Blood Impulse

Part 16.4 - AUTOPILOT

Homebound Sector, Haven System, Flagship Olympia

Lieutenant Montgomery Gaffigan was incredibly bored. The Olympia's Marines refused to lend him any reading material, so he had no means of entertaining himself. The walls of the Olympia's brig were so clean, Monty was willing to lay a small wager that he was the first to spend the night there. What an honor, he mused miserably. The confining cell was an excruciating white that seemed purposeful, intended to drive prisoners mad with boredom.

By no means was this Gaffigan's first time in a brig. He, like most of the crew, had spent a few nights in the Singularity's holding cells. There, he'd found the best way of entertaining himself was to make up stories behind the impressive number of dents and scratches on the walls of the Singularity's brig. During his last stay there, recovering from a killer hangover earned on shore leave, he'd even gotten the guards to snicker at his tales.

But, this being the pristine Olympia, there weren't any scuffs to make up stories about. The walls were unbelievably, inconceivably white. By result, Monty settled for creating a story on how they kept the walls so perfectly white. He quite liked his theory about Reeter grinding up the bones of his insubordinate officers in the paint.

Then again, he thought that was giving Reeter a little too much credit. The young Admiral really did not seem that creative.

The door to the holding cell opened, and a trio of men stepped into the room. Gaffigan recognized the long rat-like face of Reeter's second-in-command. Great. The other two were large Marines who Gaffigan knew could throw a hefty punch from experience. His head spun just thinking about it. Still, he forced a cheerful smile to his face. "Good morning, fellas."

Colonel VanHubert studied the captive officer gravely. The prisoner looked decidedly worse than the last time they'd spoken. Chaffing from the cuffs that bound his hands had opened up into bloody red lines on his wrists, and there was a greenish-black bruise on his cheekbone where the Marines had struck him during their last interrogation. His fiery beard was matted down with old blood, but still, he came across as annoyingly cheerful.

"I hope you brought breakfast," Monty grinned, watching the furious twitch on the side of VanHubert's mouth.

The deck shook with the Marines' thundering footsteps as they took their usual places in front of and behind Gaffigan. "Prisoner, you will speak only when spoken to."

"Or what?" Monty said, "You'll torture me?" He laughed a bit, "I could be wrong about this, but something tells me you were planning to do that anyway." That really wasn't a viable reason for him to shut up.

VanHubert scowled a little more, his pale, yellowish face disapproving. "You would do wise to cooperate." It was unhealthy to continue down this path.

"Tell your turd of a commanding officer that I very disrespectfully refuse." Montgomery Gaffigan refused in any way to cooperate with the people that had killed thirty-two of his friends. "Reeter can stuff it where the sun don't shine."

VanHubert narrowed his dark, beady eyes. "Do not speak ill of Admiral Reeter as you sit aboard his ship. It is by his benevolence that you are still alive."

Monty stared at him, "Does it look like I care?" Being kept alive really wasn't doing anyone any good in this scenario. "You say his ship, but it'll be more like his pile of dust by the time the Singularity's through with it."

VanHubert stepped forward, his narrow upper body swaying in an absent wind. "Such insults are not tolerated aboard this machine. Aboard your ailing home ship, I doubt the Steel Prince tolerates it either."