03: Under Guard and Under Suspicion

People seem not to see that their opinion
of the world is also a confession of character.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

A guard approached early the next morning. “You, you and you,” he said, motioning Al, Betty and Eli forward. They got up, glancing at the others, but didn’t think questioning their future made much sense. With their acceptance in their only potential home within hundreds of light years at stake, they weren’t about to risk arguing. As they approached the entrance, the wavering air turned placid. Apparently it was attuned to each of them and could differentiate between them, only allowing those authorized to exit.

As he led them away, the others gathered near the invisible gate, giving it a healthy buffer, and watched them disappear. Down a short corridor, the guard pushed Al towards one door, “in there! You, in that room, you’re in the other one,” he said, indicating where he expected Betty and Eli to go.

As Al entered the first room, a heavy metallic door slammed shut behind him. He glanced back to ensure the sound didn’t represent a potential threat. Like the rest of the ship, the walls were black, the door consisted of a metal he’d never seen before, or at least the finish was. He had little doubt it was blaster resistant, even without understanding the types of weapons the Tandorians used. Turning back, he noticed another security guard sitting behind the desk. The tattoos on the man’s forehead sent a shiver up Al’s spine, his knees twitching before he recognized them from his training aboard their ship. He was an Inquisitor, someone specialized in both psychology and torture. Al racked his brain trying to recall what enhanced skills they possessed, but he’d never paid much attention after hearing they were exceedingly rare. Imagining the worst, he risked passing a message to the others.

‘Be, Eli, we’re facing Inquisitors. I suspect they’re mind readers, but have no clue the limits or extent of their abilities. I’m hoping it’s similar to Zita’s telepathy, meaning it only affects surface thoughts. Keep your attention on the questions and his responses. Don’t allow your thoughts to wander, especially in response to their actions.’

The Inquisitor never noticed Al sending the message, didn’t pick up on any visual clues, and definitely hadn’t attempted to read his mind—otherwise he’d have caught it immediately.

The imposing, intimidating official looked like the other security personnel, though he was older. His hard, bony face was brittle, with cracked surfaces and large pores which looked like osteoporosis. His eyes, even with as little experience as Al had in judging alien expressions, seemed weary. As if he’d grown tired of the treachery and deception of those he investigated.

Most striking, though, was the fact Al couldn’t get a reading on him. His precognition spoke of no dangers, heralding no warnings. Al had no illusions about what he faced. His genetic fear of this man—clearly implanted by his own aids—spoke volumes about their propensity for violence and inflicting terror. Yet despite the Inquisitors’ reputation for sheer brutality, he seemed bored, unconcerned with events or even Al himself. But Al didn’t let his guard down. He assumed that, like his paranoia about their peering into his thoughts, they seemed to have a natural defense against Intuits’ precognition.

Following his own advice, Al wiped his surface thoughts clean by studying his investigator, observing his every move, his every pore. Luckily, rather than noticing his mental distractions, the Inquisitor surveyed his hands.

“What kind of odd creature are you? I’ve never seen such an awkward, ill-suited species before.” Taking a non-confrontational approach, he motioned Al to a seat with his lower left arm while drinking with his upper right, rubbing his leg with his lower right.

“We’re a ... primitive race, just beginning to explore space, not nearly prepared to leave our solar system. We ... hoped you were ... similar to us. That we were more Tandorian than Human.”

‘Al, our investigators aren’t Inquisitors. They’re normal security forces. They’ve assigned you their specialist. They’re only inquiring about our knowledge, skills and capabilities.’

Ignoring Be’s interruption, Al concentrated on what the Inquisitor found interesting, regardless how minor. He couldn’t afford to concentrate on outside distractions, no matter how important they might be. Even if he presented no direct threat, the implied threat Al felt in his bones warned him of what any stray thoughts might reveal. Such fleeting images might damn their future, condemning them all. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“Those are the aids. That’s typical when we first bring new civilizations into our sphere of influence. The aids match suitable talents with each individual, leaving you feeling estranged from others.” He paused, studying Al from different angles. “Did your skills of precognition exist before the aids?”

“I received them when I was too young to remember, but I doubt it. No one in our culture has these abilities, though there are constant rumors about people with the skills. We’ve never been able to confirm it, though.”

“Again, not unusual. Well, it’s strange you have no natural inclinations, no experience with space, and little knowledge of the universe. Yet you come here, expecting us to hand you the advances of thousands of years of evolution, research and technology.”

As Al didn’t respond—not questioning his inferiority but continuing to focus on minute details—he felt something skim across his mind, brushing his consciousness. His consciousness fluttered in response, stray thoughts popping to the surface, but he fought them down, not allowing them to burst free.

