"Next session begins now, at one-twenty-eight PM on October ninth. We will begin with forty percent stimulant level and increase in five percent increments for each refusal to answer. IV is flowing, subject is awake and responsive."
"Don't kill her yet, okay? Let me get some answers first."
"The whole point of this exercise is to get those answers, MacGillis."
"I just don't want you to forget it. You tend to be a little over-focused on your own stuff, Doc."
"You just ask the questions! I'll make sure she's willing to answer them."
- Begin Part Six -
Lois awoke to dull, throbbing pain. She tried to be glad it wasn't so bad this time, but she was afraid that wouldn't last. She turned her head slightly and saw the same dark mist again. She decided to take the initiative.
"Hello?" No response. "Is anyone there?" Still no response. "Help, Superman!"
Again, Superman loomed out of the mist and stood beside her. "I'm here, Lois."
She grunted against the dull ache in her bones. "No. You aren't Superman. I'm not even sure you're real."
"I'm real enough. I'm just here to make sure you answer the questions they ask you."
"What questions? My favorite snack? Color of my kitchen tile? Name of my fish? I would've told 'them' all that without all this stupid crap! What do 'they' really want?"
"They want you to answer their questions, Lois."
The mechanical voice spoke before Lois could yell back. "What's your favorite color, Lois?"
She became angry. "Red! For the blood you're going to have splattered all over your face when I get my hands on you! Aaahhh!"
"Please don't threaten me. Every time you refuse to answer correctly, the pain increases."
"Aaaggghhh! Yeah, I - figured that out."
"Very well. What is your favorite color?"
"Red. It really is!"
She braced herself, but the pain didn't increase.
"Very good. What model of computer do you use at work?"
"What? Why would you want to know - gaahhh! Okay! Okay! It's a HAL 2014 with sixty-four terabytes of optical storage!"
"Thank you. What kind of tires do you use on your Ferrari?"
"What? Wait! I don't own a Ferrari!"
The voice hesitated and Lois held her breath in fear that the pain would increase again. "Very good. What kind of tires do you use on your Jeep?"
"I - I don't know the brand! I swear it! They came with the Jeep!"
The pain jacked up a notch and she screamed. "Aaaggghhh! No! I really d-don't know! Please!"
The pain eased back to its previous level. "My apologies. I was testing you. Don't worry, you passed."
She tried not to, but she felt grateful. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it. What is your favorite sport?"
"Uh, football. Not soccer, not baseball! Football!"
"What is your favorite team?"
"Metropolis Dragons."
"You don't follow the Tigers?"
"Tiger fans are - eh, no. Agghh! Just the Dragons."
"Do you think the Dragons have a chance to win their division this year?"
"Ahh! Only if Kinneman s-stays healthy!"
"I agree. How many pairs of dress shoes do you own?"
"Uh! Eight, nine, maybe ten! I don't know for sure! Please!"
She waited, expecting another jolt, but instead the voice chuckled. "Actually, you have fourteen pair, plus two pair of house slippers and a mismatched set of well-worn running shoes."
"Oh. Sorry, I couldn't remember."
"You did well, Lois. Many professional women don't know how many pairs of shoes they own without counting them first."
She felt relief. Maybe this wouldn't be so terrible after all.
"I have some more questions for you now."
"Okay. Uhh! Go ahead."
"What story are you working on right now?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but then clicked her jaws shut. "No."
"Remember what I said about the pain?"
"Yes. Yaaaggghh! I said I remember!"
"But you didn't tell me what story you were working on right now."
"I - I can't!"
"Lois, what story are you working on now?"
"I can't tell you! No! Yaagghh! Stop!"
The voice remained calm, even as the pain increased. "Tell me what story you're working on."
"It's - no, I can't! Aaaggghhh! Please! No more! P-please!"
"You have to tell me what story you're working on, Lois."
"I - can't! You know I c-can't! Yaagghh!" She began crying again. "Help me! Please help me! Aaaahhh! S-somebody help me!"
Superman loomed above her head. "Lois, you have to answer their questions. I can't help you."
The pain ratcheted up again and she screamed in agony and terror. She wrenched her eyes in the direction of the image of the Man of Steel. "Aaaaaaagggghhhh! Help me! S-superman! Help me!"
"I can't, Lois, you know that."
"Then - then kill me! Don't let them -aaagghhh! - don't let them t-torture me like this! Kill me!"
"I can't, Lois. Superman doesn't kill."
