Hal Colebatch - The Man-Kzin Wars 07

“Very wise, of course, Captain.” Long smiled. “Did you learn anything from the wreckage?”

“We sent a boarding party over. Damage was extensive. The computer core destruct functioned, so we weren't able to get anything there. On an assignment like this it probably only contained mission-critical information anyway. All torpedoes had been fired. The sensor suite was impressive and I would expect it represents their current state of the art. It was badly damaged but I expect we can learn a lot from it. The drives were completely wrecked, but I would assume they'd been modified or updated judging by their performance. Perhaps the salvage crew can get something out of them. The captain’s cabin had been set up for two kzinti. That's where we found our prisoner.”

“What can you tell me about him?” The intelligence officer's voice was still relaxed, but the way he sat up to listen to her answer betrayed his interest. The battle and the ship were background material. The kzin was the reason Long was involved.

“He was wearing space armor and had been knocked unconscious. The normal complement of a Prowler class is five. We found four at their combat stations, so he's the fifth. However, the engineer presumably went out when the drive section got spaced. It doesn't make sense that he would be anywhere else in battle.”

“Did you get anything out of him when he woke up?”

“Nothing really, just that he wanted food. I don't speak the Hero's Tongue very well, and he wasn't interested in speaking at all.”

Long smiled. He'd heard Mace's single transmission to the scoutship when Tskala showed him the reconstruction of the battle. Excalibur translated as 'Holy Sword of the Island Empire's Mythical Patriarch' and she'd nearly dislocated her jaw getting it out. “Was he defiant or despondent in any way? What was his reaction to his situation?”

“He was very quiet. We kept him on a police web. If I had to nail it down I would say he was wary, watchful. Every time someone went through the room he would track them with his eyes. It was kind of unsettling.”

“What do you think his job was on board?”

Mace considered carefully before answering. “I don't think he was the engineer; the engineer went out with the drive. The captain's cabin had definitely been set up to take an extra body and that's our prisoner, otherwise he wouldn't have been there. What his job was is anybody's guess. My own would be a telepath. That was a reconnaissance ship, on a mission like this the only thing they can be after is strategic intelligence. How better to gather it than out of the minds of the planners?”

“Good point, Captain. Thank you for your time.” Long stood up, ending the interview. Mace was somewhat disconcerted — she'd just become comfortable with the rapid questions and answers. She wondered if his abruptness was an interrogator's reflex, keeping his subject off-balance, or simply a specialist's indifference to someone who could provide no more clues.

“Glad to help, Major.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Our prisoner, what's going to happen to him now?”

Long hesitated slightly before answering. “I'll interview him, try to establish a rapport and learn as much as possible. How much that is depends on the individual. Eventually they either collapse from confinement or refuse to go any further. At that point we'll begin sleep and sensory deprivation. As his resistance builds up we'll start introducing hypnotics. It's a proven technique.”

“And after that?”

“There is no after that. Somewhere along the line he'll die. They always die.”

“Oh.” Mace turned to go, trying to keep her expression blank. Her captive's fate was ultimately no worse than what his comrades aboard the scoutship had suffered, but at least they'd gone down heads up and fighting. This kzin would die when the drugs finally broke the last strands of his mind.

Long's hand on her arm brought her up short. She didn't want to meet his gaze, but she was too much a commander not to. There was an intensity to his voice that hadn't been there before. “Do you know how I got this job, Captain?”

He continued before she could answer. “I am a cultural historian. I decided to study the kzinti. I learned their language, I traveled to Tiamat, I made friends with them. After that I went to W'kkai and lived there for twelve years. I was Man-Student-of-Kzinti. I had hoped to go to Kzinhome itself. They have an advanced and intricate society; I have lifetimes of work ahead of me. And now there is another war coming and I have had to abandon that work and use the knowledge the kzinti gave me to make their prisoners betray their species because I am the best qualified to do it. The fact that kzinti die in captivity does not matter to UNSN Command.”

She became aware of how hard he was gripping her arm. He let her go and sat down wearily. “We both serve our race. Just remember that, Captain.”

Mace hurried back to Excalibur 's bridge where the not-war was clear-cut, glad the kzin's fate was not her responsibility. She threw herself into preparations for their next patrol, trying to drown out the little voice in the back of her head. “If you don't feel responsible,” it wondered, “why did you ask what would happen to him?”

Andromeda had jail cells, but the prisoner wasn't in one. It was important that he feel as unrestrained as possible. Long's main interrogation room was a rebuilt luxury guest suite. The only concessions to security were a marine guardpost outside the door and a thumbplate that was keyed to Long alone. Nothing else was needed. Andromeda 's interior walls were built to specifications far more demanding than those needed to confine a kzin. The bathroom had been redone to kzin scale and taste, and holowalls on three sides displayed a tree-dotted savannah. The furnishings were sparse, a table, an oversized desk, an armchair and an oversized kzin prrstet, a firmly padded cross between a couch and hammock. On the shelf were a set of kzin eyegoggles, a playback unit and few dozen virtual adventures stored on datacubes. The desk held a standard data terminal, modified with an additional kzin-style display board. Once a rapport was established Long gave his subjects a computer ident with carefully limited access. Kzinti who would be seriously insulted by a bribe could still be subtly pressured by granting and withdrawing privileges. Doing it through the computer allowed Long to pretend it was out of his control. Eventually the kzin would come to depend on him to straighten out problems with 'higher authority' and accept tacit rewards for cooperation. The suite abutted on a large storage room. Long was trying to get permission to remove the intervening wall and turn the room into an arboretum to make his subjects more comfortable. The longer they remained relaxed the longer he could delay taking them to his other interrogation room, the one with the suspension tank and the hypnodrugs.

The prisoner was alone in the room, spread-eagled on a portable police web. Even hanging like a trophy pelt the kzin was impressive. He certainly wasn't a telepath; he showed no sign of either drug addiction or withdrawal. He was well over two and a half meters tall and dark orange. Black tiger stripes zigzagged around his flanks to the lighter fur of his belly. His ears, paws and the tip of his tail were also black. The effect would have been cute on a housecat but was simply striking here. His lips raised slightly, exposing the edges of his fangs, and his eyes contracted to narrow slits as they followed Long around the room. His ears were raised and swiveled forward in hunting posture. That was good, had they been laid flat with fear or anger Long's job would have been impossible. On the other hand the kzin's current expression made him feel like a prey animal. Captain Mace's feelings were not unwarranted.