Clay slowly tried to pull himself and his world into focus. He opened his eyes to find a haze of green and gray that eventually resolved into an ornate office with a 360-degree tower view of the metroplex at sundown. A beautiful olive-skinned woman in a green power suit sat behind a desk, regarding him with poise and calm. She could be no older than her early 30s, but had an air of confidence and command about her. Two lumbering man-shaped hulks in black armor stood on either side of him, arms crossed, not moving.
“Good evening, Mr. Clay. Are you with us again?”
Clay closed his eyes and shook his head to fight off the last of the tranquilizer. His mouth was dry, and he found it difficult to speak. “Oh, I’m here.”
“Good. My name is Fatima Omari, and I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
“The Hound’s Head, herself? I’m flattered.” He attempted to turn his head and regarded the room. “You know, you don’t look like a crime lord, and this certainly doesn’t look like your typical evil lair. Which of the three heads were you again?”
“The smart one,” she said defiantly.
“Of course.” Clay smirked in condescension and closed his eyes in exhaustion. “Well, there’s always one.”
“You shouldn’t sell yourself short, Mr. Clay. I see you are also one of the smart ones.” The woman smiled. “Although I am puzzled as to why you would let yourself be captured.”
“My orders are to secure Keraunos and get it back to Earth. I probably could have infiltrated the building, or planned some elaborate heist to get it,” he smirked. “This way seemed the fastest.”
Omari raised an eyebrow and smiled quizzically. “Yet, not the smartest.”
“Well, I tend to live off my wits, but I’m not so successful that I have to hide in an ivory tower with walking tanks like these guys to protect me, so I doubt I’m as smart as you are.”
“I’m hardly hiding, Mr. Clay, and those men are for you, not me. You would really take sides with a bunch of terrorists against me?”
“Terrorists, crime lords, evil dictators, cult members, benevolent student protestors, it doesn’t matter. You’re all just obstacles to me, and none of you are getting Keraunos.”
“My partners may be what you dismissively call ‘crime lords,’ but I assure you, 90% of my business is entirely legitimate.”
“Drugs? Human trafficking? Selling weapons to children? Oh, I’ve seen your business, lady.”
“I also run shipping, logistics, manufacturing, warehousing, medical research, agriculture, and energy production. I employ nearly 60 thousand people across nine different industries and represent a formidable chunk of the gross planetary product of Notosia.”
“Congratulations. You should be the queen of this shitpit world one day. If you’re so brilliant and successful, then why do you need Cerberus?”
“Because this government is oppressive. I know you’ve seen it. Prevo’s pathological need for total control has kept Notosia from becoming a galactic power and a center of industry. He won’t even allow new Q-gates to branch out from this system and expand our markets because he fears any potential threat to his authority. He’s a small thinker, and he’s made things difficult enough for the Sol Directorate that they wrote off the entire system as too much trouble to risk the expense of negotiating with.
“And your solution is enslaving people and corrupting them to bring pleasure to the masses?” Clay rolled his eyes.
“My solution is the accumulation of wealth and power by any means necessary to overthrow that insane bastard and make this a free and thriving economy again.”
Clay rolled his eyes. “With you being the freest, the most thriving, and in charge of everything, no doubt.”
Omari smiled, refusing to take the bait. “I suppose I owe you a degree of thanks. You’ve been doing invaluable work for us for the past few days. I always knew you had it in you.”
“Don’t thank me, thank your girl, Ness.”
“Hardly ‘my girl,’ as you say, just an independent contractor. She’s been very open about who she is and where her loyalties lie. There’s no reason to take it personally. Ness is just one of those people who believe in the freelance system and are worried about their lifestyle after their pending retirement. She knows better than to betray Cerberus and even did us a favor by helping you help us settle a long-outstanding score with Miss Venter.” She glanced at the chronometer on her wrist, smiled, and nodded.
Clay’s heart sank, picturing the girl in the agony of a terminal withdrawal somewhere. He found it odd to hope that somehow her mind had snapped by now, and she was blissfully unaware of what was happening to her. He didn’t want her to eventually realize that heroism wasn’t what kept him at her side, trying to save her. It was pride — his belief that whatever he thought was right must always be what was truly right. Pride that was so invasive in his thinking that he never once considered what kind of life a person like her would have, always depending on a drug, depending on someone to provide it for her, knowing that person then had control over her, no matter how benevolent or well-intended her handlers were. His pride was what drove her to destroy the Shard and end her own life to get him to take the cipher and leave the planet. He found himself hoping the withdrawals had driven her mad so she would never understand that his pride still wouldn’t let him go without completing the mission and retrieving Keraunos. His pride had brought him here.
Omari stood up and walked around her desk to stand directly before Clay. She leaned in and eyed him intently. “I don’t suppose we can come to some kind of mutual arrangement?”
