UNIVERSAL TURBULENT

LV - INDEPENDENT EARTH

Marco turned, saw the expression on the other officer's face, and knew Lucy had a surprise up her sleeve. A roly poly civilian stood by her side. He wore a badly outdated business suit and looked familiar somehow. "Yes?"

Lucy gestured to her companion. "President Doug Douglas, I would like to introduce Colonel Dooley Marco, commanding officer of the 17th DBLE. Colonel, this is the honorable Marcus Doug Douglas, President of the Confederacy, a two star admiral, and chairman of Doug Douglas Enterprises".

Doug Douglas stuck out his hand. His smile was open and friendly. "The captain forgot to mention that I'm past President, a reserve admiral, and retired from my company. A has been if there ever was one".

Marco accepted the hand, discovered that it was hard as a rock, and knew why the other man looked so familiar. Every cadet who passed through the academy was required to study the Midvalian wars, and more than a few references to the now famous Marcus Doug Douglas. Still, it was a shock, and it must have shown on his face.

Doug Douglas nodded understandingly. "I'm getting used to that expression. The explanation is rather simple. I was retired, and planned to keep it that way, till the mutiny came along".

A host of thoughts crowded Marco's mind. Was this what he had been hoping for? A real honest to God leader who could unify the resistance? Or a broken down old man bent on reliving the best days of his life? He released the other man's hand.

"Welcome to Veil Bashu, sir. I wish the circumstances were different".

Doug Douglas motioned to the surrounding fortress. "I knew general Bashu rather well, broke her out of prison once".

Marco had forgotten the incident, one of hundreds in a long, fascinating life. He was about to respond, about to say something polite, when the transport climbed into the air. They watched it depart. The legionnaire glanced at his companion.

"You were lucky, sir. Very lucky".

"Perhaps", Doug Douglas said enigmatically, "although we have more friends than some might think. And that brings me to the matter at hand... I need your help".

The volunteers trotted onto the parade ground, and Marco was reminded of the manner in which they had arrived. Part of some convoluted plan? Or a matter of coincidence?

"Of course, sir", Marco answered respectfully. "Your company has been quite supportive. If I can assist without compromising my command, then I would relish the opportunity".

Doug Douglas smiled gently. "It's good of you to say so, Colonel. Very good indeed. That being the case, and in light of the extent to which the Confederacy may require my niece's talents, I wondered if you would be so kind as to break her out of prison".

* * *

It was pitch black within the cell and had been for how long now? Hours? Days? There was no way to be sure. The only thing she could be certain of was that the room measured approximately six feet square, since she was five foot eight and used her frame as a yardstick.

Not that the darkness was necessarily bad, since even though the jailers could monitor Sophie Doug Douglas' heat signature, they couldn't actually see her, not like when the lights came up, and the ceiling, floor, and walls became high resolution video screens.

That was the worse t*****e of all, when they showed Sophie the way she looked, and she saw how volunable she had became. She dreaded the dark, hollow eyes, pale, sickly skin, scraggly, unkempt hair, and long, bony body.

And there were other pictures as well, including a computer generated movie in which she was systematically g**g r***d, turtored, and killed, along with footage of friends recorded through high powered rifle sights, stills from her childhood, clips from the business press, a video tour of her high rise condo, and plenty of p********a. All lifted from the news.

Sophie kept an eye out for those episodes, because they almost always signaled an upcoming appearance by Leshi Quinn.

Was he really there, taunting her from beyond the walls? Or a thousand miles away? It had taken a long time to get wherever she was.

Quinn favored a number of tricks, such as sodomizing her digital likeness, or peering up at her genitalia. All followed by the same old pitch: "Tell me where the money goes, and I will set you free".

But Sophie hadn't told him and had no intention of doing so. Her determination stemmed from principle, stubbornness, and no small amount of fear. What would Quinn do afterward? Turn her loose, just as he said he would? Or kill her? The second possibility seemed more likely.

That being the case, the executive huddled into a corner and waited for the next round of t*****e to begin. It didn't take long. The walls could sweat, she knew that, and was forced to lick them in order to get drinking water.

There were various flavors, including something akin to perspiration, sulfur water, and, on one occasion - just to mess with her mind - peppermint.

Sophie felt the dampness behind her back and knew the water had started. It had been a long time since her last drink, and she was thirsty. She turned toward the wall, extended her tongue, and allowed the tip to touch the wall. What would the liquid taste like? Sweat? Urine?

The answer surprised and shocked her. The wet stuff tasted like water! Slightly salty, but otherwise fine.

Thrilled, and eager to harvest every drop she could, Sophie licked in ever widening circles. Then, as if to please her, what had started as little more than beads of water grew into trickles. It wasn't long before the trickles jerked spasmodically and became six inch jets of water. They shot from the walls and drenched her from above. She felt them with her face, hands, and body, glad to rid herself of accumulated filth and amazed by the extent of her good fortune.

Sophie stopped drinking as the water started to lap around her ankles, when she realized the drains were plugged. Not by accident, but on purpose, as part of a brand new t*****e.