As if realizing his scan was detected, the Inquisitor changed topics. “My name is Quichoq. What’s yours?”

“My name was assigned by those our ship trained in earlier attempts to build a crew. We were named based on our ranking. I’m Al, short for Albert, but Al is also short for Alpha, the first letter of our alphabet.”

“I asked your name, not the minutia of your immaterial existence. Is your species unable to follow a logical discussion, concentrate on the topic presented, or focus on life and death decisions?”

As Quichoq switched between friendly banter, insults and belittling aggression, Al felt cascading waves skimming the surface of his thoughts. Again, his mind struggled to respond, but he kept his thoughts under tight control. Each time a scan passed over his surface thoughts, it varied its pressure, digging deeper or lighter, trying to tap into hidden recesses of his memories. In response, Al concentrated on his answer while measuring how Quichoq’s hard cartilage skin responded, observing every minute detail but detecting little.

“I respond when I need to, but don’t lock my mind down so it’s unable to react. We’ve discovered it’s better to allow your thoughts to wander so we respond naturally, rather than predictably. The reason it took so long to rebuild the ship’s crew, was we keep reacting to the threats we encounter. We step in when emergencies develop, risking ourselves for our people, asking little in return. We concentrate when we need to, but not otherwise.”

“Interesting response. You have surprising control for something which just crawled out of the primordial mud.” Quichoq apparently gave up on the more subtle approach, as Al felt the waves intensify. Quichoq’s probes pressed deep, digging through synapses of Al’s brain. He felt himself pressed into the table. When the pressure lessened, only to change direction to another region of his brain, he was knocked from his seat as if struck by an unseen truck, powered by nothing more than a few thoughts.

“I can see why you think your enhanced skills entitle you to join a superior civilization, but your abilities are puny, insignificant. You’re little more than an inconsequential gnat resisting a crashing meteor.”

As the Inquisitor continued digging deeper in his head, Al concentrated on his opponent, who he could no longer observe. He recognized the fear the mere presence of Quichoq’s rank brought forth in him, much as his own prompted Al’s people to defer to him. Only Al used his for everyone’s good, risking himself to protect and shelter the others, sacrificing himself. His tormentor had none of those honorable traits. He was merely an extremely developed savage, using his mental prowess to torment everyone around him.

He fought down the thoughts Quichoq plucked at by defining himself against the thick-skinned alien. He was everything the Inquisitor wasn’t, with nothing of ugliness which defined him. As he felt himself pressed harder into the cold, hard cell floor, Al’s concentration resisted the pressure with all his might. His flesh could hardly quiver. He didn’t have enough strength to piss himself, but he fought back against the attack. Pushing back bought him a mild reprieve, as it focused his every thought on resisting him. He realized Quichoq was still testing him, and he used his renewed energy to press back even more. He invested every ounce of his mental resistance, pressing his slight gains into more concentrated attacks.

Al realized he couldn’t hope to compete with the Inquisitor’s advanced skills. Yet by focusing on his struggle, he poured all his stray thoughts into combat, locking his mind into a single focus aimed against one source. The more he drained his thoughts of distractions, the more resilient he felt. Instead of studying how the process worked, he allowed the experience to wash over him, realizing he could recall it for study later —assuming he survived.

Suddenly the pressure subsided, and with the release, Al once again marshaled his anger, lest his sustained resistance evaporate with his temporary reprieve.

“Bah! You bore me. You’re incapable of achieving anything. You’re no more risk than a fly on a Kraqator. Pull your miserable self together and cry for the next half hour. Hopefully your companions are more capable than you.”

As Quichoq left the room, a guard returned to escort him to the holding cell. Al struggled to stand, unsure whether he was so weak because of the attack, or his fight against it.

‘Be, Eti, he’s on his way. Prepare yourself. The key is to think of nothing except your hatred of his brutality. Don’t allow your mind to relent, or his approach to surprise you. This is less an interrogation than a character test. It’ll only get worse from here, but at least he’s giving us time to adapt. For as little as he thinks of us, it works in our favor. We can curry respect by being stronger than he expects.’

“So, you’re a finder?” Quichoq observed, entering Betty’s interview room. “I can’t picture your being terribly competent. It took you several hundred years to find your way back. I’m hoping you’re at least brighter than your precog, though I suspect you’re all members of a barely-evolved race, barely crawling from the muck.”

“My brother’s the most intelligent man I know,” Betty insisted, immediately regretting it, as she felt pressure intruding on her mind and recalled Al’s admonitions. She focused on his horns, cracked and hardened with age and abuse. It reinforced his blunt, bullying approach, so hopefully she wouldn’t forget who she was facing.