“What?” he half-laughed.
“Well,” she said, throwing up her hands and pacing the room. “You’re not exactly the die-hard company man you’d like us to believe you are. Ness was sure you’d never have killed the girl despite your orders. Fortunately, the girl did that for you. You got a bit off the reservation by killing Dr. Talbot, very naughty. You let Ness take colorful liberties with your reports to your superiors and leave out details of how badly you were botching the operation. I wonder if there isn’t something you want, some favor within my power to grant you. If you unlock the case and let us decrypt and duplicate the Keraunos data, we could let you leave with it. Your mission would be 100% successful, and I would still owe you a favor.”
“A favor.” Clay laughed. “You mean like getting out of the human trafficking business and setting all those kids free?”
Omari threw up her hands in exasperation. “You still don’t understand, Mr. Clay. The yorohito are not suffering. Their bodies are programmed to produce dopamine and oxytocin in response to others’ arousal. They quite literally derive pleasure from giving pleasure, and they’re addicted to it. Moreover, they’re conditioned to be able to handle those hormones at levels that would be physically detrimental, if not fatal, to people like us. They’re free employees. If one of them went to the guild wanting to terminate employment, I would happily grant it. They would refuse a cure if there was one I could offer them. They’re not suffering, Mr. Clay, and their only addiction is to a drug their bodies produce at will whenever they are giving and loving to another person. You see this as a problem; I see this as a great service to society.”
“It’s sick, and I will end it if it’s the last thing I do.” Clay lunged at the woman but, as expected, was quickly grabbed by the two brutes and slammed back down into the chair. Omari did not even flinch despite being only a meter away from being strangled to death in her own office.
“One last chance, Mr. Clay. Will you open the case and give us Keraunos?”
Clay thought for a moment. “Suppose you tell me what you will do with it first?”
“Why would I do that?”
“The Raven was very specific about what he would do with it. I thought maybe you’d give me the same courtesy.”
“The Raven, you say? Interesting. What were his plans, then?”
“He said it should be destroyed before anyone found out what it was.”
Omari watched him closely. “I see. So, he didn’t tell you.”
Clay studied her for a moment, groaned, and rolled his eyes. “You don’t know what it is either, do you? You’re just hoping I know and will accidentally spill it.”
Omari straightened herself up. “It’s enough to know that Division 5 wants it. It’s enough to know that every faction on this planet wants it. It’s enough to know that Prevo killed all of Locke’s business partners to keep it a secret and bring it here.”
“Lady, it could be a recipe for the only tuna casserole in the galaxy that actually tastes good for all we know. You already said Prevo was crazy. You’re putting a lot of faith in him.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Omari nodded. “But you’re the one who is about to die for it. Aren’t you the least bit curious what your employers gave you up for?”
“Not really,” Clay said defiantly.
Omari groaned and rubbed at her temples. “Last chance, Mr. Clay. You can still walk out of here alive. Consider my offer.” Her voice was raised for the first time.
“I’m beyond giving a shit about Keraunos or any of you at this point, lady. I only want to make sure that none of the assholes on this god-forsaken crazy planet end up with it, you included.”
Omari looked disappointed. She slowly walked over to the window and stared at the sunset. “Very well, Mr. Clay. I tried bribing you, tricking you, even reasoning with you. I suppose now, threats are the only thing left that you might respond to.” She gestured to the two brutes, and Clay’s world again went dark.
He awoke in a plain grey room with no windows, only a single airlock leading in or out. He had no idea if he was in the same mid-metroplex office building where he had met Omari, the Hound, or had been moved to a more discreet location. He was strapped to a metal table, inclined at a 45-degree angle, with various wires and tubes already inserted into his muscles and veins. The case sat on a table beside him, already connected to his neural jack, waiting for his command to open.
He wondered if he’d miscalculated, and this would be it for him. He certain Prevo’s Tokusha would have torn the building apart by now, rather than let Cerberus keep Keraunos. He was certain they had been ordered to keep him alive all this time to lure them here at just the right time. He was hopeful that he could nab Keraunos and get off-planet in the ensuing firefight. It had been a gamble. He could easily be killed in the crossfire, but on the other hand, both parties needed him alive to retriev the cipher. Admittedly, the plan seemed a little bit optimistic now that he was about to be tortured to death.
Ness stood leaning in the corner of the room, arms folded across her chest, almost showing concern behind her usual cold glare. Another man, large, with a flat-top haircut, stood confidently next to her. He wore an expensive suit, even by the horrible fashion sense of Notosia, Clay decided. He smiled and regarded the scene with triumph even before the proceedings began. The final man, slow and overweight, with a thick mane of hair framing thick cybernetic glasses, was busily flipping through holodisplays, activating the machinery placed on stands and tables around him.
