Hard Reboot Episode 01

Chapter 11

Brita paced the back of the interrogation room. David sat at the table beside her, resting his head in his hands. She rubbed her wrists trying to restore circulation.

"How long can they hold us," Brita sighed. "I mean, really," she slapped her hands against her sides. "How long can they hold us?" she repeated.

David looked up, slapping his hands on the table. "Would you please, stop pacing?" He stood up facing her. "Brita," he stepped up in front of her. "To be honest, anything can happen." He leaned against the wall, and crossed his legs. "It's just not worth it to worry about."

"What do you mean, it's not worth it?"

"I mean, he's going to do what he's going to do."

Brita slapped her for head, "That doesn't make any sense. Of course, he's going to do what he's going to do. That's obvious."

David sighed, and rubbed his face, flinching. Brita resumed pacing the room. David started to speak when the door opened, and his father stepped in.

"Have a seat," Chief-Consul Quinn shut the door behind him, and sat down without looking up. He flipped through the screens on his tablet.

David turned his chair around, and sat facing the table. Brita clenched her jaw, twisted her head side to side, then sat in the chair next to David.

"We seem to have a couple of options," he laid the tablet flat on the table. He gazed from one to the other. "Any guesses as to what those might be?"

David studied his fingernails, while Brita stared at his father.

"Anyone?" Quinn leaned forward, setting his elbows on the table. Brita felt his gaze burning while the smug look never left. She shook her head.

"Well," he said, his smile growing bigger. "First of all, we can keep you locked up. Call it," he looked up at the ceiling, considering, "terrorism."

"What?" Brita asked.

"Well, that got your attention," he looked down at his tablet. "A lot of leeway has been given to peace officers in the last six years."

Brenda turned away, staring at the wall. He can't be serious.

"We could," he paused for effect, "refine our interrogation techniques."

"You wouldn't." David glared at his father. "Chief-Consul Quinn, how could you?"

Brita jumped to her feet, knocking her chair over.

"Just who do you think you are?" She glared at him.

Quinn stood, placing both hands flat on the table. "Sit. Down." He glared at her.

Brita's heart raced. Her cheeks flushed. She righted her chair, and eased into it.

"I am," Quinn continued to glare, "the Chief-Consul." He raised his eyebrows, and smiled. He spread his arms wide. "I am the head of this town. The ultimate authority. I am the one standing between you and everything you hold dear."

"And the second option?" David asked.

"Pardon?" Quinn asked. He sat back and cocked an eyebrow.

David looked into his father's eyes, "You said, 'We seem to have a couple of options.'" He raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, yes," Quinn smiled, looking at his tablet. "The second option." He flipped through the screens on his tablet, cleared his throat then looked up.

"The second option: banishment."

"What does that mean?" Brita asked.

The corner of Quinn's mouth rose a half an inch. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.