WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) Page 13

  “Yes, sir.” Janson said.

  “Obtain duty rosters for the last five days — I’ll want a hardcopy. Notify Captain Barlow that I’ll expect him in my quarters at 1700.” With those instructions, he left.

  Admiral Neopol’s quarters were opulent, with thick, expensive carpets and priceless paintings. The room was mainly decorated in gold, red and white, and was cluttered with gilded furnishings, and unexpected knickknacks. There was a fine lace comforter, fine bone china and antique porcelain figurines, a roman bust and delicate vases that would be destroyed if Conqueror lost gravity. It was as if Neopol had brought all the personal possessions he owned aboard. Renitu’s Seventh Symphony played loudly in the background.

  Janson returned with the duty rosters, and held them out to his superior.

  “Good. I can get started.” Neopol paused for a moment, as Janson stood before him as solid and still as one of his sculptures. The Admiral frowned. “Go away now,” he said to his aide. “I won’t need you. Go eat or something.” Without a sound, Janson left.

  Neopol sat back and relaxed, studying the hard copy of the duty rosters. He could instruct Icom analysis, but it was more amusing to do it himself. He was quite good at spotting patterns. He had learned that from Lord Andros. Andros was a master at seeing the big picture from simple observation of symmetry via a variety of models, paradigms and designs. He enjoyed the hunt. Few activities gave him as much satisfaction as chasing his quarry to ground.

  Neopol smiled, glancing through personnel list suspects. Barlow, as senior officer, was most likely involved in the Delian conspiracy. He would know for certain soon.

  A gentle tap at the door interrupted his musings. The Admiral noted: seventeen-hundred. Exactly on time. “Come.”

  Barlow came in and stood to attention.

  “At ease, Captain. Come and sit.” He gestured to the chair opposite his. “You are, after all, among friends, eh?” The Admiral grinned and raised his glass. “Scotch? It is all I have, I am afraid.”

  Barlow sat down. “No, thank you, sir.”

  “Do you enjoy Renitu, Jon?” Neopol asked, lowering the volume of the music.

  Captain Barlow stammered, apparently caught off guard by the question, “Ah, no, sir. I mean … I haven’t heard him before, but this particular composition sounds nice.”

  Neopol chuckled and drawled in a condescending manner, “Ah, well, not everyone has had the opportunity to study the modern masters.”

  “No, sir.”

  Neopol noted that Barlow’s face showed more color than usual. The man shifted imperceptibly, adjusting the collar around his neck. The Admiral used his “we have a problem” voice, “Do you know why you’re here, Jon?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I have reason to believe that there is a spy aboard Conqueror.” Neopol watched closely to observe the effect of these words.

  “Indeed, sir? Barlow queried calmly. “May I ask why?”

  The Admiral studied Barlow for a moment, reflecting. He had expected a reaction from this direct question. He was certain Barlow was aware of the conspiracy. He would try another ploy. He said, “A ship left Delian five days ago.”

  Barlow’s lips parted, and the pupils of his honey-brown eyes dilated a fraction.

  That’s better, the Admiral thought. Now, was Captain Barlow astonished or afraid? Neopol said, “The vessel departed sector G. It wasn’t reported.”

  Emotions flew across Barlow’s face for the merest moment.

  Neopol smiled with satisfaction. Oh, yes, there was no doubt about it. Barlow was guilty. Suddenly Neopol didn’t want to continue. Let Barlow wait, let his fear work, eat away at him for a bit. He would be the last to undergo mindtap.

  “Well, Jon, I see that you are as surprised as I was,” Neopol said in a loud, genial voice. “Never mind. We will get to the bottom of this with mindtap.”

  “Mindtap?” the Captain echoed, his tone incredulous. “But mindtap is illegal.”

  “Yes, of course,” replied the Admiral. “But mindtap is the best way to find the truth, and in cases of treason it is admissible.” He laughed. “I’ve permission to use any means to get to the bottom of this. I’ve notified HC,” he added, tapping his nose, as if letting Barlow in on a secret. “Unfortunately, your name was on the duty roster at the time. Never mind. Full mindtap interrogation will not be necessary, and as you know it produces no lasting effects.” Admiral Neopol stood up, signaling that their meeting was over. “I’ll call you when I require your attendance.”

  Barlow’s frowned, his face registering surprise and confusion.

  “Oh, I’ve had your Icom blocked for all communications,” the Admiral explained. “Not only yours, of course, but everyone’s from the duty roster. No need to tell you to keep this little secret hush-hush, is there?” The Admiral didn’t wait for a reply to his question. “You’re dismissed,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Captain Barlow walked from the room with what to the Admiral’s amusement appeared to be careful, wooden steps. All the color had drained from his face.

