Speaker of Words by E.G. Stone

Author:E.G. Stone [Stone, E. G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: IndieOwl Press

Chapter 13

“But if thought corrupts language,

language can also corrupt thought.”

—Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four

The Military Intelligence man sat in the corner of the room, his knees up to protect him from the leering gaze of that young girl, Skiya, and her enforcer, Devar. They had searched him and taken away his transmitter and the camera attached to his ragged tunic, both non-functioning in the safe house. Non-functioning or not, they were still his only link to the Republic, and he was feeling very, very alone. He knew that the Republic was just outside the door, mere meters away, and yet it were as though he were as far away as he could be. The moon colony would feel closer.

It got worse, though, when the other people that had been holed up in the safe house had shuffled towards Skiya and expressed wonder at when Ske’toa was to arrive. At the words, “Soon. Any minute now, actually,” the man closed his eyes and hoped that the Republic would gain something from his death. He fully expected to die. He had been taught, as all intelligence people were, to withstand torture, and he was certain that he wouldn’t give up a single secret. He would, as a result, die. And, hopefully, Ske’toa would be sloppy enough that evidence could be found and Ske’toa would be caught and tried.

The door opened, a brief whisper revealing the city-lit blackness of night, and someone slipped inside. The man forced himself to open his eyes and look at the face of his enemy. He saw a person clothed in black with a scarf around the face, not overly tall and neither short. This person did not appear terribly strong, but the presence filled the room nonetheless. He realised it was because everyone else there had straightened at this person’s entrance and gained a gleam of near-reverence.

“I hear we have an intruder amongst our ranks,” the person spoke and Skiya nodded.

“Ske’toa,” she said, dipping her head differentially where a few minutes ago she had been defiant and contrary. “I found him trying to use a transmitter. He’s in the corner.”

Ske’toa turned and walked over to him, crouching down. He flinched and turned away. “I see. A Milit? Hmm, yes. Devar, please open the back room. I think it would be better if the two of us spoke in private.”

Would this back room be screened against sound? Would the others hear him scream? He forced himself to stand rather than take the offered hand of Ske’toa. He was led into a back room furnished with a single table, a few chairs, a sideboard, all looking as though they had seen better days. Ske’toa stepped into the room with him and the door was sealed behind them.

Ske’toa turned and unwound the scarf, throwing it onto the table while rolling shoulders as if weary. The Milit man froze, his eyes widening, a sense of horror filling him. “Ah, I see you recognise me. I wondered if you would. I had rather thought that Military Intelligence considered everyone else to be below their attention.

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