“Right,” the fat man said, observing a holo readout. “Subject is now conscious. As you can see, the case’s neuro-lock must have a duress sensor, as it did not respond to his unconscious mind. If it also has an autodestruct failsafe, we likely will only have a few attempts before the contents are destroyed. I would advise extreme caution from this point forward.”
“I understand, doctor,” the man with the flat top said. “Mr. Clay, good to have you with us for this next phase. I thought I might appeal one last time to your better nature now that you see the inevitability of all this. You are alive only because we need the case opened. If you are unwilling to perform this simple task, or if the case’s contents are somehow destroyed during the process, I can guarantee you that your final moments will be most unpleasant. If you are willing to think the unlock sequence now, I can also guarantee you safe passage home and an end to all of this unfortunate discomfort. Personally, I think this should be a simple decision, but our friend, Ness, assures me that you can be quite stubborn about duty. Still, I felt I had to present you with these options, once more, out of courtesy. It’s the last courtesy you’ll receive from me.”
Clay attempted his most charming smile. “I appreciate that, big guy, but you see, Ness has built up quite a bit of resentment in me, and at this point, I just want to disappoint her out of spite. It’s nothing personal toward you, you understand.” He chuckled slightly despite the exhaustion and euphoria of being drugged twice in as many hours.
The man smiled and nodded as if expecting the answer. “Then I am sorry for what you must now endure.” He pointed a finger at the doctor running the equipment, who nodded and began flipping switches.
This was is, Clay said, trying to remember multiple torture endurance training sessions in his youth. All he had to do was keep the unlock image out of his head. All he had to do was ignore the pain, ignore the easy way to end it, and fill his head with useless gibberish. With luck he’d forget the correct image as soon as the pain overwhelmed him.
He watched as several tubes connected to him filled with a deep amber liquid. As it progressed toward him, the heavyset man began speaking. “We’ll start with the psychotropics. If it is a duress circuit, it will monitor heart rate, blood pressure, and overall stress levels. If we’re lucky, we can artificially control and lower those to the point that he can’t consciously override them.”
Clay watched the amber liquid move down the tubes and into his body. He imagined he could feel it moving up his arm, through his chest, and out to his extremities.
Don’t think about the unlock image. Think about anything else.
He pictured his training, arguably more painful than this had been thus far, and much more terrifying. As soon the drug hit his brain, the color and shape of the room seemed to change. The fatigue and pain of the past two days suddenly melted away before he could do anything about it. He forced himself not to grin in complete bliss.
Fill your head with gibberish, he told himself. He began to think about music, and what type of music would best fit the detached reality he was currently experiencing.
The doctor nodded in understanding and gestured to the readouts. “He’s there. This is our best chance.” He grabbed the case off the table next to Clay and reached for his hand to attempt to open the lock.
Clay forced song lyrics into his mind, but found he couldn’t remember any. He refused to let them win. He instantly conjured up the image of Ursza Venter, picturing her screaming in agony in a Noto Lib bunker somewhere, attempting to die alone, in secret, far away from Cerberus and those who had betrayed her and ruined her life. He forced it to be as brutal and violent as he could, imagining her bleeding from her eyes and clawing at her flesh to strip away the pieces that hurt from the Shard withdrawal. Despite her almost always calm and composed demeanor, even when he’d seen her at her worst, he forced himself to imagine what her screams of agony would sound like. The screams continued, and he was surprised when his mind cleared just enough to realize they were his own.
A rejection tone sounded from the case next to him. The doctor released his fingers from the lock.
Clay laughed out loud and collapsed back into bliss. He thought momentarily that he’d heard the man try again and receive the same rejection during that lapse of concentration.
“Two more down,” he laughed and closed his eyes, forcing the unpleasant images back into his mind. The effect of the drug grew stronger, and he forced himself to think up more and more unpleasant endings for poor Ursza Venter to keep his blood pressure up. Before the large man motioned for the technician to move on, he’d hoped he could forget, or at least forgive himself, for inventing half of them.
“He was surprisingly resilient there. I would suggest moving to phase two.”
The big man nodded. Ness appeared concerned for Clay.
The doctor went to another machine and began working commands on the holo display, activating the microfiber filaments that extended outward from the wires attached to his skin and fixed themselves to nerve receptors on almost every major muscle group. Instantly, Clay felt all his muscles cramp up, and he felt the searing heat as if his entire body was on fire. He inhaled sharply through the pain, not wanting to give his captors the satisfaction of a scream, at least not too soon.
“If it’s an intention signal rather than a duress lock, then at this point, we merely need to convince him that opening the lock will end his pain.”
Don’t think the unlock image. He repeated, scrambling to focus on anything else.
The large man nodded in understanding. “So, it’s merely a case of finding the limits of his tolerance. The point where his desire to succeed in his mission is less than the pain he can endure.”