“You’re brother? So you’re littermates? I take it your species hasn’t expanded much if that’s the best you can manage for a mate. No wonder you’re all so slow and unexceptional, you’ve been inbreeded, reinforcing the same defective attributes!”

“We’re different. That doesn’t make us inferior. From where I sit, it seems your species has reached the end of its natural life. You’re incapable of recognizing strengths when blinded by noncompliance with your formalized and outdated rules and regulations.”

Betty felt herself flung from her seat as if struck. Her mind flashed, all thoughts going blank, almost blacking out. When the external pressure relented, her thoughts responded by racing in a million different directions. Her mind seemed to be checking its circuits by recalling random memories. Instead, she concentrated on his coarse critical voice, focusing on his abusive attitude. This was not an impartial judge or helpful advocate. Quichoq was an obstruction, someone who’d prefer jettisoning them out an airlock rather than dealing with their presence. Still, it was obvious she’d touched a nerve. He was so angry he’d let his guard down, just as Al had suggested. He’d be more likely to make mistakes if he wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Just as I suspected. As soon as your mind begins to open, it snaps shut again. Obviously, your primitive minds are incapable of dealing with more than a single thought at a time. That’s hardly the type of recruits we need to fight this war. It is consistent with a spy, selected by our enemies to enter our ranks. Despite all evidence of our society’s intellectual superiority, you’ll prove incapable of accepting competing facts, remaining locked in your original training.”

Betty slowly pushed herself up from the floor, still feeling a mental weight bearing down, causing her to move in slow motion, struggling to overcome the external pressure. Still, she worked to stand, just to prove she couldn’t be shunted aside without a concern.

“We work for no one,” she insisted, even though her words were slurred from the pressures exerted on her. “We’re unaffiliated with anyone. We left our home, abandoned our pasts, family and friends, to join you and help in any way we can.” He started to say something, but Betty rushed on, refusing to be silenced. “We realize we don’t deserve an equal standing, and have a lot to learn, but more viewpoints make you stronger, not weaker.”

“Big talk from someone with so little to offer. You may represent the best of your species, but it doesn’t matter to us.”

As if he suddenly remembered what he was doing, Betty felt her brain being scanned, just as Al warned. His technique wasn’t subtle, suggesting he’d stopped caring what they had to offer. When she didn’t react, he went for the overwhelming approach, replacing finesse with blunt force. Pressed against the floor, she gritted her teeth. However, unlike her brother, who emptied his mind, she focused on a single thought. “Pathetic!”

Quichoq didn’t respond well to the suggestion. Betty felt as if she was being squashed by an invisible steel press. She was about to black out when he relented.

“Useless, resentful and aggressive. This doesn’t speak well for your acceptance.”

As he turned, heading towards the door, she thought he was done, only she felt a new scan coursing over the top of her thoughts. Changing tactics, she replaced her single thought. “Amateur.”

“Get up!” someone demanded. She rose from a deep sleep, feeling disheveled, trying to remember what happened. She didn’t know how long she was out, but she was lying against the cold metallic floor, a guard poking her with a rod. There was no sign of Quichoq. Betty hoped she’d seen the last of him.

There was a hush when Al was led back to the communal cell with the rest of the ship’s crew. However, once the restraining field was reactivated and the guard departed, everyone was eager to discover what he’d faced.

“What happened?” Theo asked. “What should we expect?”

“Did you learn anything?” Zita pressed.

“More importantly, were you tortured?” Gary asked.

“I’ll tell you what I know,” he answered in English, “but I want some answers first.”

“Should we, uh, be speaking in English?” Delilah asked hesitantly. “Won’t that convey we’re trying to keep secrets from them?”

“We aren’t seen as long-lost relatives. Instead we’re viewed as enemies of the state. There’s little we could do to lower their opinion of us. Frankly, they see us as little more than primordial ooze sticking to the bottom of their jack boots.” He held his hand up, halting any further discussion. “You need to wait. I have to try something.”

When they paused, he reached out to the ship using Zita’s link. ‘One, can you hear me?‘

There wasn’t any response, so he tried again. When that too failed, he cast a broader net, broadcasting to each of them, including Betty and Eli. ‘One, can you communicate?’

“They’re probably blocking communications,” Lamar offered. “Either that, or the ship is too far away.”

“We’re closer than many parts of the ship were when we traveled here, assuming we’re not taking separate routes back to Tandor.” He again signaled for them to hold their comments and tried one last time.

‘The One, can you hear me?‘

‘I can,’ it said. ‘Hold on.’

Al waited, signaling to the others he’d succeeded. It took a few seconds, but it did reconnect.