Movement by the door, and they both turned to face it. He knew at once that it wasn't Warrick, but it took a moment for his exhausted brain to recognise the tall, blond figure, then a moment longer before he could believe what he was seeing.
Carnac, as large as life and about a hundred times as smug.
He smiled at them calmly, as if there was nothing in the least unusual about the meeting. Toreth simply stared.
"Hello, Toreth. Sara."
Neurons finally fired and produced a response. "What the fuck are
you
doing here?"
"I am organising. Planning." Carnac gestured expansively. "Directing. Creating strategy. In other words, I am doing my job. Freelance, as you might have guessed."
"Okay, what the fuck are you doing
here
?"
"Looking for you, naturally. And naturally, I have found you."
Yeah, naturally. Stupid to think things couldn't get any worse. "You're with the resisters?"
"For purposes of tact, you might consider calling them revolutionaries." Carnac closed the door to the room. "Us revolutionaries, indeed, for the duration of my contract."
"I thought you were Administration."
"Not any more. Or rather, not that Administration."
So that's how it was. "I'm surprised the rabble we had in here stopped long enough to find out you were on their side."
"Ah, yes. The rabble." He crossed over to them. "When one is engaged in a difficult enterprise such as this, one must use whatever tools are available. Even if those tools are dangerous and hard to direct with precision. Useful, but best used as little as possible. As we speak, the rabble are being, ah, encouraged to return home, to enjoy the freedoms they have won. More reliable forces are replacing them."
He hunted for a suitable reply, and gave up — he was too exhausted to play Carnac's kind of games. "I don't suppose you could just tell us what the hell you want?"
"I want you." Carnac paused, as if expecting some kind of response. "As part of my organisational duties, I have been placed in charge of dealing with this establishment. I&I is a part of the old Administration." He gestured around the room, taking in the smashed interrogation equipment. "It is also a barbaric, grotesque anachronism that symbolises that oppressive and brutal regime. A natural focus, as you have discovered, for the hatred of the populace."
His delivery was as controlled as ever, but the hint of anger behind it — real anger — caught Toreth's interest at once. It was the first time he'd ever heard the man sound as if he cared about something other than himself. "So . . . what? You're here to finish off what your pet mob started and you thought you'd begin with personal grudges?"
Carnac shook his head. "Nothing so Neanderthal. The new Administration will be . . . well, I doubt the details of our ultimate aspirations would interest you, or mean anything to you. Suffice it to say that, regrettably, your inquisitorial skills will still be required, at least for the initial period of reorganisation and readjustment."
"You're going to keep Interrogation?" What the fuck was the point of the whole bloody mess, then?
"Records will be examined by a tribunal to determine those with interrogation expertise most suitable to be — " Carnac frowned slightly. " — re-employed by the new Administration. Not a plan I designed, although I concede the practical imperative. Any, ah, excess personnel will be dealt with as appropriate."
Sara said, "As appropriate?"
Carnac turned to her. "My understanding is that, after their files are assessed and they are interviewed by the tribunal, those rejected will be executed as 'political criminals'. An ironic and somewhat amusing redefinition of the term."
'My understanding', my arse, Toreth thought. He would happily bet a great deal of money on it being the socioanalyst's idea in the first place. "So why pick me out?"
"Because I selected you to be the first to receive an offer of re-employment. I abused no rules to do so — I'm confident that you have no personal loyalty towards the old Administration, and that you will ply your trade just as efficiently for us. Beyond that, I know you and I know your strengths. I need someone to persuade the rest of those selected to remain at I&I to cooperate with us. You can fulfil that role superbly."
Flattering. From anyone else Toreth might've considered believing it. "'Personal fucking liaison' again, right?"
"An accurate description of the post, yes." Carnac's voice held a 'clever boy' edge that made Toreth tense his arms against the cuffs. "The new Administration is operating under martial law, and in any case Int-Sec is technically a military organisation, so I could merely order you to comply, should I so wish."
But obviously he wouldn't — he wanted Toreth to ask him for it, to accept the offer. Let me fuck you, and I'll let you live. Simple choice. No choice at all, really. "What about Sara?"
