Dead Morn by Piers Anthony & Roberto Fuentes

Author:Piers Anthony & Roberto Fuentes [Anthony, Piers & Fuentes, Roberto]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Fiction, General
ISBN: 9780962371226
Google: iQJrOQAACAAJ
Amazon: 096237122X
Publisher: Tafford Pub
Published: 1990-10-22T22:00:00+00:00

PART SIX

He knew what they were trying to do. It was the disorientation treatment. The cell was small and dark and usually silent, and he was alone, with no way to ascertain how much time was passing. Even the temperature seemed to vary little, so there was no distinction between day and night even that way. His meals were brought at different times, sometimes within an hour of each other and sometimes a day apart, so that his digestion was no guide either.

"Pig!" a man's voice screamed suddenly. "Talk! Talk, or die!"

That, too. He knew better than to answer.

He fought it, but knew that the treatment was working. He was becoming disoriented. Already it was difficult to keep track of the order of events since his arrest by the G-2.

The door had burst open... and they had taken him to the G-2 headquarters, where interrogators had told him that they knew everything, confess and receive a lenient sentence, give them other names... Raul Castro had appeared, sneering, slapping him a few times, and he had spit a goober of thick yellow phlegm at the man's face—or had he dreamed that? Had he seen Raul at all, or merely imagined Raul's face? At any rate, he had annoyed somebody, for their goons had given him a professional workover whose expertise he could now appreciate at leisure: much pain, little actual damage. And he had not talked. He knew he had not talked, because they had put him in the cold room, air conditioned, too small for effective movement... like treading naked across Antarctica in winter, not that he ever had... after some hours it seemed warm, and it took them some time to revive him sufficiently to talk and he didn't talk, because then it was the no-sleep treatment, bright lights, banging against the cell bars loudly if he tried to sleep, or forcible walking and he still did not talk because then the injection of sodium pentothal or was that before the cold room? But it didn't work because he had been immunized against this sort of thing before the first mission into Cuba and now disorientation they could disorient him as much as they wanted he stillwouldnottalk...

still-would-not-talk... STILLWOULDNOTTALK.

Before him was Santa Barbara, saint and goddess in her flowing red robe, mounted on her steed, which was a large turtle, and wearing her bright sword. Then an old Indian appeared and told him he was going to survive the war. It was his guardian spirit who always told the truth. "Pig, you are going to paredon if you do not talk soon!"

Bringas woke. There was food again, and he ate, for he could not do otherwise.

How to keep track of the time? He had been arrested in May, Fructo on the real calender, or Aymaray: the dance of the young maize. It must be June now, Prio, Inti Raymi, festival of the sun—Nilo had always said he wanted to die in the sun, and where was Nilo now? No, no! The young maize was Crau, April; May was the song of the harvest.

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