“I admit this has a higher probability of failure. We have a rough mental profile from Ms. Ness’ observations, so while possibly accurate, they are far from scientific. I am merely giving my best guess at the levels and speed of intensity to use. Our window will be small, but the readouts should tell us.”
Clay attempted to tell himself that it was merely a nerve induction trick, then to remember the science behind it. He was certain there had been a lesson. A kindly old woman in a dark classroom talking through a holoimage with a gleam in her eye as she mentioned pain. He remembered there was no real danger from this type of pain, but his muscles would not listen. They were now so taught that he imagined he could feel ligaments tearing from the bone.
The big man motioned again, and the pain increased.
Don’t think the unlock image. Think about anything else.
Clay screamed in his mind and his breath but refused to open his mouth, confining it to a loud and drawn-out moan. Ness appeared even more shaken, and he used that to his satisfaction — imagining that his violent jolts in his restraints were intentional and merely intended to discomfort her. He fixated on her every subtle eye movement and gesture, imagining that she was feeling every bit of his agony. He took satisfaction from it.
By the time he was screaming out loud, he was convinced it was Ness who was screaming and imagined her collapsing to her knees, her body engulfed in flame. He knew it was all in his imagination, but it almost made the pain worth it. Then, somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the rejection tone, and moments later, the pain subsided.
“What does this mean?” the big man demanded of the doctor.
“It’s not my fault. This is a very expensive and detailed lock.”
“The girl opened it,” Ness insisted. “She put a shuriken through Locke’s throat, took the time to knock Clay unconscious, and when we got the case the next day, the lock had been removed.”
She must have used a “Sylvester Lockpick,” Clay laughed to himself in a drug-and-pain-induced delirium. He knew the joke wasn’t funny. He didn’t care. He would have collapsed into unconsciousness. Seconds later, he was jolted awake by something they had pumped into him.
“No sleeping until you think the unlock sequence.”
It wasn’t a sequence, just an image. Clay laughed, then caught himself. He’d almost slipped. He began to think about the view from his boss’ office on Mt. Pilatus, one of the most beautiful he’d ever seen.
A voice came from an eternity away. “… that’s a possibility, but one that requires timing. If we’re wrong…”
“We need that case opened!” Another voice said, deeper than the first. Clay’s head began to clear again as drugs were removed from his system.
The doctor began adjusting controls again. “I’m unsure how she could have been so precise without instrumentation. Theoretically, at the moments before death, the conscious mind breaks down. It’s possible he could have been susceptible to suggestion or was too physically weak and mentally distracted to trip the duress sensor. Still, we’ll have to watch him closely, visually and through instruments. We’re only going to get one shot at this. Once he’s dead, the neuro-lock will be sealed forever.”
“Just do it!” the big man said. Ness’ face blanched. Maybe she did care, after all, Clay thought.
Oh, this was it, then. They were gambling that he’d weaken at the moment of death, the way Locke had. Well, he’d done his best. He’d beaten their interrogation. If he died well, then at least Keraunos would be out of their hands forever. His mission would be at least partially successful, and he’d be done with this insane planet. As with everything else, this hadn’t been his first plan, and he hated the Tokusha for being inefficient for the first time, but at least he’d even taken this contingency into account as well.
Don’t think the unlock image. Think about anything else. Die well.
The tubes connected to him changed from amber to black, and the contents slowly worked their way through on a course for his body. This was it. After more than 40 years of service, this would be his end, on a shit-pit planet on the edge of civilization. One step too far into chaos, he decided. He’d been a good agent; he had done everything ever asked of him by his government, and he’d even tried to save a few innocents on the side that they’d overlooked.
The liquid passed through the tubes and into his body. He felt cold numbness in his arms, creeping up towards his core. He wasn’t sure how to counter it. What had the man said? He would be mentally distracted at the point of death, and that would allow them to release the lock. He forced himself to think of Ursza again, no doubt having already met her end, equally painfully, somewhere on the other side of the city. At the same time, he merely waited in blissful silence. He focused on her pain and tried to make himself feel it.
Darkness crept through his body. He felt his heart stop, knowing his brain was next. Spots formed in the corner of his vision, eventually consuming him. A white noise filled his ears, finishing the last of his sensations. He tried to keep thinking of Ursza but instantly forgot her as every regret in his life began to override the thought.
Just hang on for a few seconds more. Don’t think the unlock image.
He couldn’t help himself. He’d known for years he would likely die on duty. He’d trained himself never to have regrets lingering over him when that happened. Now, at the end, he had only two. A girl he couldn’t save from an insane world because she wouldn’t let him, and a second girl, the daughter he’d lost more than twenty years ago because he wasn’t there for her when she needed him.
No, fill your head with anything else. Don’t think the unlock image.
Idiot…
The last thing he heard was the click of the neurolock opening.
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