Captain Cosette (20 page)

Chapter Fourteen

“
Lay down there on those tracks,” said the short angry man, pointing his feathered spear, which was taller than he was.

“
You’ll never get my shoes,” said Dorothea, drawing herself up to her full height, which was taller than the short angry man, before lying down on the tracks with the yellow wooden ties. 

“
I’ll tie these ropes delicately,” he said, still angry, “but when that maglev comes by, you’ll not only be merely dead, you’ll be most sincerely dead!”

Cosette switched off the small screen and resumed pacing back and forth in her cell.  The screen was built into the wall by the door, forcing her to read standing up, and
lately she could only take Renée Chevalier in small doses.

The Union soldiers had not only put a fresh bracelet on her, they had put her in a high-security cell.  Lieutenant Garale
had yelled accusations that she was the ringleader, that she was responsible for his imprisonment and his burns, that she was smuggling Major Dyson back to the Alliance, and that she was a traitor of the worst sort. 

Major Dyson was taken under custody and taken to a cell by heavily armed guards.  Rasora sat quietly during the commotion, and she didn’t know what had become of him.

The small screen in the wall had access to a very limited library.  She knew, from her memories of the station’s schematics, that it was also a monitor.  She was careful not to change clothes in front of the screen, not that she had much to change.  She had two sets of Union underclothes and two cheap yellow coveralls that all prisoners wore, plus a pair of station work shoes.

As far as she could tell, their fighter had been hijacked by the same space station that had been orbiting Sorine.  Certainly it had the same schematics.  Below her lay the water recycling tanks, and on the level above, the officer’s lounge.  Sometimes in the silence of the night she could hear a faint strain of party music.  The officers lived well.  Lieutenant Garale was likely enjoying himself on the floor above, his burnt wrist tended and bandaged.

Major Dyson would be held in one of the cells in this same wing. For all she knew, he could be in the cell beside her, but there was a sound field on her cell as well as a sturdy door, so shouting did no good.  Tapping on the walls produced no responses.

Meals were delivered three times a day, better food than she would have expected.  In the economy of the orbiting station, a portion of the food prepared for the lower ranks and staff was diverted to the prisoners.  No one was going to do extra work to make trays of deliberately bad food for them, but then no one went out of their way to make sure the trays arrived warm and without the liquids congealed either.

A day passed, and then another, and then another. 

She paced, did sit-ups, and squeezed what entertainment she could from the screen’s library.  It was a dumb terminal, and in spite of all her knowledge, she could not access anything useful. 

She could read from the screen only by standing in front of it, or she could sit and listen to lectures on correct thinking and obedience.  She guessed that whoever had assembled the library had deliberately avoided anything genuinely entertaining – there were no video productions, and no music except “inspirational state-approved” classics and marches.  The screen was only active during the day, and she slept restlessly at night, hearing the occasional thumping of music from the lounge and the whine of the pumps beneath her floor starting up and shutting down.  She wished the sound shield would cut off sounds from above and below.  It was maddening. 

One meal contained a surprise.  Buried under a hard roll she found a small scrap of paper that read simply,
“The twin has kitchen duty.”  Rasora had been put back to work.  He had probably pled that he was just an innocent bystander in Cosette’s schemes. 

Good
for
him
. 
That
would
be
the
right
thing
to
do
. 
I
wish
I
was
repairing
ships
instead
of
sitting
here
rotting
.

She refused to rot.

She devised different exercises: strength training, balance, and aerobics.  Part of the “background” files that Professor Roland had tossed up on the screen had included physical training regimes.  She was in decent shape to begin with, having worked at….at…

And there her memories stopped.  Her body was toned and healthy, but she had no idea what she had been doing the past years of her life to get that way, no idea what her previous labors had been.

Perhaps
I
worked
in
a
factory
,
or
tended
livestock
. 
Or
I
was
a
rich
man’s
daughter
,
playing
at
sports
until
my
sense
of
patriotism
had
caused
me
to
…

None of that seemed right.

She sat on her cot and inspected her hands. 

Who
am
I
? 
Where
did
I
come
from
? 

The door clicked, hissed, and slid to one side. 

It’s
not
time
for
a
meal
. 
Who
could
that
be
?

The sound field shimmered away, and in the doorway stood an officer with his hair slicked back and a bandage around his wrist.

Lieutenant Garale. 

Alone.

“Ah, prisoner Cosette.”  He smiled like a schoolmaster about to whip a hated child.  “Have you been enjoying your days of luxury?”

She remained seated.  She was not about to show any deference to this wretch, nor was she going to talk to him.

He continued, “You let me sit in that brick cell on that planet for a full week.  Did you come visit me?  Did you see if I was comfortable or not?  Here at least you have water you can trust and no insects to bite you.  Aren’t you grateful?”

She stared at him.

