Running
Ok, here's the "final" version. I'm not very pleases with the ending, and I'm pretty sure I added too much character development for what I did. But meh...
Anyway, enjoy.
Comments and crits please.
------------------------------------------------
Running
“Prisoner 04-B3, your council has arrived. Sessions will begin in fifteen minutes. Make yourself presentable and shut down your Tritan,” blared a monotonous voice, garbled slightly over the speaker.
“Good morning to you too,” grumbled prisoner 04-B3. He sat up slowly but in a manner that wasted no energy. For a few minutes he just sat on his bed, eyes closed, breathing slowly. It would be a tiring day and he wanted his wits about him.
A light beeping brought him out of his repose. It was his Tritan reminding him there were five minutes until the sessions would start, but prisoner 04-B3 knew. His sense of timing was exquisitely honed, a fact he was very proud of.
With the same measured control and conservative movement he dressed, told his Tritan to power down, and ate. Breakfast was the usual bland concoction of vitamins, minerals, proteins, and some slight orange flavoring in a juice box. It felt suspiciously like snot and tasted like orange flavored cardboard, but prisoner 04-B3 drank it anyway. When his box was empty, he folded it up and placed it neatly on is table.
04-B3 sighed, What do they want to know about know? I’ve already told them everything. Unless…could they have found out I ki-
Tap! Tap! A guard stood in front of his cell, behind him stood a skinny man in suit. In his left hand was a briefcase, in his right a short metal tube.
“Prisoner 04-B3? Council is here. The time is 0012 hours; your sessions will continue until 1215 hours and will be administered in four three hour blocks. Do you understand this?”
While the guard talked 04-B3 just stared toward the suitcase man. He seemed the average syndicate type. His suit was spotless, pressed, and seemed to fit him perfectly. He was a good looking, in a cold and distant way. His features were rather unspectacular, a chin, a nose, some freckles. Typical. But there was something wrong about him something… inhuman. It was physical, like he was… lacking something.
“Ahem!” the guard cleared his throat, “Do you understand prisoner?”
Prisoner 04-B3 smiled at the guard, “Yes.”
The guard continued, “Very good, prisoner. Your sessions will be monitored at all times. Should you attempt to harm your council inquirer or damage council property you will be immediately neutralized and placed solitary confinement. As well, during the sessions your council inquirer may deem it necessary to resort to physical measures to extract desired information. Bodily harm and injuries received during a session are not grounds for filing lawsuit against the council or inquirer, as stated in Directive 09-PM-CI. Do you understand this?”
Again, prisoner 04-B3 smiled at the guard and responded with a cool “Yes.”
“Very good prisoner, your sessions will now begin.” The guard stepped aside and the briefcase man entered the cell.
* * *
For several minutes the examiner sat in a corner of the cell. He sat upright, his posture perfect. His eyes, which were oddly dull and glossed over, seemed to take everything in. They didn’t miss a single detail. This promises be an interesting session, 04-B3 mused.
The suitcase man’s eyes had fixed on prisoner 04-B3. He stared at his face with a steady, reserved cool. It was chilling. Suddenly, the suitcase man leaned over, picked up his briefcase and set it in his lap. From inside it he produced a manila folder, which he placed upon the table and opened with deliberate care. After several moments of close scrutiny over the contents, the inspector suddenly demanded, “You are Lloyd McCain?”
Prison 04-B3 looked toward the ceiling, “Yes, that was once my name.”
The inspectors face contorted itself into what was most describable as a scowl, “Sir, please, answer the questions with a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. Is this understood?”
“Yes,” McCain rolled his eyes.
“Very good, Mr. McCain, now if you would please cooperate I would like to ask you several questions. They are to be answered with a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ only. Is this understood?”
“Yes.”
“Very good, we will now begin,” he reached into his briefcase again and pulled out a silver ball. It was placed next to the folder, and he pushed a button on top. It hummed.
“Begin login by voice recognition,” a blue light appeared. “Smith, John-0-9-Q-6-peacock. Finish.” The blue light turned green. ”Begin inquire program 01-Basic. Start.” The little ball chirped, “Now, prisoner, we will begin. Your full name is Lloyd Arthur McCain, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Arthur McCain, on September 9, 2403 you were assigned to the commercial freighter C.S.S. Ergo as Cargo Headmaster, correct?”
“Yes.”
“You served...” The suitcase man glanced inside the folder again. “Five full tours onboard the Ergo, correct?”