"Sara is free to go."
She looked between them. "Free to go?"
"Yes. The excesses of the first few days were regrettable, but the administrative staff are not officially included in the purges. Sorry — in the 'reforms'. Most of the admins will be released over the next day or so. We are currently verifying identities to ensure that none of the larger fish slip through the net. If you also wish to return to work here, that would be your decision. I merely thought that your presence here would be . . . a demonstration of goodwill and authority on my part."
Toreth nodded, believing that at least. Sara was safe. "In that case — "
"No!" Sara stepped forwards.
"Shut up. In that case, Carnac, you can go fuck yourself, and your job, and your fucking treacherous, murderous new friends, and if you want to have me, you'll have to get someone to hold me down while you fucking well rape me, if you can manage to get it up, because — " He ran out of breath, spoiling the effect, but never mind. "Because I never thought I'd say this, but I'd rather fucking die."
Carnac raised an eyebrow. "Have you finished?"
"Yes."
"Good. Melodrama aside, is that your final answer?"
"Toreth, don't! Please don't."
He ignored her. "Yes, it is."
"I see." Carnac shook his head, mock regretful. "I have to admit, it wasn't the answer I expected. I had thought that you'd be sufficiently intelligent to say yes, and wait until you had the chance to run."
Toreth blinked. Oh, yes. Well, we can't all be geniuses, can we? "Try spending four days in the pitch dark with your ribs kicked in and then see if you feel like playing fucking games afterwards."
Not a bad save, but he doubted Carnac believed it.
"In that case, I believe our business here is concluded." Carnac straightened his sleeves. "I shall be —"
"Can I have a word with Sara? Alone?" Much as he hated to ask Carnac for anything, this might, he realised, be the last chance.
Carnac took a few steps away, making it clear that that was all he would offer.
She had started crying again, and it was getting on his nerves. "Sara? Do you think you could possibly shut the fuck up and listen for a minute?"
With an effort, she swallowed the sobs. "What?"
"A favour, that's all. Could you tell Warrick —" And his mind went blank. Fuck. What the hell kind of message were you supposed to send under these circumstances? Tell him I committed suicide because I couldn't bear the idea of Carnac shoving his cock down my throat and expecting me to be grateful for it? Tell him I'm going to miss him, for however long it takes them to kill me? Tell him I'm sorry that the last thing we did together was argue and not fuck? Tell him that he was the best fuck in the world?
"Tell him I . . . " And his eyes started to sting from looking at her, seeing her crying for him. No one else ever had. "You're the admin — just tell him something. Whatever you think he'd like to hear. Make it sound good."
She nodded, choking on tears.
"You can tell him yourself," Carnac said.
Toreth turned slowly towards him. "What?"
"Keir is here to collect you — he's waiting upstairs. Rather impatiently, I imagine."
"To . . . collect me?" The bastard was lying. He had to be lying. Playing games.
"Yes. Public transport services are still suspended and I wouldn't advise walking through the city. Certainly not in uniform."
Beside him, Sara stared too, tears dried by the shock. "But — but you said he . . ."
Carnac smiled at him with the most purely vindictive expression Toreth had seen in his life. "Toreth, did you honestly think that I would make your release conditional upon your providing sexual services? After your charming farewell last time I was here? Dear me. I think you have a somewhat exaggerated opinion of your own performance."
Of course, Carnac hadn't said anything of the kind, not specifically. Heavily fucking implied it, yes, and Toreth knew all about that technique.
Fuck, but the man could hold a grudge.
"Why?" Toreth said.
"I thought that I had explained. Shall I go through it more slowly?"
"No. Why the fuck are you letting me go?" If he was.
Carnac looked at him for a moment, then shrugged delicately. "I don't suppose it matters if I tell you, although I doubt you will like the answer. I'm doing this for Keir. I have a lot to thank him for, and for some reason that I cannot begin to fathom, he decided my gratitude could best be expressed by extracting you from here and returning you to his safe keeping."
"What the hell do you owe him for?"
