Alien Torturer's Pet

Chapter 1

Valkor

Dimly lit corridors, the stench of sweat and fear. 

Cracked concrete under my worn boots, endless bolted doors. 

Some call it the Hallway of the Dead, but I prefer calling it the Hallway of Truth. In these cramped cells, the prisoners of the Council eventually reconcile themselves with one inescapable truth: nobody lies to me and lives to tell the tale. 

That’s just how it goes around these parts.

Of course, the truth doesn’t bring any special guarantees. You might spill your little heart out, admit all your crimes and reveal what’s the purpose of life in one single breath, and I’ll probably end up slitting your throat all the same. It’s not personal, though. It’s just business. The only thing I can promise is that, if you’re truthful, I’ll do my best to make the entire experience as painless as it can be. 

“Unlock the door.” Stopping in front of a reinforced metallic door, its hinges covered in blotches of rust, I look back over one shoulder at the soldier trailing after me. The guard, a burly Kraaj with a black cloak clipped to his neck, gives me one quick nod and then pulls the bolt on the door. He pushes it open, and the stench of terror and death immediately waft into the corridor. The guard takes a step back back, the lines on his face deepening with disgust, but I don’t let any emotions show on my face. Emotions are for the weak.

One step forward and I walk into the cell. 

In the corner, a frail-looking Shorcu cowers in fear. His ribs poke his parched skin like the keys of a piano, and his haggard face is a testament to how tough imprisonment is around these parts. Covering his body there’s only a ragged blanket, one that’s probably covered in fleas. Judging by the way he’s clutching it, I’d say that the blanket is his most prized possession. I figure some grown men never outgrow the need for a safety blanket. 

“Did you miss me?” I ask him, going down on one knee in front of him. I place my toolbox on the side, and he winces once he looks at it. “Are you worried I’m going to get my tools out again? Well, I guess I can’t blame you for that, huh? We went really hard the last time we were together. Tell me, have your nails started to grow back? No need to answer. I know it’s still too early for that.” 

“You’re a monster,” he whispers, his voice raspy and throaty. After all the screaming he’s done the last few days, I’m not surprised. “You talk about us, but you’re not better than us. You’re worse.” 

“Glad you’re learning,” I tell him, allowing a thin smile to spread across my lips. That only seems to make him even more terrified. Thick beads of sweat pool on his forehead, the fear emanating from his worn body so overpowering I can almost taste it. “Now, remember our conversation from yesterday?” He opens his mouth to say something but, before he has the chance to reply, I continue. “Sector UHL. A fortified position for the Coalition. I bet you remember all about it, huh? Care to share how many ships I’d find here if I went to take a look? And how many soldiers has the Field Marshall stationed in the vicinity?” 

“I told you,” he replies, his voice cracking. “I have no idea about that. I was just providing security for one of the Field Marshalls. I don’t know anything about logistics or whatever it is you want to know.” 

“Haven’t we already established that answers like that will only result in unsavory outcomes?” Placing my hand on the top of my toolbox, I prop the lid open to reveal a leather canvas wrapped tight around all my tools. “Do we really have to go through this again?” 

“Please, no,” he mutters, using his heels to push his ragged body across the cell. He only stops when he’s on the other end of it, his back pressed against the wall so tightly his spine looks as straight as an arrow. “Why don’t you just kill me? I have nothing more to say. I don’t know anything about sector UHL, the forces stationed at the border, or the next movements of the fleet. I’m just a soldier, a grunt. Why would I know any of that?” 

Sighing, I reach for my toolbox and unwrap the roll of leather. I take my time doing it, carefully putting all of my tools on display. The metal of the blades—some serrated, others so sharp they can cut into a man’s soul—reflected the pale light coming from the ceiling, and that glimmer seems to draw the young Shorcu’s attention. His three eyes grow as wide as plates, and his heels go back to trying to bury themselves into the cracked concrete. 

“No more,” he repeats. “Please, no more. I can’t take it.” 

“And they say the Shorcu are fearless,” I mutter under my breath. Reaching for the box, I grab a small knife with three spiraling edges and then walk toward the prisoner. Going back down on one knee, I show him the blade in my hands. “Do you know what this does? With most knives, if you want to inflict a real nasty wound, you have to stab someone’s flesh and then twist. It makes it harder for the wound to heal and close. With this right here, I don’t even need to twist. All I have to do is stick this in your thigh and watch you bleed to death.”

“Please.”

“Of course, I’m very proficient at stopping wounds from bleeding. You learn a lot about anatomy when you have a job like mine.” Placing the tip of the blade against his chin, I force him to look up and into my eyes. “Now, I’m just going to ask you one more time. What can you tell me about the forces stationed in—”

I’m interrupted by the sound of someone knocking at the door. Frowning, I place the blade away and go up to my feet. “What is it?” I ask, raising my voice as I look out the small window pane on the cell’s door. The guard that escorted me is on the other side of it, looking at me with an uncomfortable expression. “Come on, out with it.” 

The hinges on the door creak as the guard finally pushes it open, and he motions me to step outside. Whatever he has to tell me, he doesn’t want our prisoner to overhear it. That’s a lovely thought, but hardly necessary. 

“Just say you whatever you want to say,” I tell the guard. “Our friend here will keep his mouth shut about it, won’t he?” Without missing a beat, the Shorcu nods so vigorously I can almost imagine his brain bouncing off the walls of his skull. “See? You’re fine.” 

Clearing his throat, the guard shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“Very well,” he starts. “I’ve just gotten a transmission from upstairs. There’s a shuttle waiting for you on hangar 45.”

“A shuttle? Orbital?” 

“No.” He shakes his head. “Long range.”

“I see. Do you have anything else for me?” 

“Not much. All I know is that some high-ranking piece-of-shit was captured during a battle in some border planet, and now they probably want you to look into it.” Glancing at my toolbox, he straightens his back and looks away from me. “Not that I know what you do.” 

“You don’t need to be so formal around me.” Placing one hand on his shoulder, I offer him one smile that has him swallowing down a ball of pure fear. “After all, you’re the one listening to them screaming day in and day out.” 

“Y-yes, sir,” he stammers, his posture only relaxing once I’ve let go of his shoulder.

“Where’s that shuttle going to?” 

“Luvon. Right on the border between the IHC and the Coalition.”

“Luvon,” I repeat, my brain hard at work as I wonder why the Council could want me there. Just like the guard said, the forces stationed there must have captured some high-ranking operative from either the Coalition or the Trident Alliance. 

“The Council wants to see you before you depart, though.”

“Very well. Tell them I’ll be up shortly.” 

“Yes, sir.” Bringing his closed fist up to his breastplate, he lowers his head and leaves the cell, closing the door behind him. I turn around to meet the gaze of my Shorcu friend once more, and then grab the tri-edged blade from my belt. 

“Now...where were we?”