Chapter 6: Interrogated

"Recall Research Log, 17 years (Day 5,809) Second entry.

"I had a disturbing realization today. Mada is turning 17 soon, an unremarkable age. By every standard, he is still young, although intelligent for his age. But today I realized that I have no idea how much longer he will live.

"A part of me says that I shouldn't be so troubled by the idea. Worrying about what-ifs never helped anyone. I should be content with the time I have with him, and let pods grow where they will. But instead, I can't sleep because I keep thinking that tomorrow he may not wake up. I’ve checked on him more than once tonight to listen to his breathing.”

Iakedrom left the interrogation room and entered the chaos outside. A group from Ekivia’s house had arrived with more evidence and there were officers carrying books and clothing and numerous other personal items to and from their desks. Despite the bustle of bodies, the room wasn’t loud. Most of the working officers were likely still tired, and they were consumed by their work.

He meant to write down a note for Fosia telling her Ekivia’s response regarding isolated mechanics, but when Iakedrom reached his desk he found a fat parrot with an abnormally large head sitting on it, waiting for him with a note under its foot.

I stole this bird from an officer when they brought it in, thought it might be important and that you’d want it right away. It was in Ekivia’s study. Might have some interesting information on it, though hopefully not the sexy kind of interesting. - Fosia

Iakedrom smiled. He’d only worked with the nawo for a little under ten years now, but they worked well together. The first few years were tough, since they were paired because his last partner was killed. But Fosia has a way of getting close to others, of making them comfortable. Not even Iakedrom could resist.

Before checking the logs Iakedrom took the salve from his desk and rubbed it on his prosthetic to numb it. It had been itching dully ever since his encounter with Esile, but the salve helped. He was going through it fast, so he’d need to get more before tomorrow.

Numbing salve applied, he placed his hand on the foot of the parrot and spoke a short command. “Number of entries.”

The bird stiffened as it responded in a scratchy, unnatural voice. “Five thousand eight hundred and twenty-eight.”

That can’t be right. Iakedrom thought. Based on the not quite diordna sound of the voice this bird was an older model, though he hadn’t ever seen one quite like it before. Not even the newest models could remember that many entries. He must have heard wrong.

“Number of entries.”

“Five thousand eight hundred and twenty-eight,” the bird repeated.

Iakedrom sat back in his chair, staring at the creature. It had to be wrong. He’d have to ask Ekivia about it when he got back in.

He pressed the foot again. “Recall first entry.” Even if it didn’t have seven thousand entries it would at least have one.

“No entries to recall.”

Again Iakedrom was stunned. That couldn’t be right. It couldn’t have simultaneously seven thousand entries and none. Unless the large number of entries had broken its mind.

Or… what he’d heard was entry one? A decoy entry to hide what came later. Something so short would allow for a greater number of entries, though still not five thousand.

“Recall entry three hundred.”

“No entries to recall.”

“Recall entry five thousand five hundred.”

“No entries to recall.”

He sat back again, back thumping against the chair. He had a hard time believing Ekivia would keep a useless bird around. She was too practical for that. The only other explanation was that this was a coded bird, something the public wasn’t supposed to have access to. However, this was Ekivia. She could have made herself one before losing her license, and given her privileged position at work, they might have allowed it. Her last project was supposed to have been one for the Drol’s army after all, and they couldn’t afford to let secrets about her work find their way to Redaeli spies. But if that was the case why hadn’t she returned the bird? Why hadn’t it been destroyed with all her other work?

He placed the bird on his shoulder, then grabbed ink and a quill from one of the shelves on his desk. He needed to organize his thoughts and come up with some…

A cnido’s crack interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see where it had come from.

All eyes were on the door to Ekivia’s interrogation room.

**********

Ekivia clenched her teeth, breath leaving her throat in growls. Despite her efforts, she couldn't resist squirming in pain, causing the constrictor to tighten so much that even skin not directly pressed by the snake was beginning to harden with bruises. The skin on the back of her hand wrinkled from the pressure.

Severe though the bruising was, she barely felt it beneath the pain in her forearm.

Nailil stood across the table, watching her. She'd been slowly peeling Ekivia’s forearm skin back around the bonelette hole, covering both her hands and Ekivia’s arm in oil and exposing the slick iron muscle beneath. Just looking at the spot made Ekivia dizzy.

Through the red tint of anger, Ekivia met her emotionless eyes. Nailil watched her closely, glaring though her eyes were clear of emotion. Ekivia clung to her anger desperately, knowing it was the one tool she had to protect Nevets and Mada against this attack.

“Iakedrom and his partner are wrapping up another investigation," Nailil said. "I’m sure you’ve read about it. It seems that a hundred and thirty years ago the Craftsman created the first cnido, paving the way for other isolated organics as Esile predicted were possible. That twisted mind broke the limits of animal shape and paved the way for prosthetics like Iakedrom’s. Ironic that he would bring that very person in.”

Nailil stepped around the table, and Ekivia flinched involuntarily, a small amount of fear drawing her eye color slightly toward pink. She was so focused on maintaining her anger she barely heard what he was saying.

