Carpathia IV: Episode 283 - Blood Agony
Brig, Blood Agony
Quenya found her accommodations surprisingly posh, as posh as a brig cell could be, at least. The cell was clean, with a nice, thick mattress, a table with thin-padded chairs, a sink, and a semi-private toilet. No door, but if she had to go, there was just enough of a half-sized wall to hide her private bits. It could almost be mistaken for a cheap hotel room, though room service was unlikely to be friendly. Of course, the thought turned over in her mind to use the water from the sink or toilet to bash open the door and make an escape. After that, then what? Fight her way through the ship. Herself versus how many vashta? A hundred thousand? A million? Add to that having to find Sylvar along the way.
Sylvar. Quenya hadn't seen him since they were marched off the Vashta runabout and taken to different cells. Nobody spoke directly to her, but she did overhear the Vashta referring to either herself or Sylvar as "the target." She presumed they were talking about her moreso than him, for the Vashta expressed intense, uncomfortable curiosity about her skin tone from the beginning. The Vashta had treated them both well so far, at least up until they were separated, but Quenya feared for Sylvar, almost more for herself. That didn't stop her mind from running rampant with unpleasant thoughts on what they might do to her. Everything from poking and prodding to dissection crossed through her mind and what might they do if and when they discover that she's only half elf? No mission, regardless of how dangerous, came anywhere near matching the anxiety she felt in this moment.
Quenya's body tensed when the sound of footsteps, more than one set, reached her ears and even more when they stopped just outside of her door. A loud, reverberating clank echoed throughout the bare cell walls and the door swung open. One thing Quenya noticed was that the higher the rank, the less clothing a vashta usually wore. The first vashta in the door was covered, making Quenya believe that she must be a rank-and-file guard. She stood sentry by the door while another in far more skimpy attire followed in behind. Without a word, she strode into the cell without so much as a glance at Quenya, pulled a chair away from the table, and sat. All very business-like, especially when she slipped on a pair of glasses and gazed at her tablet as though she were examining an annual report.
Elara: Hello. My name is Elara and I will be your interrogator today.
Quenya couldn't help but respond with a befuddled grimace. Of all the things that she imagined when someone finally came to talk to her, this was not it.
Quenya: Um... okay?
Elara: Excellent. In that case, your name, please.
Quenya thought for a moment, back to her training, in the event of capture. the list of information she was authorized to give was not long. Giving her name was on the top of that list.
Quenya: My name is Quenya Vayhama.
Elara looked up, just enough to peer at Quenya over the top of her glasses.
Elara: Very interesting! A mid-tier family at best, and certainly not one with any recorded skin tones as dark as yours. Hmmm...
Elara rested her hand in her palm before adjusting her glasses higher on her nose.
Elara: Now that I think about it, a couple of members of that family went missing a few hundred years ago. Anyway, that's not why we're here. Rank?
Quenya: Cadet.
Elara: Really? The lowest of the low? That's... offensive.
With no idea if this interrogator was really this goofy or there was something more sinister going on, Quenya decided to add to her answer, hoping to placate her.
Quenya: I'm studying to be an officer right now. When I finish, I'll have my own commission.
Elara: Tsk. You should be a commander already. Absolutely outrageous.
Elara cocked her mouth disapprovingly to the side as she made lazy pokes and swipes at her tablet.
Elara: Anyway, enough of that. What is the shield frequency of your ship?
Quenya: What?
All pretense of resigned indifference melted from Elara's face.
Elara: Your shield frequency! Your shield frequency! We must have that if our weapons are to get through!
Quenya: I couldn't tell you that if I wanted. It's standard procedure to alter shield frequencies in case someone is captured.
Elara flicked her tongue disapprovingly.
Elara: Tch. Come now. The Great and Mighty Empress Lazmaedia has already told us that your ship is staffed mostly by animals. You can't possibly have me believe that any of them are that clever.
Fearing agitating this vashta any further, Quenya decided to try playing along.
Quenya: It was my idea.
Elara: Ah, well, that makes more sense, but they're the ones who have to execute that idea and I'm skeptical that they can remember to do that. Now, again, your shield frequency.
Strikeout, and back where they started. Telling the frequency, even if it would be wrong, was out of the question, so she braced herself with her answer.
Quenya: No.
Elara's face soured further, leaving Quenya to worry that she was pushing her luck too hard.
Elara: What was that? You dare refuse the order of a superior?
Quenya: I will not reveal Shadowdancer secrets.