Five tours, ten whole years, did I truly waste so much time aboard that ship? Yes, I suppose I did, strange how I never noticed until now.
“Yes.”
“And during those tours you never did anything... illegal, did you?”
“Such as...?”
“Mutiny, stealing, murder,” he paused for emphasis, “smuggling illegal goods, aliens, or information, things of that nature.”
“What the hell else would I be in here for?”
“Answer the question, Mr. McCain.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Yes or no only please.”
“Yes.”
“Please elaborate.”
“You do realize this will take some time, right?”
“We have all day.”
“Ok...” McCain paused for a moment. “Hmm... Well, for the first three tours I was more or less on the straight and narrow. I took too much pride in my job to... stoop to that level, I suppose. For a while all I would ‘smuggle’ were small trinkets and items for me. You do, after all, have to look out for número uno. Anyway, as things went on I began to take interest in some of the larger, more profitable items. Probably a bad idea to start with that stuff though.”
“Define what you mean by ‘larger, more profitable items’”
“You know, drugs, weapons, stolen artifacts, those sorts of things.”
“Why would it be a bad idea to start running those sorts of goods? That is, after all, ‘where the money is made’ is it not?”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. But everyone wants the money, ya know, and a few of em’ll take it however they can. There’s some pretty rough guys in the big leagues, believe you me. But it didn’t matter then. I was making gobs of dough,” McCain sat up here, his eyes were glowing with excitement. His past was a fond memory. “Do you know how much the average crater makes per tour? One trillion credits, maybe, if it’s a really good season. I was making that much per stop! I was getting paid for making money! I had a pretty nice little venture going, you know? But then things started to fall apart.
“As I became more and more successful, the demand for my... services grew and grew. I began to become competition for some really nasty guys.”
The suitcase man raised his hand, “Stop.”
“Hmm…?”
“Your smuggling background is well known to the council. What we are interested in is your relationship and interaction with Mr. Jonathan Ramón.”
The mention of Ramón’s name hit a nerve.
“That asshole!? He’s the one that messed everything up!”
“How?”
“Captain Ramón was a real do-gooder. He was always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Places where it could… get cut off, if you get what I mean.”
“I do. Continue.”
“Oh! If only he hadn’t gotten involved!”
McCain caught himself. He was getting angry, he needed to calm down; getting angry is what the suitcase man wanted.
“What exactly did Mr. Ramón do?”
“Mostly? It was that he was a good captain.”
“Explain.”
“He was a real snoop. Always making sure his ship was run properly. Towards the end he even started to double-check my cargo inventory. Good thing I modified them, or he would have caught on sooner.”
“Again, we know about your smuggling background and are interested only in your relationship with Captain Jonathon Ramón.”
“Well... this does relate. Just let me get to it.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, after a while some of the larger smugglers began to offer me jobs or places inside their syndicates, specifically a pair that called themselves the Hathaway Brothers. Those two were a real pain. They couldn’t take ‘No’ for an answer, you know? Anyway, one of them gets the idea that if I’m not going to join up with them, they’re going to sink me. Not really a hard task if you take into account that I ran most of my operation off of a commercial ship. As far as I know they simply tipped off the good captain and that was that. After a few weeks things began to disappear and reappear out of my stashes. My good friend the captain had been snooping around and collecting evidence it seemed. There’s a good chance of that, because one day I found him inside one of the stashes. The stupid bastard had fallen for one of my booby traps and nearly severed off his right thumb. Naturally, I couldn’t let him tell anyone, so I took care of him. I knocked him out and dragged him up into one of the maintenance ducts. The rest had already been taken care of. He bled to death and it looked completely authentic. Or so I thought. Got quite the nasty surprise when we docked and a security team was waiting for me, you know? What’s so funny?”
A corner of the suitcase man’s mouth was threatening to curl into a smile, “So, you’re saying you killed Captain Jonathan Ramón?”
“Yes, didn’t you hear any of that?”
“Good. Arthur McCain, you are under arrest for the murder of Jonathan Ramón.”
“Ha ha! Good one, but look around you. Where do you think we are?”
“We are in a federal interrogation facility. You have been being held in captivity while the council investigated the death of Captain Ramón. Mr. McCain, do you know the penalty for murder?”
McCain gulped, “Death?”
“Correct.”
The suitcase man picked up the metal tube from the floor. He gripped one end and twisted. A trigger popped out of the side.
“As official representative and inquirer for the council, I sentence you, Arthur McCain, to death.”
His arm rose, the gun fired, Arthur McCain lay limp on his bed.
