Purge of Prometheus (27 page)

Through the incredible screaming, Horace’s rumbling voice called out clearly.
 
“The Crown is currently injecting a cocktail of medicine directly into your brain.
 
The first, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is keeping you from passing out from the pain.
 
An interrogation would be ineffective if you went unconscious every time I put the screws to you… no pun intended.
 
The second is a serum that destroys any mental barrier you may have put in place to resist my line of questions.
 
There is a debate about whether the metaphorical destruction of mental barriers is directly correlated to a very real destruction of brain tissue.
 
But to be perfectly honest, I don’t think you’re going to much care one way or another when all this is done.”

Horace leaned back, reveling in the screams, and propped his feet up on top of the sterile metal table in the middle of the room.
 
“Believe me, Vangore.
 
I know you’re far from admitting your guilt right now.
 
I just want you to know that I will stay here as long as it takes until you’ve admitted your guilt.”

Yen watched through the one-way glass window as the screams continued hour after hour.
 
Occasionally, Horace stood and adjusted the fluid flow coursing into Vangore’s brain or wiped away the frothing spittle that spilled from the Wyndgaart’s mouth.
 
For the most part, however, the Oterian sat back and watched for an indication that Vangore was ready to admit guilt.
 
Yen couldn’t even fathom what more the prisoner could do to signal that he was ready to speak.
 
As far as he could tell, Vangore did little other than scream his muffled scream through locked jaws.

Veins bulged against Vangore’s neck and pulsed in his temple as he continued to strain against the paralytic enzyme within his system.
 
Yen knew that the subliminal trigger he had placed within Vangore’s mind had activated hours before, when the pain threshold was surpassed.
 
Were he given the chance to talk, he would readily admit to killing anyone in known space.
 
But Horace had never given him the chance to talk, instead keeping the Crown working at full power.
 
Yen empathized with his scapegoat, having known the feeling of having his brain alight with fire.
 
However, he had trouble sympathizing with Vangore, knowing that his guilt would keep Yen from future accusations.
 
Still, Yen reached up and wiped away the sweat that beaded on his own brow, the continued screams having made Yen feel a little queasy.

After nearly four hours of torture, Horace arbitrarily reached up and turned off the Crown.
 
Though still paralyzed, Vangore visible collapsed against the metal chair, moaning as much as his stiff body would allow.
 
The blood from the four holes in his scalp mingled with his tears as they coursed down his face.
 
Ignoring the sobs that erupted from Vangore, Horace pulled a second vial from the black case and loaded it into the auto-injector.
 
Sliding the needle into the prisoner’s arm once more, the purple fluid bubbled as it pumped into his system.
 
Muscles that had been held taunt for four hours relaxed instantaneously.
 
Vangore’s face melted as though he had suffered a stroke.
 
Had he not been affixed to the chair, he would have fallen limply to the floor.
 
Instead, his head lolled from side to side, allowing blood red droplets to pool and fall forgotten from the tip of his nose.

Horace leaned forward, whispering just loud enough for the microphones to pick up his words.
 
“Now, Vangore, is there something you want to tell me?”

Yen strained to hear the reply in the other room, eager to put this behind him and allow the
Revolution
to continue its mission.
 
Vangore strained to pull his head up, his dark hair cascading over eyes that struggled to focus on the brutish, shaggy Oterian who sat before him.
 
Slurping back the drool that ran from his limp lips, Vangore tried to form the words.
 
A soft mumble rolled from his dry throat.

“I’m sorry, Vangore,” Horace said, shaking his head, “but we just didn’t hear that.”

Coughing, exhaling a fine mist of blood, Vangore tried again.
 
This time, Yen heard his reply softly through the speakers in the observation room.

“I did it,” Vangore muttered.
 
“I killed Merric.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Horace said condescendingly.
 
“I truly am.”

Horace stood, turning to look at his own reflection in the one-way glass behind which Yen stood.
 
Though he fidgeted as though examining himself in the mirror, Yen caught the look in his eyes.
 
Horace was not yet done with Vangore.
 
Turning back to the prisoner, Horace proceeded to crush any hope Vangore had of being free from the hell of the Crown.

“I am glad to hear that you confessed to the crime,” Horace explained, “but I am having trouble believing that you planned so complex a murder by yourself.
 
How did you move his body through the ship without anyone noticing?
 
How did you dispose of the body in the engine room, a place that is never empty, without someone noticing the warning claxons that would have sounded when the active exhaust vent was opened?”
 
Horace paced around the metal table.
 
“No, I don’t think you’re smart enough to plan this yourself.
 
You had an accomplice, and we’re going to stay here until you’re ready to give me every one of their names.”

Yen’s groan of disappointment was only slightly softer than that of Vangore.

CHAPTER 21:

Time had passed quickly for the trio, with no word from Alcent.
 
Keryn spent the day after her return from outside Miller’s Glen telling her story to the other two, ending with the dramatic entrance of the Uligart.
 
The others seemed to share her infectious optimism, but clearly felt the loss of both Cerise and McLaughlin.
 
With their numbers dwindled even further and without the ship, they now relied entirely on Alcent.

Though their situation had barely improved from before her escape from the city, Keryn found her spirits lifted and her focus fell more often toward thoughts of Adam and her making love throughout their night together.
 
