jeriendhal (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jeriendhal) wrote2008-03-28 10:23 am
jeriendhal) wrote2008-03-28 10:23 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Spin Recovery, Part Thirty-Five C
I found the mysterious missing file, yays! Turned out it I had been saving my work all Wendsday in the Temp Downloads folder, since I'd pulled it directly from my email to work on it. Anyway, the start of this part overlaps the part of the previous entry, since I prefer what I'd written here originally. Enjoy.
“You can’t do that! This is a matter of medical ethics!” the medtech protested.
“This is a matter of a Farm Noble’s honor, young man,” Lady Firestripe said sternly. “You are certain of this, Lord Ru Ofanius?”
“I want the truth to be known, I want to be believed. My Word isn't enough anymore, so I'll do this.” He directed his next words right at Commander Blake. “So every lie will be burned as it's dragged into the light of day. So that the true murderers can't hide behind the veils of history. I want this.”
“You cannot ask me to do this, Milady!” the medtech protested. “These drugs could very well kill him!”
“Then he will die, but at least he will die of honor. Administer the interrogation drugs, or consider your oath to me foresworn and remove yourself and your family from my domain.”
The medtech paused for a long moment, then let out a short, curt swear word before answering, “As you will, Milady.” He began setting up his equipment again, letting out more curses under his breath.
“Ah, this must be an example of the vulpine tradition of honorable treatment of their commoners,” Blake noted sarcastically.
“It serves us,” Rufus said gruffly. He pulled off his coat and shirt, baring his fur to allow the medtech to attach a surface sensor over his heart, then tie off a length of rubber hose around his upper left arm.
“I beg you one more time, Lord Ru Ofanius, do not make me do this,” the medtech asked.
Rufus turned his face away. “I'm sorry.”
He heard the medtech sigh, then he felt the fur of his arm be brushed back, then the needle went into his arm and oh, Goddess forgive, it feels so good. For brief moment his body relaxed and he felt heavenly bliss rush through his mind. Then a hand clamped around his heart and squeezed.
“Quickly, milord. Answer the next statement in a lie so we know its working. What is your name?”
He grunted, then tried to answer “Terinu”, but what came out was, “Rufus Brushtail.”
“What's your age?”
Fifteen. “Thirty two.” His heart was pounding in his ribcage, much too fast. His breath was coming out in short, painful gasps, like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen from his spacesuit’s life support pack.
“What's your favorite color?”
“Bl--, no, green.”
“All right, he’s ready. Get this over with.”
The Master stood beside him, palm comp in his hand. “First question: Were you responsible for the deaths of the passenger and crew of the Blue Horizon?”
“Yes.” He heard a few gasps from the gathered lords, over the pounding in his ears.
“Were you in conspiracy with Mavra Chan, or any other pirate, to betray the Blue Horizon?”
“No.”
“How are you responsible then for their deaths?”
“I was a coward. When Mavra Chan’s ship attacked the liner, the other escorts were destroyed. I was the Blue Horizon’s only defense.” He paused, gasping in a few precious breaths. “I should have done everything I could to help them. But I didn’t. I just ran and left them to their fate.”
The Master paused, then asked a question that wasn’t on his list. “What else could you done?”
Compelled by the drugs, he answered, “Something! Even if I just rammed my fighter against her ship, that would have been something!”
“Did you commit other crimes that you have not been accused of?”
“Yes.”
“What crimes?”
“Drug use, drug smuggling. I embezzled money from my House to pay for my habit.” The words spilled out his mouth, disconnected from any conscious thought. He started naming the names of the smugglers he’d dealt with, what dealers he’d bought from. With hideous clarity he found himself verbally replaying every hit he’d ever taken from a needle, until the Master brought him out of it with a sharp, “Stop!”
“Why would Commander Blake accuse you of a crime you did not commit?”
“Oh, come on! That’s speculation!” she called out from her place at the edge of the Stage.
The question, whatever its origin, was enough for him to start talking, the words he’d longed to speak publicly spilling out from him, as if from a bursting dam. “Fine, I speculate it’s because she wanted to completely discredit me, before I brought to the attention of the Farm Lords Council the events I participated in four months ago, when the GSA assault fleet she commanded attempted to kidnap a fifteen year-old alien boy enslaved by Mavra Chan, only to lose him when he was taken away by the Varn Dominion.”
“Varn Dominion?” the Master asked in shock, again not from the list of questions Rufus had put together. “Wait, wait. Tell us about the boy.”
