Chapter No. 33 Time of Persecution

"What the hell are you doing here, Hauptman," Stevens bellowed. "You should be at home waiting on a call from Stram."

Eric's eyes reflected anguish, but his voice was calm. "I couldn't stand just hanging around there, waiting, so I had my calls forwarded to the lab here. I decided to bury myself in work. Work has a way of soothing the soul."

"I know what you mean." He moved closer "What are you doing?"

Eric pointed to a small aquarium. "I'm trying to study the larvae. Margaret . . ." He paused, fighting to suppress emotion. "Margaret began to study their anatomy. They're quite interesting."

"What has she found so far?"

"Look at these MRI images." Eric got up and moved over to a large monitor. He punched a few buttons and the monitor lit up with images of the innards of long-tailed tadpoles. "These have no relation to the mature animal." He pointed at the tadpole's tail. "Look at this. The tail looks more like a fish's tail than a dolphin's; the fin is vertical."

Stevens held his hand to his mouth. "Obviously, they change when they pass through metamorphosis."

"Yes, but look here. The larvae have well-developed gills; the adults have rudimentary gills."

"You're right, Hauptman, but I see one thing that's similar to the adult."

"What?"

Stevens pointed at a tiny round object in the middle of the image of one of the tadpoles. "This is a male. See how it only has a single lobe. The female over here has a double lobe and you can see the hint of its womb."

"Damn, George! You have better eyesight than I thought. I've been looking at these images for several hours and I hadn't noticed a damn thing."

"You have other things on your mind, Hauptman."

Eric didn't want to think about it. "This proves that the larva exhibit sex differentiation. That's fascinating."

"Their tongues are not differentiated in this form. That must happen after metamorphosis."

"What I don't understand is why these larvae don't have anything that resemble breasts. You have to wonder how they evolved that feature."

Stevens tightened his lips. "You have to do a lot of wondering where these creatures are concerned. We know very little about their physiology."

"That's what we're here for, George."

Stevens scratched his head. "Maybe the species that this form evolved from--the one that's extinct--was a mammal."

"That's a possibility, but I don't think that this species' ancestor was ever a mammal. I think it was some sort of amphibian that got mixed up with a cetacean."

"Interspecies coitus? I don't know, Hauptman. That's never been proved, except for close relatives. Besides, that still doesn't explain their hominoid characteristics."

"Well," Eric said, rubbing his beard, "they do have something in common with most species on this planet."

"What's that?"

"The male's sperm has its mitochondria marked with ubiguitin so that the female eggs destroy them. That would suggest a conventional origin."

Stevens grunted. "All it proves is that this species is a product of this planet."

"I didn't doubt that for one second, George."

"I realize that. But, some people think they're from outer space."

"How did they think they got here--swim?"

Stevens chuckled. "You know how the tabloid-minded population is; they think everything is either supernatural, extraterrestrial, or the result of a conspiracy."

"They're the result of God's clockworks."

"I agree, Hauptman."

Eric bowed his head. "I wonder if we'll ever know where they came from."

"I hope I get to see it in my lifetime," Stevens said staring into space. "But, I'm afraid that this will be one of the greatest mysteries of science."

Eric smiled, but only briefly. "I love a good mystery."

That made Stevens feel better. He thought for a while there that Eric was going to withdraw in self-pity, but now he had hope.

###

Margaret's level of consciousness snapped to full in a hurry. The hardness of the wooden bench she was lying on stabbed into her weary bones like a hot poker, but it was better than the cement floor. Oh, they had given her a blanket to ward off the dampness, but the small room that served as her cell was dark, the only light squeezing through a small crack under the door.

At least they had fed her a simple meal of fruit, bread, and vegetable soup. She hadn't eaten since the morning of the day they kidnapped her, and she knew down deep that she needed all of the energy she could muster for the ordeal that was to come.

This was a good sign. Usually, kidnapers feed and clean up their captives when they're going to release them. Or is that only when you're a prisoner of war? But this isn't war.

Or is it?

War is the gristmill of all technological development, but these creatures are not a technological development. They're the product of nature. Some how, humankind has lost all realization of the most important concept: nature rules, not man.

Unfortunately, knowing this is of no help. There's nothing natural about this situation. If anything, it's ludicrous. These people are worse than . . .

