Interrogation

One thing I have learnt since I came here is that I am not alone.

There are others like me here.

I see them sometimes at night, when I pass by. They all huddle together in a corner and silently chatter about hope lost and other nonsense. I see their eyes in the soft light and they are the eyes of the mad, and that comforts me. It is the only real comfort in this place, and so I take it with outstretched arms, like a beggar child. It sustains me.

They told me when I arrived that my stay would be short and painless. It’s not. They said I would be treated well and kindly. I’m not. They lie through their teeth about everything, and they say we are the ones who are mad. In that case I am mad, and proud of it.

I am not allowed to communicate with the others in any way. I am told I am different from them, that I am ‘special’. I tell them that if that is a crime, then the world must be full of criminals, but they don’t respond well to taunting, and they ignore me. I’m sorry -

My eagerness to tell my tale has thrown my mind into disarray. Memories keep resurfacing now, flooding me, and so I have jumped ahead of myself.

My name is John Ross, and I am a human being. There has been certain dispute over this fact by my makers, though. I wish to end the dispute.

I was brought to this hell-hole about two months ago, according to the plants. They are the only way to tell time here, and I am the only one who knows how to read them. I don’t know where this place is, or even what country it is in. They, the guards, do not tell us. It is all part of their plan to break us.

Jerry seems to agree with this, but then again he seems to agree with just about everything I say. He sits in his chair and talks about the ‘old days’ with such nostalgia that sometimes I think he is actually reliving the events. He has an unusual talent, I have found, for rambling on for hours about the most inconsequential things and making them seem important and newsworthy. I can’t help but think what a useful talent that must be in the interrogations. How perplexing it must be!

Ah, the interrogations. What a delightful little devils playground this place has turned out to be, and what a fool I was in ever believing it to be anything else. They began about a week after my arrival, and they have plagued me weekly since. They are not something I think back upon with any fear or anxiety, but nevertheless I feel a slight tension when the memories begin resurfacing.

It was in the White Room that it was first explained to me about suffering and need.

The room reminded me of my own room in the keep with its desolate barrenness and lack of furniture. The room was completely white - walls, floor, ceiling - creating a feeling of claustrophobia in me even though I was not prone to the weakness. In the center stood a white table, and above it a little white light that constantly buzzed (a sound that, it is said, has driven more then one inmate crazy.)

I waited nervously in the White Room, and finally he came. He was immaculately dressed as though he was coming to a great ball rather then an interrogation. His tie was fixed neatly and properly, as was his smile.

‘You must be Alpha-9, he said in his mild, easygoing way.

‘You’re wrong,’ I told him. ‘My name is John Ross.’

He smiled. 'Yes, I have heard alot about you, John.'

He motioned for me to get up onto the table, and I did. Again the lessons of the past flooded me, threatened to overwhelm me. I was in another room, in another time, and this time it was Nate standing over me with a syringe and shouting. But the interrogator did not shout; I doubt he has ever raised his voice above mere whispers in his life.

‘I need to run a few routine checks on you before we begin. This won’t take long.’

I was probed and prodded by alien instruments of all kinds while the intense white light glared me in the face. My muscles spasmed involuntarily, as though they had a life of their own. It was strange, not being in absolute control. I am told it is somewhat akin to being ‘drunk’, or ‘high’, but these are things I have never been allowed to experience.

‘You have excellent muscle reflex,’ he said when he was finally done. ‘They did a good job on you. It will be intriguing to see the results of the EEG tests.’

He motioned for me to sit up and I did. My muscles felt sore now, as though they had been under great strain. I rubbed my bicept and felt the pain slowly dissipate. It was good to feel the pain, to know I still could. Made me know I was still alive.

The interrogator came around to the other side of the bed. 'Do you remember anything of your capture?' he asked almost casually. His blue eyes were so intense they seemed to be staring not at my face but past it, into my mind.

Strangely, when I tried to think about it I could hardly remember a thing. The memories were vague and there was no real sense of time attached to them, as though the sequences could have happened in any order. I closed my eyes to concentrate further but was interrupted.

'Can you tell me, for example, what your mission had been?'

'Why should I tell you anything?' I asked, eyes still tightly shut.

He must have replied but I took no notice if he did. As I sat there I remembered something of the capture and my subsequent arrest. Two figures dressed in black, running stealthily through a pitch-black forest. I was following them with my zero-lux binoculars, able to pinpoint their exact positions with the heat-sensors.

'Two charlie, Ten 'O clock,' I remember whispering to someone besides me. 'Can you take them out?'

Yeah. No problem.

The memory faded and I was back in the white room, under the intense light. Someone must have been messing with my memory, someone who knew alot about cybertronic pathways. My memory had never done a disappearing act on me before.

'Charlie, that's us, right,' the interrogator said. I must have said the words out loud, relived the memory like many people live out nightmares. 'And did you manage to take us out?'

'I - don't remember. The memory is fuzzy, vague. As though someone has tampered with it,' I tried to sound accusing but couldn't pull it off. I wasn't designed to feel anger or righteousness. Then again I wasn't designed to forget, either.

'I want you to go back in your mind to your last coherent memory, the last thing you remember clearly. Can you do that?'

I could. We were seated in a conference room, the platoon and I. Nate was by the drawing board, pointing at a photo of a man. He was saying, 'Abdul Raheed, second in command and one of the toughest sons of bitches in the business. Probably sell his mother for a hit of Kor-al if there was a market for bearded women. Now, he's the main target. There are others . . . '

'You ready for this mission?' It was Trigger, seated next to me. As usual he was paying almost no attention to the mission briefing. 'Cos I gotta tell you, Ross, I'm nervous. Times were, I'd do a mission like this and still be home before lunchtime, you know what I mean. I'm getting too old for this shit.'

'With age comes wisdom,' I said as I tried to concentrate on the lecture. Nate was describing the area we were going to parachute into.

'You got that right, buddy. And this old man is wise enough to know that it's time to do the old retiring trick. This will probably be my last mission.'

The memory slowly faded into darkness and a lingering thought accompanied it: in more ways then you know, Trigger. In more ways then you know.

'Glad to see you back in the land of the living,' the interrogator said. He was holding a large yellow syringe in his hand, testing it by squirting a few drops into the air. 'I thought I might have to use the epinephrine. So, what do you remember?'

'Nothing, not a thing. But you knew that, didn't you? Of course you did.'

The interrogator looked perplexed for a moment, as though I had somehow managed to surprise him. His frown grew deeper as he said, 'you remember nothing?'

'No, nothing. What did you expect? You erased my memory.'

The man shook his head. He stared at me with a new emotion on his face, an emotion I never thought would be directed at one such as me. It was pity.