Re: Rise of the Remorhaz Society
Shadow War
The music thumped loudly, a deep heavy beat. Lights flashed in hypnotic patterns in time with the music. All around the club, masses of people swayed to the beat.
Crewman Yancy Slotnik turned to his new lady friend and shouted something obscene in into her ear.
She smiled a very professional smile, put her arm around him, and kept her mind on the money she would get when this dreadful evening was over.
Slotnik pulled her toward him and gave her neck a sensual kiss. The fact that it felt to her more like a slug had latched onto her neck was lost on him. Tonight, he was the king of the world.
He smiled as he turned to address him other friends.
“Are you guys having a good time?” he shouted.
His shipmates looked at him.
“Sure Slotnik. Sure we are. You just keep buying the drinks, and we’ll keep enjoying ourselves,” grunted the biggest of them.
The others laughed. The big one picked up his drink, and held it up in toast.
“To Bardron Six!” he shouted.
“To Bardron Six!” the other sailor chorused.
Slotnik did not raise his glass to this. He hated the Navy, and counted the moments until he could get out. He frowned.
“Come on, baby,” he said to his date, “let’s go somewhere more private.”
She smiled again, hoping that he would do his thing and she could be on her way.
As he stood, he lost his balance and spilled his drink on one of his crewmates uniform blouse.
“Hey!” he shouted as the cold liquid ran down his back. He turned to see Slotnik standing over him with his half-empty glass dripping the offending liquid. The sailor snapped up from his chair.
“Because you bought the drink tonight, Slotnik, I’m going to give you some advice instead of smashing your face in. We,” he gestured to himself and the other sailors at the table, “don’t like you. No one does. The only reason we are here is because you said you were buying the drinks. I can’t figure out how a goldbrick like you got your slimy little flippers on all this money, but don’t let fool you. We aren’t friends. We aren’t buddies. We’re barely even shipmates. Now, why don’t you pay the bill and get out of my face before I smash you?”
The other sailors burst out laughing.
Slotnik felt the heat rise in him, but he wasn’t dumb. If he hit one of them, they would all beat him to a pulp. He knew when to cut his losses.
“Screw you guys!” he shouted, and grabbed his date by the arm.
“Hey Slotnik!” one of the sailors called, “I hope you know what to do with that twist when you get her alone!”
He picked up the pace. He was determined to have a good time tonight. He didn’t like those guys anyway.
As he worked his way through the club to the exit, he tried to make sense of things. The alcohol didn’t make that any easier.
Why did things always have to turn out this way, he thought. I can’t catch a break with these guys. Every time I try to do the right thing, I end up screwing it up.
Suddenly he smiled. They’ll learn soon enough that I can do something right.
He pushed the girl out of the door into the street as he struggled past the sea of humanity trying to get into the dance club.
Once out, he put his arm around her.
“I know a place where we can get a room,” he slurred. “This is gonna be the best night of your life, baby.”
“I’m sure it will,” she said, with just enough emphasis for Slotnik to believe her.
They turned to walk up the dark street when she saw shapes moving in the darkness in front of her. Instinctively, she started to reach for her purse to grab for the blade she kept in there. Before he hand was halfway to it, she heard the distinctive sound of a pistol being cocked right next to her ear.
“Don’t move!” a voice commanded. She obeyed.
Suddenly, she was up against a wall with her hands pinned against her back. She was scared, but she knew that with a pistol on her, the best thing to do was to just go along.
Slotnik wasn’t as wise as the prostitute.
“Who the hell are…” he started to shout, but the words died in his throat as a hand clamped down on his windpipe. An instant of pain later he was on the ground looking up into a face obscured by a battle mask.
“Shut up and don’t move” the face told him.
He tried to shout, and began to jerk his head from side to side, trying to break the steady grip on his throat. Instead of loosening, he fingers tightened.
“Don’t move” the voice said, slower this time but with infinitely more malice.
He decided to stop. His heart was hammering in his chest, and began to beat harder as he realized who these men were.
Two very strong arms grabbed him by his shoulders and lifted him up from the ground. He saw his date being placed in restraints as the masked men began to guide him toward the street. He saw the outline of a dark speeder before someone put something over his eyes, blinding him. The hand released his throat as he stumbled along with the masked men. He could make out the door of the speeder opening, and he was forced into a sitting position. He felt restraints go around his arms and legs, and panic set it.
“Who are you?” he shouted. “I’m in the military! You can’t…”
Something very hard and very heavy smashed into his mouth.
Pain shot through his brain as he let out a cry. The heavy thing smashed him in the mouth once more.
His face felt like it was on fire, but also numb at the same time. He could feel liquid, probably blood, pouring down his chin.
“Ahh…” he began, but he was hit a third time.
“Shut up” the voice commanded again.
This time Slotnik did as he was told, at least for the few moments that he was conscious.
He jerked his head up from his chest.
The pain returned, threatening to put him out again.
A moan escaped his as he ran his fingers over his teeth. They all seemed to be there, but he though one was broken. His tongue ventured out to his lips, but he wished it had not. Fresh pain seared his brain as the cuts and cracks in his lips reacted to his probing. It felt as if the lower half of his face were split in half.
He gingerly tested his lips again. Yes, there was definitely a gash there, and they were swollen as hell. He moaned again.