She rose up as soon as she heard the door unlock. The Samoan gestured for her to follow him. Clutching the blanket around her, she came out of her cell and walked down the hall to the large room where she had found herself strung up by her wrists.

This time he didn't hang her by her wrists. Instead, the huge man made her sit down and then attached manacles to her ankles. He walked over to a control box that hung from a pole and pressed a green button. The chain that was attached to the ankle manacles tensed and began pulling up her legs, first bending her at the waist, and then pulling her entire body up. The blanket fell to the floor and her feet rose up toward the ceiling. Within minutes, she was dangling from her ankles above the floor, her fingers only a few inches from making contact, her hair draped down almost to her fingertips.

She was thankful that she still had underwear. The bra was hanging on by a partially cut back strap, but at least her control brief was intact. The undergarment gave her a feeling of security, embracing her flesh tightly like a giant hug. It and the bra were her last bastions against complete loss of dignity.

Several uncomfortable minutes passed before Stram, Meckler, and a woman made their appearance. She had no idea who this new character was. The woman's jet-black hair was set in a pageboy style, which did nothing for her hard-bitten, narrow face. She wore a white lab coat that hid her shape, and her black shoes were made for durability, not fashion.

Margaret could no longer feel her feet, but her ankles ached from the pressure of supporting her body. She wiggled around in an attempt to keep circulation flowing up her legs, but the effort resulted in pain.

"Mrs. Hauptman," Stram said with a satisfied smile. "I hope that you've had a good rest and are feeling cooperative today."

"Why is it necessary to have me strung up like a side of beef?"

"My dear Woman, if you do not answer my questions truthfully, I will permit Dr. Meckler to skin you. You will not only feel like a side of beef, you will resemble one."

Margaret tried to swallow, but she found it difficult in an upside down position.

"Is this how you get your kicks: torturing women?"

He giggled. "We are not torturing you. We're not barbarians. This process is simply an interrogation."

"That makes me feel much better."

Stram started to giggle but suppressed it.

Margaret didn't try to suppress a deep frown. "I'll bet that you wouldn't do this to a man."

"Why Mrs. Hauptman, you're accusing us of discrimination. We would certainly use the same methods to interrogate a man. You just happen to be the first woman we've interrogated in this fashion."

"Lucky me."

Stram flashed a quick grin before he walked around her, circling her like a buzzard. "Now, Mrs. Hauptman, I would like to know exactly how you captured the mermaids."

"We didn't."

"What do you mean?"

She grunted and wiggled around. "This would be much easier if you let me down. It's hard for me to think with the blood rushing to my head."

Stram grabbed the strap of her bra and pulled it hard enough to snap it in two. He ripped what was left of the bra from her and then struck her back with it causing her to screech and wiggle around enough to impart a gentle swing to her body. She felt a flush of hot blood invade her cheeks.

Was it from anger or embarrassment?

Or both? 

"I want answers, Mrs. Hauptman," Stram demanded, trying to stifle giggling.

The woman wasn't trying to suppress anything; she was laughing.

"You bastards." Her eyes were ablaze with hate. "I can't believe that you find amusement in this . . . nonsense. You're sick, sick, sick!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hauptman. It's just that--it's the funny way your breasts--" His face hardened. "I don't have time for this. If you don't answer me, I'll have Meckler cut that expensive undergarment off."

"Ok! Ok! I'll tell you. The creatures came to us. We didn't capture them."

"I don't believe you. Why would they do that?"

"I'm not an animal behaviorist. I really don't know why they did it."

"Mrs. Hauptman. I'm losing my patience." He paused a few seconds and then waved at Meckler. "Cut off her undergarment."

"No!" Margaret screamed. "I'll tell you. I'll tell you. We think they came to us because they're in danger of becoming extinct."

"Mrs. Hauptman, you must think me an idiot."

"I'm telling you the truth. Why don't you believe me?"

"Dr. Meckler, demonstrate your skill to our guest."

"No!" she yelled in a scratchy voice. "No! Don't!"

Meckler sliced her panty down the left side without pulling on the fabric. The scalpel sliced through the material to within a fraction of a millimeter from actually splitting it. Margaret screamed but it didn't stop Meckler from repeating his skillful surgery on her right side. He grabbed the front section with his left hand and the back section in his right. With a quick pull, he separated the two halves and pulled them from her body. The violence of the garment's departure made Margaret yell.