“His name is Terinu, he’s a Ferin, a race created to serve the Varn…”
He talked. He talked. Oh, by the Holy Mother of the Den he talked, his throat growing parched, his voice rasping, until someone put a cup of water in his hand. But even his artificial arm was trembling too much to bring to his lips and he ended up spilling it over his chest and stomach. He told his listeners everything, from the moment he sobered up in his brother’s hotel room, to the horribly botched assault on the grounded Celestial Marauder to the fatal moment when he stopped the closing pressure door by using his own arm to jam it. Somewhere along the way he became aware of several more figures mounting the stage to listen closely. He couldn’t see them clearly, the pressure in his head making him blind with pain.
“That’s the last question,” he heard the Master say. “Administer the antagonist.”
He felt a sharp pain in his arm and he let out a gasp as his heart rate slowed down and the terrible pounding eased. The medtech shoved an oxygen mask over his muzzle and ordered sharply, “Breath, damnit!”
Rufus blinked his eyes. Commander Blake was still standing by the edge of the stage, but she had been joined by several others, ten Lords, all dressed in House uniforms or noblevixen’s finery. He made out Count Longear, then the Minister of Defence, the Minister of Finance, the Minister of External Affairs, then the Minister of Intelligence before his brain started growing fuzzy again. He had enough sense left in him to realize however, that he was looking at The Ten, the most powerful ministers in the Vulpine government. The trusted few who could be counted on to keep things running, when crisis outstripped the Council’s ability to react.
No, there were eleven figures. He took another breath of oxygen and asked, “What are you doing here, Mother?”
His mother lifted up the hem of her skirt carefully and knelt down beside him, “I was told you were committing public suicide, Ru Ofanius. I came over to see what the commotion was about.”
“Not suicide. Redemption. Flagellation. Something. Did I make any sense? I know it’s all quite fantastic…”
“Less talking, more breathing!” the medtech ordered, sounding aggrieved. “Milady, we’ve got to get him to hospital to be properly monitored for at least twenty-four hours.” He spared a glare for Rufus. “Assuming certain high handed idiots don’t try to override sound medical decisions again.”
His mother waved the medtech down. “You made sense, Rufus.”
“Oh, good.” He nodded weakly to the gathered nobles and asked in a stage whisper, “What are they doing here?”
“A small matter of accusations of genocide,” Count Longear answered. He turned to Commander Blake. “Though the Treaty of Species prevents us from holding you, I would be very much grateful if you would allow yourself to be questioned by the Justice Ministry, Commander.”
Blake, who looked like she was trying to grind her teeth down to nubs, said tightly, “I refuse.”
“I thought as much. In that case, I believe I speak for all the Lords on the Speaker’s Stage, when I tell you it would best for the GSA’s interspecies harmony if you remove yourself from Vulpine controlled space as rapidly as possible, Commander Blake. As you go, kindly take your false accusations against our Farm Noble brother with you.”
“He’s still a damned drug smuggler,” she said.
“That is something that the Council will address at a later date, after much more pressing concerns are dealt with. Go,” his voice dropped down to a low growl, “now.”
Blake nodded once, then stepped forward and leaned in close to Rufus’ face. “This isn’t over,” she hissed.
“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, and smiled under the plastic mask. He watched as she turned and left, striding stiff-legged out of the hall. Two more figures, both quite welcome, mounted the stage to replace her.
“Make way, make way, ladies coming through,” Aunt Dottie called out, as Hazel aided their progress by tapping the foreleg of the Minister of Agriculture none too lightly with her crutch to get her out of the way. “Hello, Rufus. Quite the show you put on. Best thing I’ve seen since Professor Jorgenson got drunk at the Galactic Archeology Association Conference dinner.”
“Thank you, Auntie. Glad I could be entertaining.”
Hazel looked less sanguine. “Yah, helluva show. You just told us that the Varn are coming back and that the Human Federation is responsible for a genocide. What are you going to do for an encore, bring us direct messages from the Holy Den Mother’s busom?”
He was possessed for a moment by the image of himself standing in front of a very naked Den Mother, holding a microrecorder earnestly up to her cleavage. It was enough to make him bark out a laugh. He opened his mouth to let Hazel in on the joke, only to let out a soundless cry as what felt like a sword lance his chest, tearing straight through his heart.
“Oh, fragg,” the medtech cried, shoving aside his mother to reach Rufus as he shouted into his headset, “Dispatch, I need that ambulance right now!”
