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Alternity - Chapter 10
Interrogation
"So, you're the Captain of a High Guard Cruiser," said Tyr, as he finished tying the Nightsider to a chair in one of the offices. "That could be useful."
"It does come in handy sometimes," responded Dylan, watching Harper as he worked on Beka's injuries. "So why are you here?" He didn't feel entirely comfortable around the other man. When their rescuer had approached, he had spotted the spikes that jutted from his forearms. There was only one species that sported them. They had been saved by a Nietzschean, one of the genetically engineered self-proclaimed race of supermen which had instigated the civil war, that had destroyed the Commonwealth. Intellectually he knew that war was long over and that the Nietzscheans had faired just as a poorly as the rest of the now defunct Commonwealth as a result of the conflict, but he still felt uneasy around the man.
Tyr gazed at Dylan, assessing his motives. Then he cocked his head to one side. "You first," he said.
"We're hunting pirates," said Dylan without hesitation. "They've been raiding freighters in the Halcyon system. Halcyon won't join the Commonwealth until we take care of their pirate problem."
"The Commonwealth?" asked Tyr, incredulous. "The Commonwealth has been dead for 300 years. You're trying to restore it?"
"Yes, I am," replied Dylan. "That's what I do. What about you? What do you do?"
Tyr looked at his gauss rifle, which was leaning up against the wall. He reached over and brushed an imaginary speck of dust off the muzzle, then turned back to Dylan. "I...have been hired to make sure a certain person doesn't waste any more oxygen."
"Ah," said Dylan. "A contract killer. Let me guess - your target's name is Mr. Howard."
Tyr's head came up in surprise. "Maybe," he said. "How do you know him?"
"My engineer met him once," said Dylan. "Which reminds me. The lady getting patched up over there is my pilot, Beka Valentine. The gentleman attempting to play doctor is ship's engineer Seamus Harper."
Tyr turned to the two and inclined his head respectfully. Harper pushed Beka's hand away and turned to address Tyr. "Typical Uber," said Harper. "If you're going after Mr. Howard," he said, "You're going to need a lot more than a single gun. He's usually surrounded by all kinds of bodyguards and goons."
Tyr ignored Harper's insult and waved his hand disdainfully. "If this is the best they have," he said, pointing at the Nightsider, "then I have nothing to worry about. This one thinks we will believe he's still unconscious, yet his ears keep swiveling around to follow the conversation. Pathetic."
The Nightsider's ears froze in mid-swivel, then started to twitch. He raised his head. "We can't control where our ears point," he said. "At least, I've never been able to do it." He looked up at Tyr. "Are you going to kill me?"
"Probably not," said Tyr. "Are you going to answer the questions I ask?"
"They'll kill me if I do!" exclaimed the Nightsider, trembling.
"And I will kill you if you don't," said Tyr, quietly. He picked up his gauss rifle and aimed it generally in the Nightsider's direction. "Besides, it's likely that Mr. Howard and all of his bodyguards will be dead when this is over, so there will be no one left to kill you."
"I got a question for you," said Harper. "Do you know a Nightsider named Gerentex?"
"No," said the Nightsider. "You're human, right? Do you know a human named Bob?"
"Bob?" said Harper, thinking hard. Then, realizing the Nightsider was baiting him, he made a rude gesture and turned his attentions back to Beka lying on the table.
"Where can we find Mr. Howard?" asked Tyr.
"I don't know," responded the Nightsider, "And that's the truth. I've only met him once, when he came to inspect this warehouse. I haven't worked for him very long."
Dylan watched the Nightsider, assessing his condition. The creature appeared to be terrified. His eyes, ears, and even his whiskers all pointed toward Tyr. Dylan knew from experience that given the opportunity, the Nightsider would flee in terror as most members of his species did when confronted with danger. Yet this one appeared to be somewhat less cowardly than most. He would need to be watched very carefully. If he ever gained access to a weapon and felt threatened, he could very easily kill everyone to save his own fur.
Dylan waved an arm toward the contents of the warehouse, then turned back to the Nightsider. "Where does all this come from?" he asked.
"I don't know," replied the Nightsider, looking from side to side deceptively.
