Shadowland

Chapter 04 - Puzzle - Part 08

As Cariane waited in the midst of the empty crates and the dark and the dust, a strange calm came over her. There was nothing left to do; capture was inevitable. If that was the case, she had best prepare herself. Standing and stretching, she walked to the open ventilation duct she had crawled out of and set Shanks inside it. "Go home," she whispered to the innocent creature. "I don't know what they'd do if they found you. Go back home; Mommy will be back soon." Shanks chirped quizzically, then turned and scurried back up the shaft. Cariane sat in the middle of the room and breathed deep.

She didn't have long to wait; less than 15 minutes later by her reckoning, the door slid open and half a dozen ISC Enforcers in ribbed black armour and mirror-faced helmets burst in. The one in the lead shouted, "Cariane West 1992086! Don't make any sudden moves! Put your hands in the air! Come quietly or we'll have to use force!"

Cariane raised her hands into the air and stood calmly. "I haven't done anything wrong," she said.

"That'll be for the Interrogator to decide," the hulking Enforcer said. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back." Cariane obeyed, and the guard slapped a pair of handcuffs onto her wrists; they snapped closed with a low buzz. Then two of the Enforcers grabbed her by the arms and marched her out of the room.

They threaded their way through the corridors of City One, passersby stopping to gawk at the spectacle. As they moved deeper into the city, they began passing more and more black-uniformed Enforcers and fewer and fewer normal people, until they came to a black door with the words "Interrogation Room" stenciled on it, flanked by two armoured guards. After a quick ID check, the door was opened and Cariane was dragged inside.

The room was large, with a long mirror and a door on one side and a large chair on the other. The chair was padded from its high back down to the solid front of the legs, and there were straps on the arms and the solid leg plate; a sort of helmet with cables running from it was suspended at the top of the back. Cariane's heart quailed at seeing the dreaded though probe, but she steeled herself to remain calm. After all, Deckard had promised her that the machine wouldn't be able to reveal her guilt, and for some reason, even after everything that had happened, she trusted him.

The Guards dragged her to the chair, removed the cuffs, pushed her into the seat, strapped her arms and legs in, and pulled the helmet over her head. She breathed deeply and tried to remain calm. The guards retreated to the sides of the room, and after a pause, a voice sounded from some hidden speaker.

"Cariane West 1992086, you are charged with murder, terrorism, and treason against City One. How do you answer these charges?"

"I'm not guilty," Cariane answered calmly. "In fact, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The thought probe will soon reveal the truth of that," the voice replied. "Before we begin the questioning, I will give you one more chance to confess. If you do so, and give up the identity of your conspirators, you may be given a lighter punishment..."

A second, deeper voice interrupted the first. "Wait a second," it said. "What is that mark on your hand?"

Surprise shot through every pore in Cariane's body. Someone else could see the mark! But that someone was clearly an Enforcer, and there was no way she could trust him. "What mark?" she replied nonchalantly.

"God dammit," the deep voice shouted. "I know you know what I'm talking about! What's that mark? Where did you get it? What does it mean?"

The first voice returned. "Stand down, Agent Krebbs. You have been allowed to witness this interrogation as a courtesy, but I'm the principal here. Another outburst like that and I'll have you disciplined." After a pause of silence, the voice continued, "I'm going to engage the thought probe now. You may feel some discomfort."

There was a sharp whine from the helmet on her head, and suddenly she felt thin needles pierce her forehead, dozens of them all around the crown of her skull. A moment later, an intense pain bloomed inside her skull. She gasped, then gritted her teeth in a rictus smile. She was stronger than this, she told herself. She could beat this.

"Where were you at 0200 hours last night?" the voice demanded.

"I was in the North Sector transit station," she replied. It seemed prudent to stick as close to the truth as possible.

"Why were you there?"

"I was returning from an emergency repair job. A malfunctioning environmental control unit."

"There is no record of such a work order."

"Maybe there's a computer malfunction."

"Why is there no surveillance footage of you entering or leaving the station?"

"Maybe the cameras also malfunctioned," she said, feeling slightly euphoric from the pain. "A lot of things malfunction around here; I'm busy all day fixing them."

"What were you doing in the undercity levels today?"

"I like to walk in the undercity," she said, nearly laughing in hysteria. "It's pleasant to be alone."

There was a long pause, and then the voice said, "The thought probe says you're telling the truth. I'm going to have to release you. But we'll be keeping an eye on you, Technician West. No more late-night walks." The needles withdrew from her head, although the searing pain remained.

The second voice cut in. "No! Not good enough!" The door next to the mirror that took up most of the wall opened, and a man in an ISC Enforcer's uniform ran out of it. He was tall, as broad as a football player, and his skin was very dark brown; his head was shaved clean, and he had a circle like a gear and the letters III tattooed on his hand. He ran up to her and punched her hard across the face. "I want answers out of you! Where did you get the bomb? What do you know about Deckard? Where did you get that mark on your hand?" As he spoke he continued to hit her, heavy bruising blows to her body, until the guards at the edge of the room were able to pull him away.

"That's enough, Agent Krebbs!" boomed the voice from the other room. "You will be written up for discipline for this! The thought probe has determined this woman to be innocent. Her presence in the transit station was clearly a coincidence. We're letting her go, and you are forbidden to harass her any more!"