The Alembic Plot Part 9

"We shall see." Cortin hid a smile, a bit surprised at herself. She'd noticed a little of it last time, but it seemed to be getting stronger: when she conducted an interrogation, she adopted Illyanov's speech patterns--perhaps as a reaction to the prisoner's crudity, perhaps as a tribute to her teacher, she didn't know, and it didn't really seem to matter. "I think that before too long you will be most curious as to the information I want, and you will be increasingly eager to give it to me. When you do, I will release you."

She was pleased to see the prisoner starting to look apprehensive. He still had his defiance, though. "You d.a.m.n servants of corruption never let anyone go! So why should I believe you'll start with me?"

"I did not mean that kind of release, as you should know, having been a trooper yourself. I meant only that I will release you from your pain." She explored further, identifying areas of promise from his sounds and flinching. It was a temptation to relieve him of his genitals, she thought as she reached them, but that would be short-sighted; from her own torture, as well as her studies, she knew them to be capable of some of the body's most exquisite pain. No, she would leave them where they could be of the most use--right where they were.

For Shannon's reaction: Reaction

Odeon watched in revolted fascination as his Joanie stripped skin, with precise delicacy, from the screaming renegade's hands. He'd expected her to go after the plaguer's manhood in retaliation for what had been done to her, but--except for a couple of times he'd been lying so obviously it was an insult--she had left that alone.

When she finished her subject's hands, Cortin stepped back to study him. She had discovered quickly that his personal horrors included being skinned alive, so that had become her primary tactic against him.

It was slow--enjoyably so, for her--and it was working very nicely indeed. "Have you decided to cooperate yet?"

"d.a.m.n you, b.i.t.c.h!" The renegade tried to spit at her, without success.

"Do your d.a.m.ndest--you won't get nothin' from me!"

Cortin smiled. He was still defiant, true, but Illyanov agreed with her a.s.sessment that he was the type who would remain defiant until he broke abruptly, and the same sense that told her when he was lying now told her he was close to that abrupt break. Give him the proper physical and psychological stimuli, and he should go from defiance to surrender in seconds.

She had already planned what to do, a continuation of her primary tactic--but a little bit of insurance wouldn't hurt. She turned to the other two. "Would either of you gentlemen care to avail yourselves of our guest while he still has enough spirit to be interesting? I fear I am being greedy, keeping him to myself."

Illyanov smiled, bowing to her. She hadn't been avoiding an extremely useful technique, as he had been half afraid she was, because it had been done to her; she had merely postponed it until the optimum time.

"It is generous of you to share, Inquisitor. It has been some time since I have had the opportunity to indulge myself in another's subject. I will not interrupt your work?"

Both ignored the renegade's protests and insults as Cortin returned the bow. "Not at all--your enjoyment of him should make the removal of his genital skin even more effective." And enjoyable . . . "Particularly if you can make him move enough that it is he who pulls himself free of it."

"That should pose no particular difficulty."

If it hadn't been his Joanie doing the work, his Joanie who might need his help, Odeon would have taken advantage of his non-Inquisitor status to leave. He'd taken part in some second-stage interrogations, on occasion enjoyed them if the recipient had done something particularly revolting--but even the most methodical of those beatings seemed more human, cleaner, than the cool, meticulous infliction of pain both Inquisitors so obviously enjoyed. At first he'd thought Joanie's enjoyment a pretense intended to make her subject's torment harder to endure, but he couldn't convince himself of that any longer. Joanie was enjoying her subject's anguish, taking a delight in his screams and writhings that Odeon found sickening. But it was Joanie; after what had been done to her, surely she had a right to whatever pleasures she could find . . .

Cortin was beginning to think she'd miscalculated her subject's resistance when screams of defiance turned abruptly, as antic.i.p.ated, into hopeless whimpering sobs mixed with pleas for mercy. She looked past him to Illyanov, who nodded; while he finished, she went to the instrument table and picked up a slender, razor-sharp dagger.

"Here is the end to your pain," she said softly, laying it against the raw flesh of the rogue's throat. "As soon as you answer my questions, I will give you your release. You have learned that you cannot lie to me; try it again, and you will find what has happened so far only the beginning. Do you understand?"

"Yes . . . Oh, G.o.d, no more!"

"That is up to you, not Him; you gave up any claim on His Mercy when you pledged allegiance to His enemies." Though, an inner voice said, he could still repent . . . "Tell me about Lawrence Shannon. Who he is, where he is, what his plans are."