Tyr brought up the gauss rifle and pressed hard enough on the trigger to charge its capacitors, triggering the familiar whining sound. The Nightsider looked at him in fear, trembling, with his mouth open. Tyr took that opportunity to put the barrel of the rifle into the Nightsider's mouth.
"Answer the Captain's question," he said in a low growl. "If I don't like the answer you give, my trigger finger might get twitchy. And that could have tragic results. Now, do you want to reconsider your answer?"
The Nightsider, his complete attention riveted on Tyr and his weapon, nodded very carefully. Tyr slowly withdrew the weapon from the creature's mouth.
"It all comes from raids on cargo ships," said the Nightsider to Dylan. He was speaking so rapidly he could barely be understood. "The raiders take whatever they think they can sell. They bring it back to the Sinti system and offload it on a freighter that's hiding out in the asteroid belt somewhere. With all the mining ships going in and out of the asteroids, nobody notices the raiders coming and going. When the freighter has enough loot on board, they load it into a cargo shuttle and it's brought here. Then they set up a private auction and it gets sold from here. That's the truth!"
Tyr raised the gauss rifle to his shoulder and aimed it directly at the head of the terrified Nightsider. "What else do you know about Mr. Howard?" he asked.
"Nothing! Nothing! Wait wait WAIT!" shouted the Nightsider. "There's just this. He lives here on Sinti IV somewhere far away from this warehouse. The cargo shuttle from the freighter brings him here when he wants to attend an auction, then takes him back when it's done. Oh, they are going to kill me for this!"
"Tyr," said Dylan, motioning toward the door. They walked out of the office and far enough away that the Nightsider's excellent ears wouldn't hear their conversation. "We need to find that cargo shuttle. The on board navcomp will have recorded the location where it picked up Mr. Howard."
"Agreed," said Tyr. "I will go with you to your High Guard Cruiser. What do you want to do about the Nightsider?" he asked, idly buffing an imagined grease spot on the gauss rifle's stock.
"Let him go," said Dylan. "He won't dare warn Mr. Howard that he gave away his location. And he won't do anything to us after the scare you put into him."
"All right," said Tyr. "But let me tell him."
They walked back into the office. The Nightsider looked from Dylan's face to Tyr's, trying to discern what they had decided to do with him. His entire body was trembling with fear now. Tyr stopped directly in front of him in a shooter's stance and raised his gauss rifle, aiming it at the creature's chest. The Nightsider turned his head to the left and closed his eyes.
"After we leave," said Tyr, "You can start chewing through that rope around your chest. Once it separates, you can loosen the knots that bind your hands, and then untie your feet. I would advise you to be quick about it, since the other guards may have had a check-in schedule with someone every few hours. Leave this warehouse, never come back, and never mention what happened here today."
The Nightsider turned his head back toward Tyr, eyes wide open and mouth agape in astonishment. "You...you're not going to kill me after all? I can go?" he asked.
"That's right," said Dylan. "But it was a very close thing. Next time you look for employment, make sure you take a job with people who aren't criminals."
The Nightsider's head went down for a few seconds. Then he raised it and looked directly at Dylan. Tears were streaming down his furry cheeks. "Thank you, Captain Hunt," he said. "I have a wife and three young cubs at home. I'm just trying to keep them happy and healthy. You gave me another chance to do that. I'll never forget it. Thank you, thank you."
"Pathetic," said Tyr disdainfully, turning away. He looked at Harper, who had been watching the interplay with the Nightsider. "Is the woman strong enough to travel, little man?" he asked.
Harper frowned. "Don't call me 'little man,' you big gorilla," he said. "She'll be just fine, don't you worry." He stood back to let Beka get up off the table. She sat up slowly then slid off the table, tentatively tested her balance, then stood up straight.
Seeing that Beka was sufficiently recovered to walk on her own, Harper gave the Nietzschean a last dirty look and stalked out of the warehouse.
" Well that's nice," said Beka, exasperated. "Next time maybe he'll remember to say thank you when someone saves his sorry ass." She followed Harper out of the office.
"Start chewing, Nightsider," said Tyr, following Harper and Beka out of the office.
Dylan shrugged and headed for the exit.
The Nightsider watched them leave the building. As the exit door closed behind the last of them, he growled softly and began to chew on the rope.
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