“Not feeling talkative at the moment?  It doesn’t matter.”  He reached outside the door of her cell and picked up the key to her bracelet.  “Come with me.”

She didn’t move.

“Did you know that you have a different model of bracelet on your arm?  Look what it can do.”  He pressed the side of the cylindrical key, and she felt a burning in her wrist that made her cry out with pain, a burning as though her hand had been pushed into a roaring campfire.

He lifted his finger off, and the burning stopped.  She looked at her wrist, amazed to find her skin whole and untouched.  She
remembered that she had felt pain like that before. 

Somewhere.

“Clever, is it not?”  He looked at the key with admiration.  “Very useful for disciplining stubborn prisoners.”  His voice sharpened.  “Now get up off that cot and come with me or you’ll be on the floor begging for mercy.”

She stood up, smoldering with resentment, and walked out of her cell.

He tapped the keypad and closed the door to her cell.  “I had to call in some favors to get your cell code.  Now walk beside me and behave.  I’ll have my finger on the key button the whole time, so don’t even think about attacking me…” he chuckled, looking down at her, “…or trying to escape.”  He patted the thin flat gun on his hip.  “If you do run, I could cut you in half with my disruptor and there wouldn’t even be a hearing.”

I
don’t
know
what
you
have
in
mind
,
but
I’m
not
going
to
plead
or
bargain
.

Garale led them out of the cell block, up a flight of metal stairs, and after a short walk took a left corridor.

He’s
taking
me
to
the
officers’
quarters
.

She stopped.

Garale sighed with exasperation.  “Come along, prisoner.  I promised to show you my quarters once, and I always keep my promises.  Don’t worry, no one will interrupt us.”

“
No.”

“
Ah, she does talk.  But you need to say ‘yes,’ not ‘no.’”  He pressed the button, and she groaned with the torment.

He held the button down. 
“Say yes,” he said through clenched teeth.  “It won’t matter anyway, because I’ll drag you into my room if I have to.”

She shouted and swung at him, trying to hit him with the burning bracelet.  He stopped pressing the button, grabbed her wrist and pulled her up against him.  He twisted her around and wrapped his arm around her throat.

“Listen to me, you
stupid
little girl.”  His teeth pressed against her ear, his voice reptilian.  “You are going with me into my room, and you will do whatever I want because you have no choice.  I’m stronger than you are, I’ve got the key, and I’m an officer.”  She struggled to get free, but he had a chokehold on her.  “If you had come with me that first day, back when that moron, that boyfriend of yours interfered, you’d have had an easy life, maybe moved up the ranks, but no,” he squeezed her throat tighter, “you had to play the rebel.”

She tried to kick his feet, but he had on leather boots and her light shoes did nothing.  He dragged her backwards
into his room, his arm cutting off her windpipe.  “You should have been smarter, little girl!  You should have played your cards right and been more cooperative.  You should have had a better strategy!”

Strategy.

Strategy
.

Snap
!

A rush of voices washed over her, deafened her, smothered her.  Whispers of wise men, coarse shouts by warriors, soft words by aged generals, couched in many accents from many nations and planets.  Battles raged in her mind, hordes clashed in vast battlefields.   Military stand-offs, gun fights, and solitary men and women battling in silent desperation poured over her brain.
  Surprise, deception, and the fog of war all settled into her mind and found a home.  She was surrounded by shadowy figures, the great fighters and generals of the ages.

A man with thick eyelids and a silken robe counseled her,
“Know your enemy and know yourself, and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster.”

A rough man with his arm tattooed spat on the ground and growled,
“Hear me! A good plan executed
now
is better than a perfect plan executed next week.”

A short round man with
curly hair and his hand in his braided coat nodded.  “One jumps into the fray, and then figures out what to do next.”

A tall woman with gold bands on her upper arms reached out to Cosette and grasped her shoulders. 
“Cosette!  Wake up!  Your own battle is underway!”

My
own
battle
?

With great effort, she opened her eyes.  She was lying on a cot, her arms and legs unresponsive.  Garale had his back to her, closing the door.  She struggled to get up, and couldn’t move.

Too many voices shouted at her in her mind.

Just
one
voice
! 
Just
one
! 
Tell
me
what
to
do
!

The generals and the princes hushed as one small wiry man took over. 
“You are a weapon,” he whispered.  “You need nothing else.  His strength will be yours.”

Garale turned
from the door and stepped back, his eyes startled.  Cosette was on her feet, her knees bent, her eyes narrowed.

“
Oh, please,” he said.  “I liked you better unconscious.  It would be easier for both of us.”

She didn’t move, but
she scanned the room, looking at surfaces, angles, loose objects that might be useful as weapons. 

He
thinks
I
am
small
and
harmless
and
that
he
can
force
himself
on
me
. 
When
I
strike
,
I
will
move
fast.
I
will
be
the
wind
.