He could hear a door opening, and footsteps. He stopped moaning instantly.
Someone chuckled.
“He learns quick, doesn’t he?” someone said.
“Yup. He’s a genius,” another voice responded.
He felt something next to his head, and his blindfold was removed.
The bright lights of the room shot spears of pain into his skull. He snapped his eyes shut to keep his head from exploding, but he didn’t cry out. He didn’t want to get his face smashed anymore.
“See? Nothing! I tell you, I don’t understand the jacket on this guy. He can learn. He just needs the proper motivation,” the first voice said.
The second voice began to laugh again.
“Sit tight, sailor,” he heard, then footsteps and the door opening again. The door shut.
Slowly, Slotnik opened his eyes. The light was blinding, but after some time he was able to see a bit past it. He was in a room, roughly six feet by six feet. The walls were bare, except for multiple vid cameras that were trained on him. It was very warm in here, and it smelled of sweat. Slotnik knew where he was, and he began to cry.
“Wow,” the Captain said, “that didn’t take long.”
“No sir,” agreed the second man.
“Let’s give him some more time, then we’ll press him. He’s going to fold like a house of cards,” the Captain said.
“Yes sir,” replied the second man.
“I’ll play savior for him. It works best with his kind.” With that, the Captain turned and left the room.
The second man continued to watch the vid as the their prisoner did their job for them.
Slotnik didn’t know how long he had been out, but when he woke up, the pain had returned, except it had also claimed his neck as a casualty. He tried to move his arms again, so that he could rub his neck, but they were secured firmly to the chair. He tried to move his neck a bit, but that caused him even more pain. With no better options, he began to moan again.
After what seemed like hours, the door opened again. This time, he could clearly make out the face of the man who entered.
He was a tall man, about six foot three, and had broad shoulders. He was dressed in the uniform of the Remorhaz Security and Intelligence Bureau. He produced a chair from one of the corners of the room and sat down in front of Slotnik.
“Mister Slotnik, I am Captain Shrake Winborne of the Security and Intelligence Bureau. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind, but first, do you require medical attention?”
Slotnik’s eyes bulged in wonder. Medical attention? He didn’t know what to do!
He stared at the Winborne with fear in his eyes.
“Well, I’ll go ahead and get the doctor in here for you, ok?” the captain asked.
Slotnik nodded, then sobbed.
Winborne keyed the communicator that was on his shoulder, and asked that the medic be sent in.
“He’ll be here soon, Yancy. May I call you Yancy?” he asked.
Slotnik nodded again. “Yes.”
If I play this right, Winborne thought, I might get everything on the first try.
He looked at Slotnik for a few long moments, and then spoke.
“Yancy, we know about the money, and we know what you were planning to do.”
Slotnik began to cry in earnest now, great heaving sobs and a torrent of tears.
Winborne stood up and moved over next to him. Slotnik flinched away.
“Don’t worry son, I’m not going to hurt you,” Winborne promised. “I want to help you.”
Slotnik continued to sob.
“Yes sir. I need help. I’m so scared.”
Winborne put his hand on his shoulder.
“All you have to do is tell us the absolute truth, and we’ll do what we can to get you out of this. How does that sound?” Winborne asked.
Slotnik began to nod vigorously.
“I’ll tell you everything sir. Please, I don’t want to go before a firing squad. Please!” Slotnik pleaded.
Winborne squeezed his hands tightly, trying to reign in his emotions. This man was pathetic, but he had to get the information from him before he threw him to the dogs.
At that moment, the medic came in. He opened his kit and began to access Slotnik’s injuries.
After about ten minutes, the medic was through, and Slotnik had calmed down considerably. Winborne knew that he had given the sailor plenty of time to decide just how much the Bureau knew about his illegal activities. If he were smart, he would figure out that they probably didn’t know much, but Winborne had seen enough to be sure that Slotnik wasn’t smart, or if he was, his cowardice would outweigh his instincts. No, this guy is going to crack.
“Ok, Yancy, let’s hear it. Remember, the more truth you give me now, the more I can help you later. Got it?” Winborne asked.
“Yes sir,” the sailor answered. His eyes were glazed over.
Got him, thought the captain.
Three days later, three teams of SIB agents surrounded a small, dingy dwelling in the civilian quarter in Highrock port. Inside were four Ukra-Tal agents, probably armed with small arms, but possibly a high explosive device, also. As one, they stormed the house. Shots range out, and in moments, three of the four Ukra-Tal agents were dead, and the fourth was taken prisoner. Hidden inside the dwelling were a number of listening devices, weapons, and monies. Most telling of all, however, was the discovery of an operational plan to sabotage a number of ships in orbit around Highrock. All of the attacks were scheduled to be carried out in three days, with Yancy Slotnik as the delivery system. He had no way of knowing that he would have been destroyed along with the Last bomb he was paid to deliver, but that was irrelevant. The man had sold his people out for a paltry sum. An example would be made of him.
Winborne immediately sent a communication to Director Mulatti, letting him know that the plot had been stopped.
The trial Lasted two days. Yancy Slotnik was shown no mercy by the military court on Highrock, and he was sentenced to death by firing squad the next morning. In the end, he found his courage at Last, telling the people he had betrayed that he was sorry for what he had done and hoped that there would be no reprisals against his family. There were none
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Thank you, I needed some cheering up and you provided it.
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