Page 75 of Alien Mercenary's Wife
He looked back at the steps where Reese had been taken, rage and determination burning away everything else. These draanthic had no idea what they'd just done.
"Status isdraanthed," he growled into the comm. "They took all three of them."
"Draanth. Orders?"
He glanced back at the courthouse.
"Pick me up," he snarled, already striding away. "We're going to war."
The holdingcell stank of harsh chemicals and piss. Reese sat on the metal bench bolted to the concrete wall, trying to tense her left leg. Nothing. The limb felt like dead weight attached to her hip... had done since they'd ripped the neural stimulator off during the strip search.
Now, six hours later, her body was falling apart. Her left hand cramped into a useless claw every few minutes, and her balance was shot to hell.
The cell was maybe eight feet by six feet. Concrete walls, concrete floor, a metal toilet in the corner. No windows. A single fluorescent light buzzed overhead with an irritating flicker. The door was solid steel with a meal slot that hadn't opened since they'd thrown her in here.
She'd been separated from Hughes and Mason after they'd been arrested. They were probably interrogating them right now. She hissed and leaned her head back against the cold brickwall. She hoped not. Neither of them was in good shape. Hughes, with his trembling hands and deteriorating condition. Mason hid it better, but Reese had seen the tremors that wracked her and the way she stood still every so often to hide the fact that her leg wasn't responding properly. Either could break under the right kind of pressure.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside her cell. She shoved herself to her feet, using the wall for support as her left leg threatened to buckle. Whatever was coming, she'd meet it on her feet.
The door lock disengaged with a click. Two guards entered first, weapons drawn but not aimed. Behind them came a man in an expensive suit who looked like he never had to raise his voice to get what he wanted.
"Captain Payne." The suit settled into a metal chair that one of the guards had brought. "I'm Agent Morrison. I'd like to discuss your activities over the past several months."
"I'd like to speak with my lawyer." Reese kept her voice level. "And I'd like to know why three disabled veterans seeking medical compensation have been charged with terrorism."
Morrison smiled coldly. "Your lawyer is being contacted. As for the charges, we have evidence linking you to terrorist networks operating against human interests. Grave allegations."
"What evidence?"
"Communications with known anti-government extremists. Financial transactions with suspicious intergalactic accounts. Conspiracy to undermine Terran authority through fraudulent litigation." He consulted a tablet. "Quite an impressive resume of seditious activity you have going on here."
She just looked at him. It was all total bullshit, but it sounded official enough that a judge might buy it.
"I've been seeking medical treatment for service-connected disabilities," she said. "Filing lawsuits against corporations thatsold defective equipment to the military. Nothing I've done constitutes terrorism."
"Ah, but you see, that's where things get complicated." Morrison leaned forward. "Our investigation has revealed that your so-called medical condition is entirely fabricated. Psychological rather than physical. And a very convenient excuse for anti-government activism."
"The neural implants are real," she said. "The damage is real. The veterans who've died are real."
"The veterans who've committed suicide, you mean." He leaned back in his chair. "Tragic cases of individuals who couldn't cope with civilian life. Their deaths have nothing to do with medical equipment and everything to do with mental health crises."
"That's a lie."
"Is it?" Morrison stood, moving closer until he was just outside her personal space. "Or is it the story of a disturbed veteran who's convinced other mentally unstable individuals to join her crusade against the government that served them faithfully?"
Her left hand seized up, her fingers curling into a familiar claw. She tried to hide the spasm, but his attention sharpened.
"Having some difficulty there, Captain?"
"Muscle cramp." She forced her hand open, though the effort sent pain shooting up her arm. "Common enough in facilities like this."
"Indeed. Stress can manifest in many physical ways." he returned to his chair, making notes on his tablet. "Psychological pressure often creates psychosomatic symptoms. Tremors, paralysis, even full neurological breakdown."
She got the message loud and clear: anything happening to her body would be written off as mental problems, not what they'd done to her or because of the missing stimulator.
"Where are Hughes and Mason?" she asked.
"Your co-conspirators are being questioned separately. I'm sure they're providing very enlightening information about your activities together." Morrison's smile suggested he knew something she didn't. "Cooperation tends to be rewarded in cases like this."
