Tor felt around the rim of his Decapidisc. He hoped the revelation wouldn’t anger Jaycee. “It’s a long story, Manuel.”
“Is it true?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“For my records, I need to know your real name and rank. I presume you are an employee of USARIC?”
“Yes, I am.”
Manuel opened his bookends out. Tor’s head shot, along with his assumed name – Tor Klyce – appeared as a sheet of transparent paper in the air.
“May I have your real name, please?”
Tor cleared his throat, hoping the answer he’d give wouldn’t anger the others.
“Viktor Rabinovich.”
“What?” Tripp walked through the photo form and sized up to Tor. “You’re lying. Rabinovich was poisoned and died.”
“No, I wasn’t. And I didn’t.”
Jaycee didn’t take the news very well. “Okay, that’s enough. I’m pressing the button.” He placed his finger on his glove, activating the Decapidisc.
A white light beeped on the surface of the disc around Tor’s neck, followed by a tinny-sounding voice. “Decapidisc armed. Warning, Decapidisc armed.”
“No, no,” Tor yelped in fright, stepping away and tried to remove the disc around his neck. “Please, make it stop.
Beep… beep…
The second of the three white lights lit up, filling Tor with a palpable anxiety.
“Jaycee,” Wool shouted, “Don’t do this.”
“I figure you have about fifteen seconds to explain yourself,” Tripp grinned with Jaycee. “Or your head comes off.”
“No, no, please.” Tor fell to his knees and begged Jaycee to deactivate the inevitable.
“Tell us what happened, Viktor.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you!” Tor stumbled and fell over the chair. His breathing quickened, the realization that he had better give an accurate account of events within the given time frame – or risk death.
“Dimitri Vasilov. It was all his idea. I was stationed in Moscow, developing the Androgyne series with Baldron. He tracked me down and head-hunted me—”
“—Now that’s ironic,” Jaycee chuckled to himself.
“Shut up, let him speak.”
A stream of tears squirted from Tor’s eyes as he hurried his explanation. “He gave us new identities and hurried us into the Opera Beta mission.”
“What was your primary objective, Tor?” Tripp folded his arms, enjoying the man’s torment.
“To get Anderson to decode Saturn Cry and terminate the crew.”
The third and final white dot on the Decapidisc appeared. The beeps grew louder and louder…
“Oh, God! Please, no,” Tor stood up, frantically clutching at the disc.
“Hey, ass hat,” Jaycee said, “How did you think you were gonna get away with killing us all?”
“When Androgyne boarded Alpha we knew you’d follow. It was perfect. I primed her to detonate and take you down with the ship.”
The Decapidisc beeped quicker and quicker to a near flat line sound.
“Oh Jesus, oh…” Tor’s sweat fountained down his face. He hoped the next ten seconds weren’t going to be his last.
“So you decode the message and save the day? Return home as heroes?”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Tor gave up on the disc and gripped the arm rests on the console chair. He was close to throwing up.
“Sorry you were caught?” Tripp spat. “Or genuinely sorry?”
“Both!”
“It all makes sense, now,” Wool said. “If that plan had worked, they would have been heroes.”
“A perfect ruse to get USARIC to allow Russians to join future endeavors?” Tripp kicked the chair away from Tor, throwing him to his ass. “Sound about right to you, Tor?”
The beeps feathered out into a constant flat line noise.
“Moment of truth, Rabinovich, my friend,” Jaycee said.
Tor rolled onto his side, his neck pushed up at an awkward angle against the cylinder jamming against the floor. He closed his eyes, adjusted his breathing and accepted his fate.
“I’m ready.”
SWISH-CLUNK!
The Decapidisc unbolted, separating out into a metal ‘3’ shape. The whirring inner blades sluiced together, nicking his skin as it clanged to the floor.
Nanoseconds away from death.
Tor thought he’d been executed. His eyelids opened, scraping away the tears. His Decapidisc danced around his feet.
“Am I d-dead?”
“No,” Jaycee showed him his glove, “You’re not dead. But we got the truth out of you, and that’s all that matters.”
Tor fell to his knees and burst into tears, “I wish you’d killed me.”
“So do we. But we’re not mercenaries,” Tripp offered the man his hand, “Get up.”
“I can’t stand this any longer,” Wool said, “Stop torturing this poor man.”
Tor wrapped his arms around Tripp and hugged him as tightly as possibly, “Thank you. Thank you.”
“It’s okay. We’re not the bad guys,” Tripp pushed the confused and discombobulated man away from him. “You and that boyfriend of yours have that all sewn up. Next time, though, you won’t be so lucky.”
“I understand.”
“The only reason you’re alive is because you know how to operate the communications panel and Manuel. Remember that.”
“Pick up the Decapidisc, Viktor,” Jaycee said.
The man did as instructed and swiped the metal execution device from the floor.
“Now, clamped it back around your neck.”
“No, please. Don’t make me wear that—”
“—I said put it back on!” Jaycee screamed in the man’s face. “Do it. Now.”
With a great deal of reluctance, Tor slid the neck hole under his chin and clamped the disc shut. He looked utterly miserable and deflated with the compliance device around his neck once again.
“Right, that’s enough,” Tripp said. “Tor, you stay here and run a diagnostic on Manuel. Find out precisely where we are.”
Tor kept his head hung. The best he could do was nod his head in acknowledgment of his Captain’s order.
“Wool, come with me to N-Vigorate.”
“What are we doing?”
Tripp made his way out of the control deck. “We need to wake Bonnie up. We don’t know anything about where we are. The air out there could be toxic. It certainly seems to be having a strange effect on cats and dead people, anyway. Jaycee?”
“Yeah.”
“Go and wake up Tor’s boyfriend in N-Carcerate. Bring him straight back to the control deck and fill him in on what’s happened.”
“You want me to tell him everything?”
“He’ll find out sooner or later, so yes. Tell him everything,” Tripp opened the door and let Wool through, “Tell him if we need to fight for whatever reason that he’s first in the firing line. Like a human shield, kinda thing.”
“My pleasure,” Jaycee stormed toward the door and threw Tor a look of evil joy. “You better be here when I get back.”
“I will,” Tor turned to the communication panel and continued his work. “Manuel, run oxygen level diagnostic, please.”
Jaycee reached Trip and walked through the door with him. “Oh, and… Jaycee?”
“Yeah?”
“When you wake up Baldron, try not to batter him too badly, okay?”
“Who, me?” Jaycee snorted and punched his knuckles together, “The thought never even entered my mind.”
CHAPTER EIGHT