew that he had to keep his mouth shut.