The new speaker paused for a moment, then rose and walked slowly over to me. Though he looked to me much like the others, his slower, more careful walk made him seem older, an elderly man forced out of a comfortable chair by an impolite guest. “You are, of course, correct. Though your life is . . . irrelevant to me, killing you would not help us achieve our goals. We do, however, have another option: We can make your lack of cooperation more painful than the choice of helping us.”
I saw his upper right arm move; then the pain hit and I couldn’t see anything. I made no attempt to suppress my scream; they can always make you scream, so there’s no point in pretending otherwise. My whole body felt like it was pulsing with currents of pain, every inch of skin, bit of bone, and length of vein and artery a channel for the purest pain I’d known. I prayed I’d black out. The pain continued for a time I couldn’t measure or even find the words to contemplate, and then I got my wish.
* * *
I’m not sure how long I was out. As I came to I tried to prepare myself for the thickheadedness and the racking residue of pain that my past similar experiences had left, but consciousness returned, as it had before, quickly, and amazingly, pain did not come with it. Either the torture device or their healing technology was very good.
The older alien was standing where he had been, so I probably hadn’t been unconscious for long. When I opened my eyes, he spoke. “Are you now prepared to do as we instruct?”
I knew I’d win this game—I’d known from the moment I knew they needed me—but I also knew that playing was going to be expensive. What I didn’t know was just how expensive. I was going to have to find out. “No,” I said. “But—”
The pain hit just as quickly as the last time and even more forcefully, and it seemed to go on longer. I didn’t even have enough control left to pray for unconsciousness, but fortunately it came on its own.
* * *
I lost count of how many times I blacked out, but I don’t believe there were actually that many. In the few moments of consciousness I enjoyed between the attacks of pain I tried to focus on the goal of making the deal I knew I would have a chance to make.
Finally, the opportunity came.
As usual, the older one asked if I would help, and as usual I said no and tried to continue, expecting the pain again. This time, though, he let me go on.
” . . . but I do think we could make a deal that would meet your goals.” I gulped air as I realized I had held my breath before speaking and had tried to blurt out the whole sentence before they could zap me again. When the pain didn’t come, I kept going. “I know you can hurt me enough to make me say anything. You can even make me do anything—for a while. As soon as I get a chance, though, I’ll end up trying to get away. So, why not make a deal instead? From what I’ve read about your people, you’re here to discuss possible trade opportunities. Well, we can make a trade.”
New sounds filled the air, sounds I realized were their voices in their own tongue. The older one and my gym visitor seemed to be doing the talking, though I couldn’t be sure others didn’t speak.
After a short time the older one spoke to me again. “You are right that we are primarily merchants. We do not, though, normally make trades with . . . races such as yours. We simply take the helpers we need. In this case, our goals and our arrangements with your governments make that option more expensive to pursue than normal. So, what sort of trade?”
“When I work, I do—” I paused to find the right word, a word that would appeal to them “—salvage. I find things for people, and I return those things, and the people pay me.”