“End recording.” A chirp emitted from the metal ball and the light turned red.
Anyway, enjoy.
Comments and crits please.
------------------------------------------------
Running
“Prisoner 04-B3, your council has arrived. Sessions will begin in fifteen minutes. Make yourself presentable and shut down your Tritan,” blared a monotonous voice, garbled slightly over the speaker.
“Good morning to you too,” grumbled prisoner 04-B3. He sat up slowly but in a manner that wasted no energy. For a few minutes he just sat on his bed, eyes closed, breathing slowly. It would be a tiring day and he wanted his wits about him.
A light beeping brought him out of his repose. It was his Tritan reminding him there were five minutes until the sessions would start, but prisoner 04-B3 knew. His sense of timing was exquisitely honed, a fact he was very proud of.
With the same measured control and conservative movement he dressed, told his Tritan to power down, and ate. Breakfast was the usual bland concoction of vitamins, minerals, proteins, and some slight orange flavoring in a juice box. It felt suspiciously like snot and tasted like orange flavored cardboard, but prisoner 04-B3 drank it anyway. When his box was empty, he folded it up and placed it neatly on is table.
04-B3 sighed, What do they want to know about know? I’ve already told them everything. Unless…could they have found out I ki-
Tap! Tap! A guard stood in front of his cell, behind him stood a skinny man in suit. In his left hand was a briefcase, in his right a short metal tube.
“Prisoner 04-B3? Council is here. The time is 0012 hours; your sessions will continue until 1215 hours and will be administered in four three hour blocks. Do you understand this?”
While the guard talked 04-B3 just stared toward the suitcase man. He seemed the average syndicate type. His suit was spotless, pressed, and seemed to fit him perfectly. He was a good looking, in a cold and distant way. His features were rather unspectacular, a chin, a nose, some freckles. Typical. But there was something wrong about him something… inhuman. It was physical, like he was… lacking something.
“Ahem!” the guard cleared his throat, “Do you understand prisoner?”
Prisoner 04-B3 smiled at the guard, “Yes.”
The guard continued, “Very good, prisoner. Your sessions will be monitored at all times. Should you attempt to harm your council inquirer or damage council property you will be immediately neutralized and placed solitary confinement. As well, during the sessions your council inquirer may deem it necessary to resort to physical measures to extract desired information. Bodily harm and injuries received during a session are not grounds for filing lawsuit against the council or inquirer, as stated in Directive 09-PM-CI. Do you understand this?”
Again, prisoner 04-B3 smiled at the guard and responded with a cool “Yes.”
“Very good prisoner, your sessions will now begin.” The guard stepped aside and the briefcase man entered the cell.
* * *
For several minutes the examiner sat in a corner of the cell. He sat upright, his posture perfect. His eyes, which were oddly dull and glossed over, seemed to take everything in. They didn’t miss a single detail. This promises be an interesting session, 04-B3 mused.
The suitcase man’s eyes had fixed on prisoner 04-B3. He stared at his face with a steady, reserved cool. It was chilling. Suddenly, the suitcase man leaned over, picked up his briefcase and set it in his lap. From inside it he produced a manila folder, which he placed upon the table and opened with deliberate care. After several moments of close scrutiny over the contents, the inspector suddenly demanded, “You are Lloyd McCain?”
Prison 04-B3 looked toward the ceiling, “Yes, that was once my name.”
The inspectors face contorted itself into what was most describable as a scowl, “Sir, please, answer the questions with a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. Is this understood?”
“Yes,” McCain rolled his eyes.
“Very good, Mr. McCain, now if you would please cooperate I would like to ask you several questions. They are to be answered with a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ only. Is this understood?”
“Yes.”
“Very good, we will now begin,” he reached into his briefcase again and pulled out a silver ball. It was placed next to the folder, and he pushed a button on top. It hummed.
“Begin login by voice recognition,” a blue light appeared. “Smith, John-0-9-Q-6-peacock. Finish.” The blue light turned green. ”Begin inquire program 01-Basic. Start.” The little ball chirped, “Now, prisoner, we will begin. Your full name is Lloyd Arthur McCain, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Arthur McCain, on September 9, 2403 you were assigned to the commercial freighter C.S.S. Ergo as Cargo Headmaster, correct?”
“Yes.”
“You served...” The suitcase man glanced inside the folder again. “Five full tours onboard the Ergo, correct?”
Five tours, ten whole years, did I truly waste so much time aboard that ship? Yes, I suppose I did, strange how I never noticed until now.
“Yes.”