"Ah. Now that, I think, he will be able to explain far better than I." He paused. "If you wish to ask him. I would advise against it, but I'm used to having my advice ignored."
"I'll hear it from you."
"Actually, no." Carnac looked at his watch. "Now I do have to get along. Organising a revolution is time-consuming work, but —" He shared one of his devastating smiles between them, leaving Toreth cold. "At least I'm not bored."
Toreth had a ready response, but it wasn't original. Let it go. Try not to hope too much that Carnac might be telling the truth.
Carnac started to turn, then paused. "The offer of a job, incidentally, remains open — it was the justification for your release, and I see no reason to complicate my own situation by rescinding the order. However, I doubt that anyone will have reason to chase it up, should you decide to disappear quietly. After you."
He gestured to the door. Still not believing, Toreth did as he was told.
A split second before it happened, he noticed that although Sara's hands were cuffed, her legs were free. Just as he began to form the thought, "How sloppy," she turned to Carnac as she passed him, smiled sweetly, and kicked him in the bollocks.
Hard.
Really, terribly hard.
Toreth cringed in instinctive empathy, even as he relished the high, choked scream. Carnac's expression was beyond priceless. He dropped like a stone, already doubling up before he hit the ground.
Sara stood over him, tears flowing freely, screaming hatred. She didn't kick him again, but it would have been utterly superfluous in any case — his nervous system was fully engaged. It was stupid, it might well get them both killed, but Toreth loved her for it.
"Sara." He stepped back, out of the line of fire from the door. "Sara, leave it."
She didn't react to him in the slightest, utterly focused on Carnac, yelling obscenities with a passion and variety that impressed him, even under the currently stressed circumstances. "Sara, get away from him."
Door opening now. He took a deep breath, ignoring the fierce pain in his side. "Sara!" he shouted, desperately willing her to move.
At least she shut up. And at least the guards who entered seemed prepared to investigate before they fired.
They looked between them, from Sara to himself to the writhing Carnac. What had happened was blindingly obvious, even without Carnac trying to gasp out something that might have been, "Bitch."
To his surprise, Toreth recognised one of the guards. "Horley?"
The man caught his eye for a second, then turned away, towards his companion, who looked to Toreth like a civilian — a resister.
"What do you think?" the civilian asked.
Horley shrugged. "We've already got our orders. I don't see that this changes them." And, briefly, he smiled. Actually
smiled
. They weren't looking at Carnac any more, not even a glance. He had a sudden feeling that Carnac's talent for making himself unpopular had been manifesting itself again.
Horley nodded at them. "Get a move on."
Toreth went over and nudged Sara with his shoulder. He wasn't leaving her, whatever happened. "Sara, come on. Move. Before they change their minds." Before Carnac got his voice back, which fortunately wouldn't be for a good while yet.
She looked up at him blankly, then nodded. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice raw.
"I'm not. But we have to go. Please."
To his relief, another nudge got her moving, with only a brief backward glance. Once they were out of the room, Carnac's anguished moans fading behind them, Horley stopped them. "Take the cuffs off them," he said to the other guard.
"What about —"
"Forget what the spook said. They're going home, what the hell does it matter? Besides, it'll take forever to walk him up there with the leg restraints."
He recognised all the corridors, every lift, every door. He'd worked there ever since the building had been completed. And everything seemed strange; every person was a stranger, even the few he recognised. But at the same time all his colleagues (or at least the surviving ones) were still there, somewhere, locked up. In coffee rooms, like Sara had been, or in cells like Chevril, cuffed and in pain. And alone now, except for poor fucking Sedanioni.
They passed bodies, and Service troopers bagging them for removal. He recognised some of the corpses, but most of the faces were made unfamiliar by death. Bloodstains marked places where other bodies had already been cleared, making it plain that on the interrogation levels the killing had been extensive.
So much blood.
Sara walked beside him, tears falling steadily as if she was no longer aware of them, averting her eyes from the dead. But Toreth didn't feel anything beyond a sense of wondering disbelief, or even find it strange that he didn't. His body still hurt, but even that seemed distant. It was simply too much for him to take in — his world fallen apart around him.