Youngling: A Terran Empire story

  Produced by Al Haines

  +------------------------------------------------------+ | This work is licenced under a Creative Commons | | Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 | | Licence. | | | | https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ | +------------------------------------------------------+

  YOUNGLING

  A Terran Empire Story

  by Ann Wilson

  Copyright (C) 1992 by Ann Wilson

  Unnamed world, 2559 CE

  Joste was waiting in front of his desk when two guards brought thejust-captured human into his office. He found it hard to look at theman without becoming physically ill, and wondered briefly how theguards could tolerate touching him. Well, that was their job; his wasto question the man, and he found himself hoping the foul thing wouldresist, give him an excuse to use force.

  It wasn't because the other was human, or because he was an enemy--Jostehad questioned prisoners before without having had the slightest desireto use physical persuasion--and the man looked no more repulsive thanany other human. Granted, he was dirty and his battledress was torn,but that was to be expected from someone who had been in combat. And,though he was bound, the man held himself proudly.

  No, the revulsion wasn't caused by anything so straightforward. It waswhat the man had done-- Joste's thoughts shied away from considerationof such obscenity, and he had to force them back. Simply endangeringfemales without dire need was enough to earn a dishonorable death; theywere so terribly few, less than a fourth of the Traiti race, cherishedfor themselves and honored for the young only they could bear--a thingthat happened less often than any could wish.

  And this monster had actually led females into combat!

  He brought himself under control; the grammar and harsh sounds ofImperial English were difficult enough without having to fight emotionat the same time. "Yourself identify," he growled.

  "Major Horst Marguerre, Imperial Terran Marine Corps." It didn't lookat all good for him, Marguerre thought grimly. These huge gray-skinnedhumanoids were aggressive as hell--they were nicknamed Sharks as muchfor that as for the facial resemblance--and this one looked even lesswell-intentioned toward him than his guards did. "My ident code'sTERHE6-2063-4121. What're you doing with my wounded?"

  "They are medical treatment receiving," Joste said. "Though therelittle chance for their recovery is, the physicians their best doingare." At least, he thought, the man had the decency to show concern--even if it had to be false concern--for the two survivors of hisraiding party, both of whom were female. "What your purpose was, herecoming?"

  Marguerre didn't know what caused the loathing he could sense from thethree massive Traiti, but it was intense enough to frighten him inspite of almost a year's active combat. Still, fear or no fear, hewasn't about to tell them what they wanted to know. He shook his head."Sorry, that's all I'm allowed to say."

  Then he winced as the one holding his shoulder and neck tightened thatgrip, and the one doing the questioning started to smile. This, to putit mildly, looked less and less like it was going to be a friendlyparty, and he was suddenly very thankful he'd been given theanti-interrogation conditioning before this mission. Not that he intendedto use it unless he had no other choice.

  Good, Joste thought. The man was going to be stubborn. "You mine noware, Major, and you will much more say. When you have enough pain had,you will to me gladly speak." Slowly, almost luxuriously, he reachedfor the man, extending his claws.

  Marguerre tasted fear, his mouth bitter-dry as he watched the clawedgray hand approach. He remained still, though he could feel himselfgoing pale. He'd expected death if the mission failed, but not likethis--not being tortured for information while two of his people laybadly wounded in a Traiti military hospital. He knew his interrogatorwas right; everyone had a breaking point. He could only hope they'dkill him before he came so close to his own that he'd have to activatethe conditioning. He preferred to meet death knowing who he was.

  A sudden flashing movement of Joste's claws ripped the tough materialof the human's shirt to ribbons, exposing the soft undershirt. Asingle claw took care of that, still without breaking thin human skin."Why did you here come?" Joste asked softly. "Now say, and yourselfmuch pain save. You no honor have to lose."

  Now what the hell did he mean by that, Marguerre wondered. Not that itreally mattered, under the circumstances. "Forget it. I'm a Marine,not a traitor." His muscles were tensed in anticipation, but it didn'thelp much. He gasped and flinched anyway when the claws touched hisflesh, digging in and across, drawing blood.

  Joste was fully aware of human frailty, and was being far gentler thanhe cared to, but he was still startled at the amount of blood wellingfrom such shallow wounds. He would have to be even more careful; if heweren't, this Marguerre might bleed to death before giving him theinformation he needed. It might be best to use fists or slaps insteadof claws or teeth, at least for the most part, until the time came toexecute the man.

  "Why?" he asked again.

  "Go to hell," Marguerre snarled.

  "We do not that belief hold," Joste said calmly. "And if either of usto such a place going is, it will you be. I have never a female to herdeath sent."

  "And I have. So? Nobody forced them to join the Marines, or apply forSpecial Forces. They knew what they were getting into. Every last oneof them's a volunteer."

  Joste growled in disgust. The human must think him a fool, to expecthim to believe such nonsense! The only time a female fought was inlast-ditch defense of the clan, something that hadn't happened sincethe clan wars almost four thousand years ago. "You lie, human."

  Marguerre shrugged, awkwardly because of his bound hands, but said nomore. He'd already said more than he should have; he knew the best wayto avoid giving anything away by accident was to remain silent exceptfor the required identification information.

  "Enough of that," Joste said. He'd not discuss females more with thisperverted filth. "Now you will me truth give. Why came you here?"

  * * * * *

  It was almost dark, and Joste was becoming discouraged. The man,except for sounds of pain, had remained silent. He was sprawled on thefloor now, naked except for his own blood, his hands no longer boundbecause he no longer had hands to bind.

  Yet he was trying to rise, had actually made it to his knees with hiswrists pressed against his chest and his head bowed to hide empty eyesockets, in a sickening parody of one paying homage to the Lords.

  Marguerre knew he was done. The pain, the maiming, were too much. . . and his tormentor wasn't going to allow him to die by accident.He had to activate the conditioning or buy his death with the informationthe Traiti wanted. For a Marine, that was no real choice--but there wasone thing he wanted to make absolutely clear before he went out."Joste . . ."

  "Speak, human."

  "You said . . . I've got no honor." Marguerre raised his head, facedthe sound of Joste's voice. "Maybe not . . . your kind, I don't know.I'd . . . hoped you'd miscalculate . . . kill me clean . . . 'fore itcame to this. Now I just want you . . . t'be certain . . . I do knowwhat I'm doing." He straightened as much as he was able, drew inbreath, and forced himself to speak the single short phrase he'dchosen. Hearing himself say it, deliberately, would wipe out MajorHorst Marguerre.

  Nonsense syllables, Joste thought. "'Twas brillig, and the slithytoves"?

  For a space of seconds, there was no sound--then Marguerre collapsedwith the heart-rending wail of a hurt, terrified youngling, to liesobbing brokenly at Joste's feet.

  Stunned, the in
terrogator could only stare, then he dropped to one kneebeside the bloody form. "Human . . . what wrong is?"

  The face that turned toward him had nothing of the proud Marine in it,only pain and fear. The man had said he knew what he was doing--whathad he done? Whatever it was, there was clearly no point inquestioning him further. With a sigh, Joste picked up his prisoner andstood.

  Unbelievably, that seemed to comfort the man. He nestled closer toJoste's chest, and the sobs slowed to whimpers, then ceased. Hisbreathing showed he had gone to sleep.

  Joste and the guards exchanged amazed glances. "What did you do tohim, Group-Leader?" the younger one asked.

  "I did nothing, Sedni. What has happened to him was his own choice, hesaid. He had