"Until yesterday we didn’t know that the inventor and the Craftsman were the same. Shortly after the inventor was drafted the killer surfaced, ripping na and nawo apart, using their pieces to craft objects, twisting the metal into unnatural forms, and eating the unused bits. Honestly, your story sounds eerily similar to me. A genius mind turned corrupt. Unless you help me see otherwise I may begin to believe you are the same."

Ekivia swallowed, tasting swarf upon hearing the gruesome description. But she held her tongue. Sighing in frustration, Nailil gripped a flap of her skin and twisted, drawing a gasp and another growl of pain from Ekivia. When she let go the skin held the curled shape for a moment longer than it should have, losing flexibility from the pressure, hardening like a bruise.

Grunting, Ekivia pulled away from the pain, then stifled another shout of pain as the constrictor tightened further around her already aching wrists. There was a soft popping sound, and pain shot up Ekivia’s arm. She didn’t know if the sound was the joint or the bruise-hard skin breaking under the pressure. Her anger began slipping from her and she latched back onto it.

They’re trying to take Mada. They’re trying to take my family from me. I will not let them.

The anger in her eyes deepened to overflowing and red tears began crawling down her cheeks, catching oxidized skin and leaving an almost blood-like trail. Her anger rekindled she turned to glare at Nailil. Their eyes met, only inches apart now. But what she saw in the priestess’s eyes was not red reflecting her own, but a pure purple, the color a combination of Ekivia’s own emotion and the one Nailil felt.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Ekivia’s anger fled her to be replaced with blinding white fear-sight.

Nailil’s eyes were blue with pleasure sight.

Then the door burst open and Iakedrom entered the room.

**********

Iakedrom took in the scene in an instant. Oil sprayed on the floor branches at his feet, a bonelette burrowed into the wood. Nailil stooping, eyes level with Ekivia’s. Ekivia’s eyes paled, streaks of anger still running down her cheeks. Oil on the priestess’s hands, Ekivia’s arm around the bonelette hole, and on the scientist’s leg where the wound had dripped.

This was no longer an interrogation.

“Nailil,” Iakedrom almost shouted, eyes turning a disgusted yellow. The priestess’s head snapped around and he could see the pleasure in her eyes. “What’re you doing?”

“Whatever is necessary,” Nailil said. “I told you I don’t have time for this to take days. I only have hours.”

“This isn’t how we do things,” Iakedorm said, his mind reeling. This wasn’t how they interrogated anyone, not even enemy spies. Torture only got you inaccurate information, especially if you only had one suspect. They’d tell you whatever you wanted to hear. And besides that, this was a priestess of Dytie, such acts were… not something they should engage in.

“It is how we do things when necessary,” Nailil said. “I have direct orders from the Drol himself to do whatever I feel is necessary, and this is necessary.”

“Is it necessary to enjoy it?” Iakedorm asked.

The priestess glared at him and took a deep breath, the emotion in her eyes softening and growing more transparent. “It is not. I’m going to take a break to collect myself. You have until I return to get answers from her. Otherwise, I will continue what I was doing.”

Iakedrom followed her to the door, then spoke to her quietly before she left. “I will get some answers. Just don’t interrupt me.”

“Who are you to give me commands?” Nailil asked, eyes turning purple, the pleasure not entirely gone as she grew angry. “I will interrupt if I see fit.”

Iakedrom glared at the priestess. “You’ve already compromised the validity of any information she could have given us by resorting to torture. Any answer you get from her is suspect from now on. Our only hope is that she still trusts me, and if you interrupt when she’s having a conversation with someone she trusts she will stop talking.”

“That’s a bold way to speak to a priestess of Dytie,” Nailil said, but Iakedrom didn’t back down. What she’d done was wrong, regardless of status. “But you’re right. I’ll give you some time, but if you don’t get anything in the next half hour I’ll have to step back in. Understood?”

“Yes,” Iakedrom said.

“Yes, what?” Nailil asked.

“Yes, holiness,” Iakedrom said, though holy was not what he would have called the nawo anymore.

The priestess nodded, closed the door behind her, and Iakedrom turned back to face Ekivia. He took a deep breath and they stood in silence for a moment, then he took the rope he’d left in the constrictor’s box and approached Ekivia. He tied the rope around her wrists and ankles before stroking the constrictor around a portion of the body that was under the table where the prisoner couldn’t reach it, and the snake relaxed, falling limply into his hands. He heard Ekivia sigh softly, and her entire body seemed to slump in her chair as he took the constrictor back to its box in the corner and closed the lid.

Then he took his emergency aid kit from his belt and returned to Ekivia’s side. He took a small but very sharp obsidian knife from the kit and Ekivia flinched away from him.

“Sorry,” Iakedrom said. “But this flap of skin is almost all the way torn off. If I leave it it will just die in the wound and soil it as the cells oxidize. I promise I’ll be as careful as I can.”

Ekivia nodded, and he delicately gripped the skin with his prosthetic thumb and forefinger. Just touching it made his hand flinch, thinking about what Esile had done to him earlier, but he pushed through. Better to use the animal flesh for this kind of thing anyway, instead of having to touch it with his real fingers.

