Neo Paris

Chapter 24

Roderik was chafing in his blind cell. The effects of the drugs he had been forced to take were wearing off, and the clearer his mind became, the angrier he felt. How could he, a counselor, a clan leader, co-founder of nTech, co-inventor of the bionet, co-writer of the first Constitution of the Tech Net Republic of Neo Paris, be thrown into solitary confinement? He banged on the door harder, screamed at the top of his lungs. The electromagnetic collar placed around his neck while he was unconscious tightened a notch, compressing the veins and arteries in his neck. He had to control himself, or the device would strangle him. He slid to the ground, his hand in pain, breathing heavily, lay down, and made an effort to calm himself. The pressure on his neck finally eased.

His confinement was perfect, nothing reached him. Not a sound, not a light, not a vibration, not even the cold gaze of a guard. Food and drinks were given to him sparingly through an apparently inviolable automatic hatch. A harsh, blinding light, permanently on, made any rest impossible. He was losing track of time. An eerie silence enveloped him, mummifying him in an eternal present moment, only punctuated by the metronome of his heart.

He had no idea where he was, how long he had been there, or how long he would be. Since Cecil had publicly accused him of treason and taken him away under the stunned gaze of the counselors, he had been alone, without any news. No visits, no questions, nothing resembling any procedure. He had a vision: locked up for life, mad, blind, broken. He shivered, gathered himself, and banished those thoughts... His implants were as good as dead, except for one, locked by the Opus, tasked with monitoring his biometric data: his jailers wanted to make sure he would stay alive. Anyway, he couldn't have done much against himself: the entire room was padded with soft, gentle rubber that protected him from any injury. No bed, no table, no stool. For his needs, a stainless steel self-cleaning shower-toilet block. To lie down, a foam mattress directly molded to the floor's coating. No window.

Suddenly, the door opened. An armed brother entered, forced the old man to stand up, and pinned him to the wall. The magnetic clasp of his collar activated and stuck Roderik to the wall. Cecil entered, an impassive smile on his lips, and dismissed the brother.

"This bad joke has lasted long enough, Cecil! I am not a traitor, and you know it! You will find no evidence of what you claim, simply because I did nothing of the sort.

— The issue, Roderik, is not legal. The world cares little for evidence, which can be forged at will... No, your guilt is political, necessary, already established, and will soon be confirmed. There will be no debate, and no one will dare to question the Opus' word, at the risk of being accused in turn: this is how the sublime machinery of terror works... There is no chance you will ever leave this cell, abandon such hope. I hope you like your new quarters: they will be your last.

— You are completely mad, Cecil... I have rights, we have laws! The counselors will...

— Laws! Cecil scoffed... Haven't you understood, old fool, that events are more important than laws? New texts have just been enacted, the state of emergency is declared, and your counselor friends tremble at the thought of being next on my list. Half of them are already eating out of my hand, the other half is tearing itself apart over your succession. No one cares about you anymore, Roderik. You are already dead, you are history. They know it, only you seem to ignore it.

— Calisté will never give up, and my entire clan will remain united behind me...

— Your daughter is on the run, she can do nothing for you. Sooner or later, Dokan will catch her, and she will fall, like you, into the oblivion of an anonymous cell... Your fief is under the occupation of the Kaän militia, and the nTech group is under judicial administration. It will soon be dismantled. The subsidiaries will be sold to other clans, which are already fighting over them. The mother company will come under the Kaän flag, who will controll the entire bionet ecosystem... Your people quickly pledged allegiance to the provisional administrator, a remarkable woman, in whom they have complete trust, and who seems entirely legitimate to them, as she is the heiress of the clan... Of course, I am talking about Galatea, your poor daughter, whom you once gave us in marriage, to buy some time... She is delighted with her return, she missed her fief. She missed her little sister, too, she is eager to see her again.

— Everyone knows Galatea is a puppet you manipulate at will. But deep down, my people are loyal to me. You will never be able to turn your back on them without fearing for your life.

— I know, Roderik, I can read their double game. That's why I am here: I want you to confess your crimes, to make a public act of contrition, repentance, and to endorse Galatea.

— Never, Cecil! You hear? Never! I'd rather die!...

— You will do it, Roderik, whether you want it or not. You will do it to avoid the pointless suffering of torture and to earn a dignified end of life, an honorable death. You will do it to protect your people, your clan, your family... You will do it for whatever reason you choose, I don't care, but believe me, you will do it. I have decided you will confess, and you will do so, there's no doubt about it. No one has ever resisted us for long: our methods are dreadfully efficient. We will dig deep into your brain, we will turn you into a brainless puppet if necessary, but the words I have chosen will come out of your mouth. You know the destination, you can choose the path. I offer you one without pain, I give you the night to think about it and I'll come back in the morning to hear your answer.

— Don't waste your time, Cecil, no need to come back. Send your torturers, I'm waiting for them here.

— It seems you have not grasped the full extent of my words, Roderik, nor the value of my offer. It's quite understandable, you haven't yet recovered from the shock of what just happened to you... I think your mind needs a little boost to overcome all this and get back to reality. I will order that you be given a brief preview of our talents tonight, and I'll come back tomorrow, as I said. You'll thank me.

— The truth is, you're reluctant to carry out your dirty work, and you're counting on me to make it easier for you. You don't know me that well. If you want to break me, you'll have to get your hands dirty, and that stain will haunt you, it will devour your conscience, that will be my revenge. See you tomorrow, then, Roderik challenged.

— Old fool! You prattle, you show off... You will pay tonight for your insolence, and I'm sure you'll watch your tongue better, tomorrow, and beg for my mercy!"

Cecil left, and Roderik's collar loosened its grip. The old man slid down to the foot of the wall and felt a primal, paralyzing, ice-cold fear rise within him... He had visions of horror and pain, which he tried to push away: anticipating torture only amplifies its effects. He tried to dominate himself, to stay in the moment, but he succeeded only partially, and with great difficulty... He feared pain, of course, but more than suffering, he was afraid of not holding out, being overwhelmed by his flesh and give in, rather than die.