"Don't leave me here like this! Let me die! Yaaaaggghhh! Aaaaggghhh! Please!"
The voice competed with the echoes of her screams. "What story are you working on, Lois?"
"No! Noooo! Aaaaagggghhh!"
She arched her back and her spine crackled. She coughed up blood and passed out once again.
*****
"No! No pulse, no heartbeat! She's in defib! MacGillis, open the enclosure!"
"You freakin' idiot! I told you not to kill her!"
"Shut up and bring the cart over here! Charge to 200!"
"200!"
"Clear!"
"No good! Wait! No, it's okay, we have a rhythm. Looks good to me."
"As if you'd know. What's your medical degree in, anyway?"
"Okay, Proctor, you're the doctor. She gonna live?"
"Let me look. Yes, this is a normal sinus pattern. She'll be okay."
"Until the next time."
"We're running out of time. I don't know if we have more than one more session left."
"You mean, she doesn't have more than one more session left, don't you, Proctor?"
"Yeah, that's what I mean, she doesn't. I just wish I had more time!"
"Don't forget the boss's deadline! We should have had results by now."
"You think I don't know that?"
"I want you remember what you said, that she'd be babbling out her deepest and darkest secrets by now."
"She's stronger than I thought."
"You won't get anything by killing her!"
"Fine, fine! Next session, you have four minutes to get results. Then we jack it up until she either gives up the information or passes out."
"Or dies. Again."
"Yes. We won't try to revive her next time, either."
*****
Carmen chortled and pointed at Clark's firm grip on the inside of the cockpit. "You need not hold on so tightly, Clark! I promise that I will not drop you!"
Clark adjusted his headset with one hand. "I believe you! I just don't like flying!"
"We are flying at only two thousand feet of altitude."
"Oh, terrific. That's about one thousand nine hundred ninety-eight feet higher than I'd like to be."
"Do not be alarmed. We will be there in a short time."
"Good."
They glided through the air silently for a few minutes. Clark eventually relaxed a little. "You know, this isn't so bad. I could get used to this."
"I take it that you do not fly often?"
He grinned. "Me and airplanes don't get along too well. Even less with helicopters." He watched the trees skip past. "How much further?"
"At this speed, I think, perhaps ten minutes."
"Good. Hey, where'd you learn to fly this thing? You handle it pretty well."
"Thank you. I learned to fly in Columbia. I was born there."
"You were in the military?"
"No. I flew for one of the cocaine cartels."
Clark managed not to fall out of the aircraft. "Oh."
She shook her head. "You do not understand. I did not intend to be a criminal."
He waved his free hand at her. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
She nodded. "Thank you. But I will tell you anyway.
"My parents died when a bomb exploded beside a police station. I was eleven. The bomb was set by one drug lord and was meant for another drug lord, and he survived because my parents stood between him and the explosion. He took into his care my older brother and myself. He fed us, clothed us, educated us, and taught us to fly. He believed that we would be loyal to him forever because he had helped us when we needed help.
"We worked as messengers between his headquarters and the fields, and as his personal pilots. Because we were so young, and because we never handled the drugs, the military and the police would leave us alone. Or so we thought.
"My brother was shot down and killed by the Columbian army when I was nineteen. They claimed it was a mistake, that they had intended to shoot down a drug courier. I have never believed them. I think they were trying to kill my employer.
"The drug lord went into hiding and I was left alone. I knew how much danger I was in, so I stole one of his helicopters and flew to the American embassy. I asked for asylum, and, well, I am now here." She hesitated. "I had always planned to escape with my brother, but - it was not to be."
"Wow. That's quite a story, Carmen. You ever put that down on paper?"
She favored him with a thousand-watt smile. "No. I would prefer not to read the story of my life in your newspaper. There may yet be some people in Columbia who would like to locate me. I have told you this only because I think we must trust each other with our lives very soon."
He frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"I must land so you may find your lady, but I cannot land beside the house else they will know we are there. If that happens, they would kill your lady and run, and perhaps kill us as well. This would not be good. We must land some distance away and walk to them. I do not know what we will find when we arrive, but I suspect that taking your Lois away from these bad men will not be a simple thing."
Clark nodded. Since she didn't know he was Superman, her reasoning made perfect sense. "Okay. But you have to promise me to be careful."
"You forget that you are speaking to a woman who survived the cocaine wars in Columbia. I think you should assure me that you will be careful."
- End Part Six -
