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“AND WHAT OF OUR LEARNED Grey friend?” Rowle said.
“The prisoner? Says little. Gave away less.”
“And have you made it clear that the fate of the pups hangs in his good behavior?”
“With the greatest respect, Your Eminence, that is not what you told the Grey in the message you sent with the pup.”
“I know what I said! But they have not replied, and I want answers. Now. I wish to move forcefully on the Red-Duchy instead of repelling skirmishes from them, and I cannot do that unless I know our flanks are protected. Apply more pressure.”
“As Your Eminence commands.”
The advisor bowed out. Rowle stormed back to the Sanctuary. The door was ajar when she got there. She couldn’t help but wonder, even in her distracted state, that she’d heard scuffling as she entered. She paused and sniffed the air. It was difficult in the awful miasma of smells in this gods-forsaken hole to tell one from another, but something was making her whiskers twitch.
“Technician? Oh, Technician!” No reply. She hated how he insisted on making her use his proper name. “Nev! Come here now or you will be flogged.”
More scuffling in the corridor outside. “Bureaucrat.”
Perhaps that had been the scuffling. She really was distracted. Having summoned him, he stood there before her, shifting from one foot to the other. She could not remember what she’d called him for. It seemed important at the time. What was she doing before the interruptions? Ah, interrogators. That was it. Information from the hostages.
“Good, I am glad you are here.”
“Ah?” A nondescript reply always proved safer in Nev’s experience. Especially when Rowle was being sugary. That never boded well.
“I require your intellect and expertise.”
“Okay.”
“I want to get information from these prisoners.”
“Okay.”
“Gentle interrogation is taking too long.”
“I am not going to invent new torture methods for—”
“You will do what I damn well say, or it will be the worse for you, but as it happens that is not what I want.”
“What do you want then?” That earned Nev a slap.
“Firstly, good behavior. Then the answer to a problem.”
“Okay.”
“If I connect the Vat to, how shall we phrase this—a live sample. Could we then read its mind?”
“What?” Nev said.
“I think you heard me. The question was simple enough. And you are, not simple. You also know what will happen if you don’t answer or lie. So, I will ask you again. If I plug a live brain into the Vat can we read its mind?”
“Well, yes? That’s what has always happened in the past.”
“Ah, no. Not so. The human’s brain was not in his body and the human was not long dead. I am asking can we do the same with a brain that is still in someone’s head.”
“Without harming them?”
“No. Not necessarily.”
Nev sighed. “If you behead someone you can throw their brain straight in. I’m pretty sure the Vat can now begin to wire itself given long enough.”
“If that was what I wanted to do, I would already have done it. If the head goes into the Vat I lose control of it. I can no longer influence it in the same way. If we could connect someone while they were still alive, head attached, then we can question, when we like, as often as we like.”
“The Grey-Duchy elder knows things of that much value to you?”
“Ah, the Grey have always kept all kinds of enticing secrets, but why I want to know is no concern of yours. I want to know, can it be done?”
“Honestly, right now, I don’t know,” Nev said.
“You have exactly half a span to find a way, or your head will be the one in the Vat. Now you have most helpfully told me that the Vat can wire itself.”
Nev’s blood drained from his face. Shreds, he’d slipped up there. There was little time to consider the blunder, frantic banging on the Sanctuary door was followed by a frantic guard.
“Yyyy... Yr... Eminence!” she said.
“What now?” Rowle shouted. “Could you not hear I was in a conference? Eh? Are you deaf?” She grabbed the unfortunate guard by the ear. The poor wretch squirmed. Rowle slowly dug her claws into the flesh of the guard’s earlobe. She leaned in close and whispered, “Why. Are. You. Still. Here?”
“Yyyyy... im... important...”
“I’m sorry.” Rowle dug her claws in further. “Do speak up.”
“Aaahh! Ah... please...”
Rowle sighed and withdrew her claws, but retained a firm grip on the ear. “What?”
“Message.”
“Now we get to it.”
“Important.”
“Yes, we’ve covered that bit. And it is what? Exactly.”
“Message.”
“Yes, message? You’re trying my patience.”
“Nnnn... not message. Messenger.” She seemed to gather strength for a last push to communicate. “Messenger, from the Grey. Duchy. Returned.”
“Ah, good! Finally. And he said?”
“Y... y... need to come.” The guard sounded truly desperate now.
“You do not tell me where to go and what to do.”
“Guard commander. Asked.”
“Bring the messenger to me!”
“C-can-t...”
“What?” Rowle spat.
“Can’t be moved. Is at guard post. Too...”
“Too what? Too what? What?”
The guard hissed a breath out. Rowle’s claws were out again. “Oh.” She retracted the claws again. The guard slumped to the floor, quiet and still. Rowle threw her head back and howled. “Must I do everything myself?”
She turned and swept to the door, pausing to say over her shoulder, to Nev, “Find me a solution for speaking to a head out of the Vat, or your head’s in. Understand?”
“Completely.”
“Good.”
The Bureaucrat left and whisked up a wake of angry sweat and fresh blood. Nev found his hand clenched tight in his hair. He paced back and forward, and then back again.
“Not a great time to ask,” he said to the Vat. “But I don’t suppose you’ve got any ideas, have you?”
Nev huffed and resumed pacing. He could hear some shouting from Rowle in the far distance.
“I do have one idea,” OneLove said. “But you’re not going to like it.”