Rufus coughed as what felt like hot liquid filled his chest, pressing against his lungs, choking him. He could hear Hazel and his mother shouting in his ears, Ru Ofanius! Rufus!
Then all there was, was the Cold and the Dark.
TBC
“You can’t do that! This is a matter of medical ethics!” the medtech protested.
“This is a matter of a Farm Noble’s honor, young man,” Lady Firestripe said sternly. “You are certain of this, Lord Ru Ofanius?”
“I want the truth to be known, I want to be believed. My Word isn't enough anymore, so I'll do this.” He directed his next words right at Commander Blake. “So every lie will be burned as it's dragged into the light of day. So that the true murderers can't hide behind the veils of history. I want this.”
“You cannot ask me to do this, Milady!” the medtech protested. “These drugs could very well kill him!”
“Then he will die, but at least he will die of honor. Administer the interrogation drugs, or consider your oath to me foresworn and remove yourself and your family from my domain.”
The medtech paused for a long moment, then let out a short, curt swear word before answering, “As you will, Milady.” He began setting up his equipment again, letting out more curses under his breath.
“Ah, this must be an example of the vulpine tradition of honorable treatment of their commoners,” Blake noted sarcastically.
“It serves us,” Rufus said gruffly. He pulled off his coat and shirt, baring his fur to allow the medtech to attach a surface sensor over his heart, then tie off a length of rubber hose around his upper left arm.
“I beg you one more time, Lord Ru Ofanius, do not make me do this,” the medtech asked.
Rufus turned his face away. “I'm sorry.”
He heard the medtech sigh, then he felt the fur of his arm be brushed back, then the needle went into his arm and oh, Goddess forgive, it feels so good. For brief moment his body relaxed and he felt heavenly bliss rush through his mind. Then a hand clamped around his heart and squeezed.
“Quickly, milord. Answer the next statement in a lie so we know its working. What is your name?”
He grunted, then tried to answer “Terinu”, but what came out was, “Rufus Brushtail.”
“What's your age?”
Fifteen. “Thirty two.” His heart was pounding in his ribcage, much too fast. His breath was coming out in short, painful gasps, like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen from his spacesuit’s life support pack.
“What's your favorite color?”
“Bl--, no, green.”
“All right, he’s ready. Get this over with.”
The Master stood beside him, palm comp in his hand. “First question: Were you responsible for the deaths of the passenger and crew of the Blue Horizon?”
“Yes.” He heard a few gasps from the gathered lords, over the pounding in his ears.
“Were you in conspiracy with Mavra Chan, or any other pirate, to betray the Blue Horizon?”
“No.”
“How are you responsible then for their deaths?”
“I was a coward. When Mavra Chan’s ship attacked the liner, the other escorts were destroyed. I was the Blue Horizon’s only defense.” He paused, gasping in a few precious breaths. “I should have done everything I could to help them. But I didn’t. I just ran and left them to their fate.”
The Master paused, then asked a question that wasn’t on his list. “What else could you done?”
Compelled by the drugs, he answered, “Something! Even if I just rammed my fighter against her ship, that would have been something!”
“Did you commit other crimes that you have not been accused of?”
“Yes.”
“What crimes?”
“Drug use, drug smuggling. I embezzled money from my House to pay for my habit.” The words spilled out his mouth, disconnected from any conscious thought. He started naming the names of the smugglers he’d dealt with, what dealers he’d bought from. With hideous clarity he found himself verbally replaying every hit he’d ever taken from a needle, until the Master brought him out of it with a sharp, “Stop!”
“Why would Commander Blake accuse you of a crime you did not commit?”
“Oh, come on! That’s speculation!” she called out from her place at the edge of the Stage.
The question, whatever its origin, was enough for him to start talking, the words he’d longed to speak publicly spilling out from him, as if from a bursting dam. “Fine, I speculate it’s because she wanted to completely discredit me, before I brought to the attention of the Farm Lords Council the events I participated in four months ago, when the GSA assault fleet she commanded attempted to kidnap a fifteen year-old alien boy enslaved by Mavra Chan, only to lose him when he was taken away by the Varn Dominion.”
“Varn Dominion?” the Master asked in shock, again not from the list of questions Rufus had put together. “Wait, wait. Tell us about the boy.”