“And during those tours you never did anything... illegal, did you?”
“Such as...?”
“Mutiny, stealing, murder,” he paused for emphasis, “smuggling illegal goods, aliens, or information, things of that nature.”
“What the hell else would I be in here for?”
“Answer the question, Mr. McCain.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Yes or no only please.”
“Yes.”
“Please elaborate.”
“You do realize this will take some time, right?”
“We have all day.”
“Ok...” McCain paused for a moment. “Hmm... Well, for the first three tours I was more or less on the straight and narrow. I took too much pride in my job to... stoop to that level, I suppose. For a while all I would ‘smuggle’ were small trinkets and items for me. You do, after all, have to look out for número uno. Anyway, as things went on I began to take interest in some of the larger, more profitable items. Probably a bad idea to start with that stuff though.”
“Define what you mean by ‘larger, more profitable items’”
“You know, drugs, weapons, stolen artifacts, those sorts of things.”
“Why would it be a bad idea to start running those sorts of goods? That is, after all, ‘where the money is made’ is it not?”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. But everyone wants the money, ya know, and a few of em’ll take it however they can. There’s some pretty rough guys in the big leagues, believe you me. But it didn’t matter then. I was making gobs of dough,” McCain sat up here, his eyes were glowing with excitement. His past was a fond memory. “Do you know how much the average crater makes per tour? One trillion credits, maybe, if it’s a really good season. I was making that much per stop! I was getting paid for making money! I had a pretty nice little venture going, you know? But then things started to fall apart.
“As I became more and more successful, the demand for my... services grew and grew. I began to become competition for some really nasty guys.”
The suitcase man raised his hand, “Stop.”
“Hmm…?”
“Your smuggling background is well known to the council. What we are interested in is your relationship and interaction with Mr. Jonathan Ramón.”
The mention of Ramón’s name hit a nerve.
“That asshole!? He’s the one that messed everything up!”
“How?”
“Captain Ramón was a real do-gooder. He was always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Places where it could… get cut off, if you get what I mean.”
“I do. Continue.”
“Oh! If only he hadn’t gotten involved!”
McCain caught himself. He was getting angry, he needed to calm down; getting angry is what the suitcase man wanted.
“What exactly did Mr. Ramón do?”
“Mostly? It was that he was a good captain.”
“Explain.”
“He was a real snoop. Always making sure his ship was run properly. Towards the end he even started to double-check my cargo inventory. Good thing I modified them, or he would have caught on sooner.”
“Again, we know about your smuggling background and are interested only in your relationship with Captain Jonathon Ramón.”
“Well... this does relate. Just let me get to it.”
“Okay.”
“Anyway, after a while some of the larger smugglers began to offer me jobs or places inside their syndicates, specifically a pair that called themselves the Hathaway Brothers. Those two were a real pain. They couldn’t take ‘No’ for an answer, you know? Anyway, one of them gets the idea that if I’m not going to join up with them, they’re going to sink me. Not really a hard task if you take into account that I ran most of my operation off of a commercial ship. As far as I know they simply tipped off the good captain and that was that. After a few weeks things began to disappear and reappear out of my stashes. My good friend the captain had been snooping around and collecting evidence it seemed. There’s a good chance of that, because one day I found him inside one of the stashes. The stupid bastard had fallen for one of my booby traps and nearly severed off his right thumb. Naturally, I couldn’t let him tell anyone, so I took care of him. I knocked him out and dragged him up into one of the maintenance ducts. The rest had already been taken care of. He bled to death and it looked completely authentic. Or so I thought. Got quite the nasty surprise when we docked and a security team was waiting for me, you know? What’s so funny?”
A corner of the suitcase man’s mouth was threatening to curl into a smile, “So, you’re saying you killed Captain Jonathan Ramón?”
“Yes, didn’t you hear any of that?”
“Good. Arthur McCain, you are under arrest for the murder of Jonathan Ramón.”
“Ha ha! Good one, but look around you. Where do you think we are?”
“We are in a federal interrogation facility. You have been being held in captivity while the council investigated the death of Captain Ramón. Mr. McCain, do you know the penalty for murder?”
McCain gulped, “Death?”
“Correct.”
The suitcase man picked up the metal tube from the floor. He gripped one end and twisted. A trigger popped out of the side.
“As official representative and inquirer for the council, I sentence you, Arthur McCain, to death.”
His arm rose, the gun fired, Arthur McCain lay limp on his bed.
“End recording.” A chirp emitted from the metal ball and the light turned red.