Elara stood, malice in her eyes as her chair fell over backwards. She stepped forward with her hand in the air and Quenya cowered, anticipating a backhand.
Elara: We shall have to beat that defiance out of you!
Quenya closed her eyes, but instead of a strike, she heard a noise that sounded like a disruptor weapon firing and a thud of something heavy hitting the floor. When nothing hit her, she opened one eye cautiously. She couldn't see Elara, but looking around, she found another vashta, much darker and adorned with gold standing in the doorway with a gun. Elara lay in the corner clutching her shoulder.
Elara: Mistress!
The dark vashta lowered her gun and glared at Elara.
The Hand: Elara, repeat my order back to me precisely.
Elara: By order of the Great and Mighty Empress Lazmaedia, the brown vashtari shall not be harmed in any way.
The Hand: Leave now and be mindful of the Great and Mighty Empress Lazmaedia's wishes, or you will beg for death.
Elara: Thy will be done, Mistress.
Elara staggered to her feet and, still clutching her shoulder, deftly squeezed past The Hand, rushing out the door. Now, The Hand turned her disquieting gaze to Quenya.
The Hand: You will tell me everything I want to know.
Quenya: You already said that you're not allowed to harm me in any way. I'm not telling you anything.
The Hand thrust out her arm at Quenya with swift force and, though she did not touch her, Quenya slid backwards and found herself pinned against the wall. Even when The Hand lowered her arm, Quenya still could not move.
The Hand: We have ways of making you feel pain without harming you. You will be still while I collect samples.
Unable to speak or move, all Quenya could do was watch while The Hand took some sort of medical device from her attendant and approached her with it. With a flip of her fingers, Quenya's mouth opened entirely outside of her own volition and The Hand stuck the tool inside her mouth.
The Hand: Now that we have collected some genetic material, we have to know how a brown vashtari could come into being. Tell me of your parentage.
With another flick of her fingers, Quenya found that she could move her mouth freely once again.
Quenya: I said I'm not telling you anything.
The hand raised up her arm and snapped her fingers. Nothing happened. At least, not yet.
The Hand: Though I can cause you insufferable pain, I would rather not do that. However, we have a better way to get information from you.
The Hand whipped her head to the door and shouted.
The Hand: Bring him!
As soon as The Hand finished, two vashta entered, dragging Sylvar between them. As she feared, Sylvar had definitely had a worse time of it. His face was not only black and blue, but puffy nearly beyond recognition, with a trickle of blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. If he hadn't still been wearing his uniform, Quenya thought she might have a difficult time realizing who he was.
Quenya: Sylvar!
Before departing, one of the vashta who brought in Sylvar gave The Hand a stick with a handle and trigger on one end and two blunt prongs on the other.
The Hand: Let's try again. The Vayhama family isn't known for producing anything of high status, much less a vashtari of your unique color. Tell me of your parentage.
Sylvar: Don't... tell her... anything.
Quenya looked back and forth between Sylvar and The Hand, the latter glaring at her with menace, her patience wearing thin as she awaited an answer. With a heavy heart, she decided to follow Sylvar's directive.
Quenya: I will not answer.
Her voice came out in a meek squeak, but The Hand's response was immediate, thrusting the prod into Sylvar's ribs and pulling the trigger. A strong shock with arcs of electricity shot through his body as he screamed and fell over on his side.
Quenya: NO!
The Hand: I have many questions about you and your ship. He will not survive if you continue with this obstinacy. One more time, tell me of your parentage.
Quenya squeezed her eyes shut. This, at least, did not appear to be a life or death question, so she answered.
Quenya: My mother is vashtari, similar skin tone as him. My father is human and I inherited his color.
The Hand: Very interesting, these humans. They might make for entertaining breeding stock. How dark do they get?
Though Quenya couldn't imagine how this information could put anyone in danger in the short term, she still couldn't help feeling that she was betraying Carpathia.
Quenya: Quite dark, but all shades of brown, not grey.
To Quenya's astonishment, The Hand stuck the prod into Sylvar's ribs, sending him screaming and twitching again.
Quenya: Why? I answered!
The Hand: If I determine that you have given me insufficient detail, he suffers. Tell me more about human races.
Already mentally taxed and now more on top of that, Quenya took a deep breath and told what she knew, not knowing that she was still at the beginning of an hours-long ordeal.
Commissioned art in this episode from:
AvareonArt
Zelbunnii
Less_End
Colourbrand
Falke2009