She longed for another night like the one they had shared, but time and mission no longer permitted.
 
Instead, Keryn spent most of her time focusing on creating a plan for escape, content with the longing looks they shared as they worked.
 

“I really think this has a chance of succeeding,” Keryn remarked one dark morning as the trio shuffled in their work group toward the ruins.
 
She had explained the outlines of her plan to them the night before.
 
“I think this could actually work with Alcent’s help.”

The other two, Adam in particular, seemed more skeptical about the situation.
 
“Even if he’s legitimate,” Adam replied, “our plan counts as little more than a rough outline right now.
 
He may have the biggest arsenal on the planet’s surface, but until we get a plan that we are sure will work, we still don’t stand a chance against the Terrans.
 
Putting firepower in the hands of a disorganized and leaderless mob is nothing but chaos.”

“I don’t know Alcent,” Penchant added, supportive of Keryn’s plan, “but he seems capable since he already has his own following.
 
But is he prepared to lead a full revolt against the Terrans?
 
This plan will not only need a strong leader, but one that is willing to accept the catastrophic losses of soldiers that it will entail.
 
I don’t know if this Alcent character is going to be that leader.”

“Then I’ll be that leader,” Keryn said with intensity.
 
“We’ve already lost so much; many of the survivors care little about their own survival.
 
But I’ll make a fighting force out of them by offering the one thing they’ve been missing since the Terran’s arrived: hope.
 
I’ll give them a way off the rock.
 
I’ll give them the revenge they all so desperately want.
 
But, most importantly, they’ll have a leader who is as intelligent and beautiful as she is deadly.”
 
She turned toward the other two, an uncharacteristic smile spread across her lips.
 
Behind her eyes, the Voice cheered with silent enthusiasm.
 
“Now, let’s refine this plan until it’s absolutely infallible.”

Over the rest of the day, in between moving rocks and removing now badly decomposing bodies, Keryn sketched out her plan for escape.
 
Smiles broke across the faces of the other two, only to quickly disappear as the Terran guards passed by.
 
They listened intently as she explained the specifics of her plan in graphic detail, tracing each person’s responsibilities.
 
The others added their input, pointing out weaknesses on the flanks of the proposed squadrons and their individual movement, making recommendations about key points of interest which they needed to attack sooner during the plan.
 
By the end of the day, all three were content that their plan could be a complete success; they had created a plan that would get them off the planet and strike against the Terrans with such surprise and force that they would never have a chance to mount a defense of their own.

It is a good plan
, the Voice said as they gathered to leave their work area.
 
We will succeed, assuming Alcent can live up to his end of the bargain.

On the fourth day, as they worked again in the fields, they were approached by an Oterian as they sat on the ground, enjoying one of the few breaks they received throughout the day.

“Got anything to eat?” the Oterian asked, his head held low and his voice barely discernable as he mumbled under his breath.

“Sorry,” Penchant answered, turning his featureless black face toward the newcomer, “but we’re fresh out.
 
You’re welcome to pull up a piece of ground, though.”
 
The Lithid’s attitude had changed greatly since their arrival on the planet.
 
His coarse and often harsh responses to people had been tempered on the frigid planet.
 
As he moved through the rubble fields, he openly sought camaraderie with his fellow survivors, often getting rebuked by the overly downtrodden, but making friends as well.

“No,” the Oterian said, shaking his head, “I’ve got to keep moving on.”
 
He raised his head and Keryn noticed strength behind his eyes that belied his defeatist demeanor.
 
“But Alcent is ready to see you all.
 
Tonight, after curfew, meet him at the store.”
 
A smile crept across the Oterian’s lips.
 
“He wanted me to let you know that if you have lived up to your end of the bargain, he’s more than prepared to live up to his.”

The blank and exhausted look returning to his face, the Oterian turned and shuffled away, asking the next few collections of survivors if they had any food to spare.
 
Keryn looked at the other two, her heart beating heavily in her chest.
 
If Alcent was able to do all he had promised, then their plan was guaranteed to be a success.
 
By the end of the week, they’d all be free of Othus.

That night, Adam and Keryn struck out from House 12, leaving Penchant behind.
 
The bracelet that was firmly attached to his wrist was a tracking mechanism.
 
They couldn’t risk exposing their operation before the plan could even begin, knowing that the Terrans could monitor all Lithid movements within the city from their Fleet destroyer orbiting the planet.
 
The bracelet also housed a significant amount of explosives, explosives that could be remotely detonated from anywhere within the city.
 
Begrudgingly, Penchant had agreed to stay in the house while the other two made the meeting.

For Keryn, the careful walk to the abandoned department store was a more confident affair this time around.
 
Aside from having done this previously, she now had the comfort of having Adam’s protection as they bisected the residential area and moved into the commercial district of town.
 
With an odd sense of déjà vu, Keryn glanced around in the darkness before slipping through the broken glass, followed quickly by Adam’s hulking form.

The darkness was as oppressive as Keryn remembered within the store.
 
She stood near the naked racks that once held clothing as her eyes adjusted to the dark.
 
The wait was in vain, however, as she heard the familiar voice in the back of the store.