“His name is Terinu, he’s a Ferin, a race created to serve the Varn…”
He talked. He talked. Oh, by the Holy Mother of the Den he talked, his throat growing parched, his voice rasping, until someone put a cup of water in his hand. But even his artificial arm was trembling too much to bring to his lips and he ended up spilling it over his chest and stomach. He told his listeners everything, from the moment he sobered up in his brother’s hotel room, to the horribly botched assault on the grounded Celestial Marauder to the fatal moment when he stopped the closing pressure door by using his own arm to jam it. Somewhere along the way he became aware of several more figures mounting the stage to listen closely. He couldn’t see them clearly, the pressure in his head making him blind with pain.
“That’s the last question,” he heard the Master say. “Administer the antagonist.”
He felt a sharp pain in his arm and he let out a gasp as his heart rate slowed down and the terrible pounding eased. The medtech shoved an oxygen mask over his muzzle and ordered sharply, “Breath, damnit!”
Rufus blinked his eyes. Commander Blake was still standing by the edge of the stage, but she had been joined by several others, ten Lords, all dressed in House uniforms or noblevixen’s finery. He made out Count Longear, then the Minister of Defence, the Minister of Finance, the Minister of External Affairs, then the Minister of Intelligence before his brain started growing fuzzy again. He had enough sense left in him to realize however, that he was looking at The Ten, the most powerful ministers in the Vulpine government. The trusted few who could be counted on to keep things running, when crisis outstripped the Council’s ability to react.
No, there were eleven figures. He took another breath of oxygen and asked, “What are you doing here, Mother?”
His mother lifted up the hem of her skirt carefully and knelt down beside him, “I was told you were committing public suicide, Ru Ofanius. I came over to see what the commotion was about.”
“Not suicide. Redemption. Flagellation. Something. Did I make any sense? I know it’s all quite fantastic…”
“Less talking, more breathing!” the medtech ordered, sounding aggrieved. “Milady, we’ve got to get him to hospital to be properly monitored for at least twenty-four hours.” He spared a glare for Rufus. “Assuming certain high handed idiots don’t try to override sound medical decisions again.”
His mother waved the medtech down. “You made sense, Rufus.”
“Oh, good.” He nodded weakly to the gathered nobles and asked in a stage whisper, “What are they doing here?”
“A small matter of accusations of genocide,” Count Longear answered. He turned to Commander Blake. “Though the Treaty of Species prevents us from holding you, I would be very much grateful if you would allow yourself to be questioned by the Justice Ministry, Commander.”
Blake, who looked like she was trying to grind her teeth down to nubs, said tightly, “I refuse.”
“I thought as much. In that case, I believe I speak for all the Lords on the Speaker’s Stage, when I tell you it would best for the GSA’s interspecies harmony if you remove yourself from Vulpine controlled space as rapidly as possible, Commander Blake. As you go, kindly take your false accusations against our Farm Noble brother with you.”
“He’s still a damned drug smuggler,” she said.
“That is something that the Council will address at a later date, after much more pressing concerns are dealt with. Go,” his voice dropped down to a low growl, “now.”
Blake nodded once, then stepped forward and leaned in close to Rufus’ face. “This isn’t over,” she hissed.
“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, and smiled under the plastic mask. He watched as she turned and left, striding stiff-legged out of the hall. Two more figures, both quite welcome, mounted the stage to replace her.
“Make way, make way, ladies coming through,” Aunt Dottie called out, as Hazel aided their progress by tapping the foreleg of the Minister of Agriculture none too lightly with her crutch to get her out of the way. “Hello, Rufus. Quite the show you put on. Best thing I’ve seen since Professor Jorgenson got drunk at the Galactic Archeology Association Conference dinner.”
“Thank you, Auntie. Glad I could be entertaining.”
Hazel looked less sanguine. “Yah, helluva show. You just told us that the Varn are coming back and that the Human Federation is responsible for a genocide. What are you going to do for an encore, bring us direct messages from the Holy Den Mother’s busom?”
He was possessed for a moment by the image of himself standing in front of a very naked Den Mother, holding a microrecorder earnestly up to her cleavage. It was enough to make him bark out a laugh. He opened his mouth to let Hazel in on the joke, only to let out a soundless cry as what felt like a sword lance his chest, tearing straight through his heart.
“Oh, fragg,” the medtech cried, shoving aside his mother to reach Rufus as he shouted into his headset, “Dispatch, I need that ambulance right now!”
Rufus coughed as what felt like hot liquid filled his chest, pressing against his lungs, choking him. He could hear Hazel and his mother shouting in his ears, Ru Ofanius! Rufus!
Then all there was, was the Cold and the Dark.
TBC