"I don't know all that . . . please, I don't!"

He was telling the truth, unfortunately. "Very well. Tell me what you do know, then."

"I'm . . . not sure. No! Honest--he's the Raidmaster, everyone knows that--plans all the new-style raids--but n.o.body knows him. A Lawrence Shannon even leads all those raids, but not the same one, maybe not the one who plans 'em. An' that's all I know about 'im, honest!"

"I believe you," Cortin said. It was too bad he knew so little, and that so inconclusive, but she had no doubt that he was telling her all he did know, as she'd asked. "Have you heard anything else? It need not be certain--a rumor of his plans, perhaps."

"No . . . no, wait . . . maybe. I overheard something . . . a hospice . . . or could be a retirement home, or some sort of hospital. Old folks, or sick ones, anyway. That's all."

"All on that subject, or all on any?"

"All on any . . . please?"

"You have earned it." Cortin drove the knife up under his ear; he gasped, shuddered once, and died.

Cortin looked at him for a moment, then smiled. "Compared to your present master, my friend, I was easy on you. May you suffer under him for eternity."

Odeon tasted bile, knew suddenly he was going to be sick. "Joanie--"

She turned, saw his pale face, and hurried to him. "Can you make it to the washroom?"

"I don't think--"

"No, he cannot," Illyanov interrupted, coming over and holding a wastebasket.

Odeon had time for a grateful look before his stomach completed its rebellion. He felt Joanie's hand stroking his head, heard both Inquisitors telling him it was all right as they helped him into the suite's outer room and got him seated. When he was finished, Joanie handed him a towel; he wiped his mouth and looked up at them. "I'm sorry."

"That is a normal reaction," Illyanov said calmly. "There is no need to apologize; you did better than could have been expected."

"You should've left if it bothered you," Cortin said. "I'd like to have you backing me, yes, but not if my work's going to upset you like this."

"I'll get used to it," Odeon said stubbornly. "I can't promise I'll ever get to like it, but I will learn to handle it well enough to give you any backup you need."

"You set yourself a difficult task," Illyanov said. "I feel safe in predicting you will not come to like it; observing you, I would say you lack the quirk of mind required to take pleasure in another's pain.

With adequate motivation, time, and exposure, however, you may develop enough tolerance to be able to a.s.sist."

"I'll settle for that." Odeon's stomach churned again at the thought of doing what Illyanov had, unsure whether he was pleased or not at the Major's prognosis. In a way, it'd be good to share Joanie's pleasure even in that . . . "What do I do, sit in on all her interrogations?"

"I would normally recommend that you begin with a less talented Inquisitor," Illyanov said, "as that would be less unpleasant for you.

However, Captain Cortin is the one you will be teamed with, so perhaps it would indeed be as well if you work with her from the beginning."

"Less talented?" Odeon asked, puzzled. "That doesn't make sense."

"If you think for a moment," Illyanov said gently, "you will find it makes very good sense. One with less talent cannot judge tolerances as well, is not as sensitive to an individual subject's particular dreads, is more likely to believe lies told to please him and stop the interrogation, and--although this is also true of Captain Cortin, until she acquires experience to match her theoretical knowledge and raw talent--apt to let the subject die before extracting all possible information."

"Put that way, it does make sense," Odeon admitted. "I've never thought about Inquisitors very much--or the talents you have to have."

"Few people do," Illyanov said drily. "Few people care to think much about us, fewer still about how we obtain our results--even though they have no objections to using those results. We get few thanks and less praise for what we do, so it is well that G.o.d grants us the mercy of deriving our satisfaction from the work itself."

Odeon nodded. That was something else he'd never thought about . . .

and again, it made sense. "I understand, I think. So I'll work with her whenever she's doing an interrogation, then?"

"Yes. When you feel able to a.s.sist, you will of course be covered by her Warrant." He looked at his watch, then grinned ruefully at Cortin.

"I thought we had been busy for some time, but I had not realized I had lost track of time to this degree. It is almost midnight--I think we had best call it a day immediately, and pray Doctor Egan does not find out how late I kept you. I am not feeling sucicidal enough to face her if she feels I have been overworking you again."

"Neither am I! Once was more than enough." The chewing out Egan had given tham when she'd caught them in a tutoring session after visiting hours was one Cortin would remember with respect for some time. "See you at breakfast?"

"It would be my pleasure."