Chapter 18: The Interrogation

January 25^th, 2279

As Basil awoke, he was in severe pain, which was not as demoralizing as his instant realization that he was going to be interrogated whilst on withdrawal from his stimulants, since his medcomp wasn’t reacting to his first instinct. He had actually been interrogated three times during his time with CO, once by accident as an allied service had mistaken him for an enemy agent, once by the Oopids, an experience he was trying not to think about and once by a cartel, which was soon attacked by his team but what Basil had seen beforehand had put him in a very cooperative mood and he was ready to talk, only the timely arrival of his team neutralizing his interrogator preventing him from spilling many secrets.

The reason he immediately knew what was going to happen was the simple fact that interrogation chambers looked alike across all planets, times, and races – and for good reason. They always were bleak rooms with just enough space to seat an interrogator and the interrogated, maybe a guard at the door, sometimes a viewport in the walls or the door. The interrogator always sat between the door and the interrogated, reinforcing that there was no way out unless through the interrogator. This version was cut into rock like a cavern and Basil found himself in a raised recess within the warm wall, dropped like a sack of potatoes. Chairs were apparently unknown to these people ‒ one of the heavy shades stood opposed to him, whilst another was stepping away from him, having given him some kind of injection. Basil noticed that the weapon the second shade was soon pointing at him from in front of the round metallic doorway was now beaming in a different green light from the yellow light he had seen on the ship before being shot, which he took as a sign that the obvious stun weapon was now set to something else. He also felt the injection he just received waking him up and giving him an urge to talk, but he was very used to this exact kind of stimulus and not too worried about this particular issue, as it also softened his withdrawal symptoms.

Now, the shade moved closer in the dim light. It was clearly some sort of soldier’s combat armor, just a very heavy and thick version. Wherever these people were from was not a pleasant place, as even the fleet’s first line troops, the marines, usually needed less protection. When the shade spoke, the voice was clearly artificially generated, which hinted at them usually communicating in a different way, using their knowledge gathered from the obviously captured Rubicon – or the missing crew of the station.

- How did you find us?

Basil had expected quite a few openers, but not this one.

- Finding something prerequisites looking for something. Looking for something prerequisites knowing something exists. Which we didn’t in your case. Also, strictly speaking, you found us.

- You found us. Why did you attack us?

- How can we attack someone whose existence is unknown to us?

- You found us. You attacked us.

- We were sent to find out what happened on that station in orbit. We’ve never been to this system before.

- You have been here for a long time.

- The fleet has been here for a long time. On that supply depot. We have never been here.

- How can you be and not be?

- You mean like that cat in the box?

The shade froze, standing in silence. His ally by the door did the same. Basil – not knowing what to do with this observation ‒ tried the explanatory route.

- Listen. My ship was sent here because we lost contact with the station in orbit of the planet I am guessing we are on right now. The station is a supply station, a civilian installation. We are simply looking for the crew of said station, and I am guessing you have them?

- They are silent.

Basil tried sitting up now, gathering his mind which was still unfocused and pulling in many different directions. He could not make sense of the strange hints the wavy figure was giving him. It was definitely the worst interrogation he had ever been part of, usually, interrogators had a clear plan of how to break the subject, but here he was, trying to help the interrogator. This meant there was either a strategy at work that went above his head or the result of the conversation was of little meaning to his captors, both options not very pleasant the longer he thought about them. He decided to rewind.

- Listen. You have my ship. This means you have our logs. Check them and you will see our orders; we are simply investigating the station.

- Who orders you?

- Our brass. The admiralty? Do you have those?

Once more, the shades froze. It almost seemed like they lost their ability to move when thinking really hard.

- Are they the Splintered?

- Who are the Splintered?

- They are superior to us.

Confusion was but a weak word to describe what Basil was going through. He knew his crew had to either be dead already or in bad shape, as he was still reeling from the shot to his chest after having received a helpful shot from his enigmatic hosts. He was negotiating for his and maybe their life, but ‒ not understanding where the miscommunication lay ‒ desperation was creeping in. An enemy that didn’t even understand him was not only hard to convince of his innocence, but also likely to not value his life, as if squashing an ant. He tried again.

- Okay. So, our Splintered ordered us to come here and look for the crew. Check the data on our ship.

- We are enemies, then.

The risk of using their terminology apparently hadn’t paid off, somehow, he had made things worse. But he decided that if he was stuck in a hole, he might try digging in any direction.

- Well, then. Even more of a reason to check our data. You might find out the Splinter’s plan.

- Splintered. They are the Splintered.

After correcting his mistake, the shades froze, Basil wondering if he could take them out quickly enough, ultimately deciding to play the game a little further since their armor looked well-suited to block his aging combat skills.

- The data is not clear.

Ah, shit. Nocks.

- It’s simply encrypted. I offer you help in decrypting the files. I just need to talk to my crew.

- You have permission.

The helmeted part of the shade where Basil ­– who was wholly surprised by the suddenly cooperative interrogator ­­- reckoned the face should be looked at him, deep from within chaotic slaps of the thick material that covered them like thick rags thrown together on a stack. Nothing happened, but at least he knew his crew was apparently still alive. Basil wondered how he was supposed to be talking to his crew from the small room he was in, checking his comms unit, which remained dark and useless. How was he supposed to talk to them without his comms? Then, it hit him like a fish slammed on a table.

Ahhhh ... When they freeze, they talk to each other. They think we can do that, too! Doesn’t explain too much otherwise, though.

- See, communication among us requires physical proximity, we communicate by soundwaves. Just like we’re doing right now. Either that or the devices that are on us, they allow us to communicate over distance. May I ... erm ... initiate that? I need one of my ... units?

Basil was hoping secretly, they’d not know which device that was so they’d also reactivate his medcomp.

Now, the shades froze for the longest time yet. Eventually, the second shade snapped back into reality and looked at the door which promptly rolled open. They waited and looked at him, until he slowly got up, fixing his gaze at the strange, heavy-looking weapon pointed at him. Gestures were obviously not part of their culture, but still he held up his hands as he moved towards the door, both of the shades now flanking him, stomping their heavy feet into the thin layer of sand on the ground. They were clearly not worried about what he might do, a clear sign to him not to try anything – they hadn’t even bound him in any way and were absolutely not afraid of him.

As they left the small room, they entered a dark hallway. It was cut right into the granite-type crust of the planet, and the heat meant they were deep below the surface – or they liked it that way. It all seemed off, his captors had demonstrated advanced technology with their instant teleportation, clear knowledge of the Rubicon’s layout and very effective stun weaponry, they had also given him some sort of medication or truth serum, indicating they were able to adapt their measures to the human physiology. But the base they were walking through was rather improvised. There were open connections running along the wall, machinery he didn’t recognize was awkwardly placed in a room they passed, very damaged-looking components were neatly sorted filling another room, lights were spaced out randomly – and the whole place seemed too empty for the headquarters of an advanced civilization. There were only a few of the shades around, and they weren’t very active, some standing guard and some seemingly doing nothing at all, standing in mostly empty caverns, staring at walls. They didn’t live the way their knowledge of technology would suggest. Then again, the Axxi lived much the same way and they simply preferred it that way, leaving their technology mostly confined to their space stations.