Antumbra - A Lost Cause

Parley - Chapter Thirty Two

Cassius tapped his foot impatiently as he watched the man chained to the table sit in silence. The interrogation specialist was late, and frustratingly their guest had proved quite formidable. He resisted normal questioning, which wasn't surprising, and even alternative methods of "persuasion." Cassius had almost run out of fingers to break before the human rights goons started asking questions. Not that the IRT pilot was even close to talking, but Cassius needed answers fast, and protocol only slowed things down. Not to mention his fellow Administrators were growing suspicious of everyone, including each other. Public outcry on the surface was becoming increasingly harder to control following the recent battle, and with Marcus off babysitting his pet it left Cassius alone to handle the politics on top of continuing their mission. He felt all too familiar with having to juggle the background machinations while his younger brother indulged in flights of fancy, but normally he did so under less pressure. Right now he was so frustrated he could almost break the tempered one-way glass that separated them and choke the answers he needed from the pilot himself. Said pilot's machine was a previously unknown model, an IRTA-06 Emberevő, and despite being badly damaged following the fight with the XXMCM-003 Antumbra, was still operational. The IRT's Argonauts were often derived from older models, yet this machine was not far behind the GDU's own suits as far as function and versatility. This irked Cassius for two reasons, as not only did it reveal that the IRT were advancing technologically faster than they had in the past, but it meant that inexperienced girl had trounced three nearly state of the art machines with veteran pilots with minimal difficulty. These new models made it closer than the IRT had ever come to sinking the Habitat, and that girl made them look like fools. Unless Marcus' theory that it was the Antumbra that was feeding her combat data was true, but that was impossible. Argonauts react entirely based on pilot input, they don't make you a better fighter. They didn't make judgement calls or influence actions, at least they weren't supposed to, but then Antumbra was an odd case. Aside from being implausible that a system that advanced existed so long ago, it defeated the purpose of Argonauts if they could override the pilot's commands on a whim. With no way for the suit to determine what was an intended action or what the pilot needed 'help' with there would be no way for such a system to function. Cassius had ordered dozens of inspections to confirm it had no onboard AI or advanced tactical computer system and all came back negative. It's why Cassius wanted to talk to this man, he wanted to know anything and everything he could to glean some answers to this mystery.

"Commander," a junior officer approached him, snapping to rigid attention.

"This had better be good news," Cassius said, "I've waited long enough."

"The specialist just checked in, he's on his way here," the officer reported.

"Good," said Cassius. There were many questions he wanted to ask, and this specialist was known for getting results. "Prepare a dark cell for our guest. I want to be there."

"Sir," the officer saluted and took his leave. Cassius kept his eyes on the pilot. The only thing he'd revealed was his rank and name. Warrant Officer Corin Wyrwal. His accent was thick and his demeanor deadpan, typical of IRT pilots. The Republic had formed from largely European nations back when Habitats first began construction following the fourth world war, and unlike many other sovereign groups that opened themselves up to other cultures and eventually threw in with the GDU, the IRT were still very much those same people all these years later and maintained the ancient dialects of the area. Cassius resented it, not from xenophobia, but because it made communication difficult. Of course some would merely call that apropos.

"Ooh," a cooing voice came from behind Cassius, "is this one for me?" A man appeared in the doorway. He was lithe, pale, and what hair he had left was turning gray. His eyebrows were thin, and his features were very pronounced, making him look gaunt and ghoulish. He had the same accent as the prisoner, which was intentional. Having an interrogator who was also a translator was useful for when things required as few individuals be involved as possible.

"I need you to make him talk," Cassius clarified, "get me a full recounting of the battle as well as anything else. Where their staging bases are, force deployments, etcetera." Cassius was stone-faced as he said the next part, "do whatever you want to get it."

"As always, Commander," the man didn't salute, instead offering a bow. He left, and soon soldiers entered the other room to collect the prisoner, and Cassius waited a moment, mulling over what he was doing, before following them. He, the specialist, and the prisoner were taken to a secluded area where a special cell free of electronic signals was waiting for them. The prisoner, formerly stalwart, was getting shifty-eyed and twitchy as he was strapped into another chair. A single blinding light pointed directly at his face, and just outside the light the specialist prepared his tools of the trade. The pilot seemed nervous now, yet the specialist said nothing, his expression blank and apathetic as he began his work to loosen the prisoner's lip.

In between screams and expletives, bits of information began to bleed out of the man. Most of it wasn't anything groundbreaking, as usual the IRT kept things compartmentalized and the pilot's tactical knowledge was limited, but as the captured soldier began to break into smaller and smaller pieces, he confessed for his life. The Republic was planning something big, it seemed, though exactly what was apparently privileged information. Cassius kept going, the specialist happy to continue applying pressure, until the prisoner pleaded that was everything he knew. There was so little left at this point Cassius was inclined to believe it, so they switched subjects.

"Tell me about the battle," Cassius asked, "about the Argonaut you fought." The prisoner immediately began to talk, going over the battle bit by bit. He seemed to almost get lost in the memory as he described the way the Antumbra moved, how he was surprised how human-like the motions were despite its size, but one detail stood out as particularly meaningful. Cassius's technicians hadn't discovered why the pilot refused to fire his weapon at the girl, despite having a clear shot. They inspected the particle beam rifle and it seemed functional, though the pilot described encountering error messages when he tried to shoot. Specifically that the weapon's internal generator simply stopped working as soon as he bore it on the Antumbra. However, he consistently used a different name for the Argonaut.

"Az ördög..." he repeated, at least that's what Cassius heard. Eventually, be it from the trauma of the fight or the interrogation, it became one of the few remaining understandable words he'd utter. Cassius crossed his arms, dissatisfied. He was hoping for more, but their well had run dry. What was left of the man eventually passed out, despite the interrogator's chemical cocktails designed to keep him awake through the procedure.

"It seems I've broken my new toy already," the specialist said, disappointed.

"Clean this up," Cassius ordered, and the interrogator nodded. As Cassius prepared to leave, he turned back to ask one last question, "what was that he kept repeating?"

"My apologies, Commander," said the interrogator, "I had simply assumed it was hysterical babbling."

"Assume nothing," Cassius snapped, "what did he say exactly?"

"'Az ördög,'" the specialist explained, "it means 'the devil.'"