Children of the War

Part 4

The world went dark. Time lost its hold. He might as well be dead, like Jocelyn. Perhaps Mother and Father were, too. He drifted in a black void, and a deceptive peace filled him.

He heard a man's voice, speaking the enemy's language. Someone else asked a question, and was answered with the laughter of several people.

Walter's eyes slowly opened, and he focused.

Lights. Piercing, almost painful, shone above him. The mechanical sound of robots surrounded, whirring about.

He lay on a bed, uncovered, wearing only an uncomfortable pair of hospital briefs. With all his might he tried to move, but couldn't. Firm restraints were strapped around his wrists and ankles.

A medical robot prodded and inspected his left leg, which had been treated. A lurid scar led from his thigh to his knee, twisting red, and fastened with glinting metal clamps.

His mind slowly caught up with the reality of where he was.

Anger was his first shaking reaction.

Jocelyn, his parents, and Nathaniel were all gone.

His most blaring thought was, death to the Kaezer. He strained against his bonds again, but they only cut deep into his flesh. Frustrated and exhausted, he fell back onto the bed.

"You are finally awake, young man. Tell us how you feel." A man's rasping voice spoke, heavily accented.

The glaring, sterile overhead light obscured everything. He couldn't see, yet he heard the whispers in the room. Many people were gathered about, just beyond the edge of his view.

"Who are you? What is this place?" he asked. He tried to get a look at the person slowly circling him.

The light was too bright to make out any features. Just a grim, scrawny figure, thin shoulders, head held at a haughty angle. The steady tap, tap of a cane against hard, bare floor.

"I will ask the questions. And you will answer truthfully."

Walter's rage surged again, as well as the grief he'd barely begun to feel for Jocelyn. His voice quavered. "What have you done with my family?"

"I will repeat, I ask the questions." The man stepped into the light, into view. "And you answer truthfully."

It was an officer of the Kaezer. His silvered hair was combed sleek, with the manicured mustache and pointed goatee so often seen on troopers. His black uniform overcoat was tailored to fit his gawky frame perfectly. He moved with an elegant bearing, graceful and affected. His slim fingers rested in a pleasing manner across the handle of his long, black cane. He appeared genteel, but his gray eyes were like a blade, demanding attention, and allowing no escape.

"You killed my sister," Walter said. "That isn't a question."

The unseen voices in the room laughed. Their presence unsettled him.

"It is not. But now, it is my turn." The officer approached, staring down. "Tell us, why do you fight against the Kaezer?"

"You kill people, because they believe differently than you do," Walter said. "You're all murderers. I hate you. Every last one of you."

The officer raised an eyebrow. He turned and looked away a moment, and said something in his language.

The mysterious voices sounded amused.

"Very good," the officer said. "You are honest. This will help you greatly in our work."

Rage engulfed him. "Go to hell, you bastard. Let me go, and I'll gladly fight all of you. I'll kill you for what you've done."