  Neopol gave Janson his instructions after he left. “Follow Barlow; monitor his every action. If he asks why, tell him it’s on my orders. He’s not to communicate in any way that you are not able to fully view yourself. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Good, Neopol thought happily, rubbing his hands together. He would start with the others and save Barlow for the last. Barlow wouldn’t be going anywhere. Whistling Renitu’s Seventh, the Admiral left his quarters and began a brisk stroll to the detention decks to begin on his first victim.

  A young technician, one of the many rank and file responsible for Conqueror’s engines, saluted the Admiral smartly as they passed in the corridor.

  Eyes gleaming with anticipation, a smile on his lips, Admiral Neopol automatically returned his salute, hardly noticing the man. His mind was on the detention deck and all the pleasures he would discover there.

  The technician smiled and thought: The Admiral is in good spirits. That’s got to be a good omen. In a better state of mind, the enlisted man walked on.

  Captain Barlow sat in his quarters going through hell. Forsaken Worlds, I’m in trouble, he thought. He felt quite light-headed. Did Neopol suspect? What did he mean — not full mindtap? He would be caught now, he felt sure of it. Still, all was not lost — even if his guilt were discovered. Barlow forced himself to ruthlessly examine the possible consequences for the hundredth time in the last two days.

  First, there was no real proof. Why couldn’t it have been a simple malfunction? He had toyed with the idea of ensuring that a fault would be found in the sensors, but with Janson watching him so closely it was too late for that.

  It may be considered simple negligence on his part. He shook his head. If anyone but Neopol were involved, he would count on fine or demerit, at the most demotion, with no further action taken. After all, he wasn’t a spy. But with Neopol, he had to consider the worst.

  He would spill everything on mindtap. He would then be tried and, if worse came to worst, convicted of treason. Surely a jury would be lenient for a first offense. But treason was a severe crime. Spending the rest of his life on the prison planet of Cirani was an unbearable option.

  His mind ruthlessly pursued the worst possible consequences: death; or worse, torture then death. Barlow shut his eyes. His imagination was running away with him. If only this terrible waiting could be over.

  Barlow picked up the holoshot of his wife and two children. Looking at the picture didn’t help ease his fear. On the contrary, it increased his misery. Carolle was so perfect. She was extraordinary. He had never felt that he deserved her. Jon had courted and pursued her unsuccessfully for months. A large part of the reason for her uncertainty was because of her family. How could Carolle take a low-ranked enlisted man home to meet her intolerant and prejudiced father? She had been well aware that no good would come of it.

  Frowning, he remembered the first time he had been introduced
to parents.

  “So, you’re Barlow.” Carolle’s father had made the statement sound like an accusation.

  “Yes, sir,” he had replied, carefully keeping his voice neutral.

  “Your father served with the Fleet for years, but never rose above ensign.”

  “That’s right, sir, though he was unable to finish out his entire service life,” Jon replied. His sudden anger helped calm him. What right did this man have to belittle his father? “My father lost his legs after serving with the fleet ten years. He was decorated with the Shedhand Cross for bravery. You see,” he said, as if explaining to a child, “he was wounded while evacuating the Enso colony from an unstable sun.” He paused to let the significance of the remark sink in. Venting his anger he asked, “Did you ever serve, sir?” The question sounded polite, but the implication was clear: what had this man ever done for anyone?

  Carolle’s father had turned bright red. “I’ll not have her seen with an enlisted man, a man who will, like his sire, never rise to a position of responsibility.”

  “Father, Jon! Please!” Carolle had implored, but it had been too late. The damage had been done. Carolle’s parents had disowned her when she married him.

  To prove her father wrong, he worked relentlessly. He progressed in the fleet, finally obtaining the exalted position of Captain. But it made no difference. The same year he had obtained his promotion to Ship Captain, both her parents were killed in an accident. They left Carolle’s inheritance to the Temple of Jana.

  The lesson had been a hard one. Being right was not the answer in human relations — not if it meant making someone else wrong and then rubbing their nose in it.

  It had been difficult for Carolle to give up the home she had lived in, the place in which she had hoped to raise her own children. Jon was sure he could see the indecision in her eyes. Had she made the right choice? This could settle the matter for her, he decided grimly.

  Captain Barlow returned the holo to the table where it belonged. He had regretted that his own father died before his promotion to Captain. Now, for the first time in his life, he was relieved that his father was no longer alive. Dad had been so proud when his son had enlisted.

  “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.

  10. Barlow’s Story

  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

  Outwardly 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. Suc
h 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.”