He brought the knife up carefully and cut the thin line of skin attaching the section to her arm and shivered as he pulled it away and placed it on the table beside them. He then reached into his bag for a bandage, but he’d used them for his prosthetic the day before, so he unwrapped the arm starting at the band around his hand and moving upward to his elbow where it was tied, revealing the cut in his palm and the marks up the forearm.

“What happened there?” Ekivia asked, nodding toward his prosthetic.

“An incident with another prisoner,” Iakedrom said, beginning to warp her arm carefully, trying to be sure to line up the cleaner parts of the bandage with the wound. “I got careless, and they got me in the hand with a small barb.”

“Can you feel enough through the prosthetic for it to hurt?” Ekivia asked.

“Yeah,” Iakedrom said. “Though I have a salve from the machinologist that helps numb pain or itching, so it’s not bad right now.”

“What about the ink? How’d that get there?”

“When I know I’ll be sure to tell you,” Iakedrom said as he finished bandaging her arm. “Sorry, there’s nothing I can do for the bruising on your wrists. You’ll just have to wait for them to heal and soften again.”

“Thanks anyway,” Ekivia said, and she sat back in her chair.

“You know the kinds of answers we want,” Iakedrom said. “Tell us what you were meeting with Nevets about and who Mada is.”

Ekivia sat up straighter, expression defiant.

“Please,” Iakedrom said, genuinely concerned for the nawo. Even after the betrayal, he felt yesterday he considered this nawo a kind of friend. “If you give me nothing then Nailil will come back in here and continue to torture you until you give us some kind of answer. I don’t want that.”

Her jaw tightened and she gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

Stubborn nawo. Iakedrom thought. He’d have to try a different method then.

“Alright then, let’s talk about this bird,” Iakedrom said, taking the parrot from his shoulder. “It is quite remarkable.”

“It’s broken,” Ekivia said, showing no sign that she was lying, though the fear already in her eyes from her recent torture experience might have been masking the truth. “What’s remarkable about a broken bird?”

Iakedrom placed a finger on the bird’s foot and spoke. “Number of entries.”

“Five thousand eight hundred and twenty eight.”

He spoke again. “Recall entry five hundred.”

“Nothing to recall.”

Ekivia shrugged at him. “See, I told you it was broken.”

“Interesting,” Iakedrom said. “I’m not sure I believe you. You always struck me as the kind who got rid of unnecessary things. I find it hard to believe that you would keep a broken bird.”

“And where did you get that idea?” Ekivia said, finally relaxing into her chair, her eyes nearly clear of fear.

“I’ve spent a fair amount of time in your home over the last two decades,” Iakedrom said. “And in all that time you’ve never once bought a frivolous household item. Everything you own is functional. You barely have enough furniture to seat ten diordna in the entire place. Most of your rooms are almost empty. You’re a minimalist, and extremely practical. So why keep something you won’t and can’t use?”

“No reason,” Ekivia said. “I just haven’t gotten around to disposing of the creature yet. And I was hoping to recover a couple of the logs on it. It was a journal after all. Has sentimental value.”

“I see,” Iakedrom said, picking the bird up and allowing it to pitch on his prosthetic. The skin was still pretty numb from the salve, but he could almost feel the little toes poking the skin. “Honestly, I don’t believe you. As far as I can tell, this parrot isn’t available to anyone but yourself, meaning it’s likely one of your own design. And I know that someone like you, with your background in engineering and bird work, would know about coded parrots. I believe this bird is coded, and that you’re hiding something irreplaceable.”

Ekivia shrugged, but he saw her eyes flick to the parrot nervously as he said irreplaceable. “I can’t change what you believe.”

“I think you can,” Iakedrom said, and he reached over with his metal hand and grabbed the parrot around the neck. “The way I see it, you can let me destroy this and prove that the information in its memory is mundane, or you can stop me and prove that it’s irreplaceable and important. So which is it going to be?”

Ekivia’s eyes darted involuntarily from Iakedrom’s face and the parrot in his hands, expression uncontrolled, eyes fear-filled.

“I’ll give you ten seconds to decide,” Iakedrom said. “If you don’t give me some answers by the end of those ten seconds then I will destroy more than seven thousand irreplaceable memories. One.”

Iakedrom counted. “Two.“ Not too quickly. “Three.” Not too slowly. “Four.” watching Ekivia’s expression closely. “Five.” Her brow furrowed. “Six.” Her fists and jaw clenched. “Seven.” She took a deep breath. “Eight.” And Iakedrom knew he had her.

“Wait,” Ekivia said, slumping in her chair. Iakerdom could see in her eyes that her mind was racing for some way out of this situation that didn’t involve revealing too much. “Put the bird on the table.”

Iakedrom complied. “Why don’t you just share one memory with me from this bird? Just anything. I’ll take it to the priestess as a sign of your cooperation and get her to allow me to run things from here on out. It’ll be better for both of us this way.”

Ekivia met his eyes, looking back and forth between them as though she were trying to read the truth behind his words. He was being honest, and he hoped she would see that.

She nodded, and Iakedrom put a finger on the parrot’s foot for her.

“Recall research log, day 5,809, second entry.”