When she saw that the woman was thoroughly enjoying the humiliating spectacle, she cursed. "God damn it!"

Stram grinned. "You see, Mrs. Hauptman. Dr. Meckler is very good at what he does. He sliced through the fabric without cutting your flesh." He frowned. "Unfortunately for you there is no more fabric for him to cut--only flesh."

He folded his arms and stared down at her face. "Well, are you going to give me answers?"

She turned her face away. "Go to hell!"

Several anxious minutes passed before she felt fingers touching her skin of her right thigh. She twisted her head to see who was doing it even though the action resulted in neck pain. All she could see was Meckler's squinty eyes examining his intended target; She examined him with horror beaming from her wide-open eyes.

She decided to plead. "No! No! I'll tell you the truth. Don't cut me. Please don't cut me!"

The instant Dr. Meckler pinched her flesh between his fingers, she screamed with an ear-splitting vengeance.

Stram bent down to look into her terror-stricken, tear-filled eyes. "My dear woman. Dr. Meckler hasn't done anything yet and you're bellowing like a stuck pig."

"Please don't cut me," she cried. "I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Stram grinned. "Very well. I want you to tell me again how you captured the creatures."

"Ok! But don't cut me. Please! I'll tell you."

"I'm waiting, Mrs. Hauptman."

She didn't answer immediately. Her chest pulsed in and out rapidly as she tried desperately to talk, but she had trouble catching her breath. The only thing she could do was put on a convincing show and hope that they took mercy on her.

Stram nodded to Meckler. When Meckler stepped closer, Margaret began shrieking. Every major muscle in her body twitched and vibrated violently. Her body jiggled and squirmed madly, dancing like a worm on a hook, all she succeeded in doing was adding to the piercing pain that already racked her body.

Stram laughed. "Mrs. Hauptman. I take it back. You are splendid entertainment." He turned to Meckler and the woman. "Don't you agree?"

Meckler reacted with a disinterested stare. He seemed bored. The woman laughed with hysterical violence. She was definitely enjoying the show.

Margaret sobbed uncontrollably. Her muscles continued to twitch at a reduced intensity as her body swung back and forth.

"Mrs. Hauptman, calm yourself. We haven't cut one millimeter of your precious hide."

She glared at him. "You're sick!"

"Tell me the truth," Stram yelled at her. "How did you capture the creatures?"

Margaret mustered all the strength she could to catch her breath. Every muscle, every joint, every tendon in her body ached. She could only speak in a raspy whisper.

"We traced the creatures to an underwater volcanic shaft. Members of the Sea Nautilus attached extra batteries and air tanks to our mini-sub. It allowed us to penetrate to their lair. It's in an underwater cavern."

"I see," Stram said as he paced back and forth. "But how did you actually capture the creatures?"

"We trapped the juvenile in a net and pulled it back through the shaft. The two adults followed us."

"So, they have familial instincts."

"Yes they do."

Stram paused for several seconds. "How did you capture the adults?"

"We had teams of divers waiting. When they exited the shaft, they were entrapped in nets stretched across the entrances."

"Yes, I see--a well conceived plan."

"Could you please let me down," Margaret said, grimacing. "I can hardly breathe, everything hurts like hell, and I'm about to pass out from the blood pooling in my head."

"Mrs. Hauptman, we're here to obtain information, not make you feel comfortable. If you pass out, we'll simply continue this tomorrow." He laughed. "I think this is going to require many days of making you uncomfortable."

"You're doing a hell of a good job of it today."

"Thank you. We try to be professional."

She took a big breath and tried to flex her feet in a desperate attempt to restore feeling.
What a stupid idiot I am. Why the hell didn't I think of telling him what he wanted to hear before? It would have saved me all this pain.

A knock interrupted her thoughts.

Now what?

The Samoan opened the door, and a man that she hadn't seen before entered the room. He was no older than his mid-thirties and had short-cropped blond hair to compliment a muscular build and a square-cut jaw. His face was quickly transformed from military dispassion to puerile satisfaction. The woman grinned when she saw his reaction. Her grin deepened when she noted Margaret's frown.

The man stared wide-eyed at the suspended female for several seconds before recovering his composure. "Dr. Stram, there's a message for you."

Stram immediately rushed out of the room with the man. Meckler walked over to the table, sat down, carefully returned the scalpel to its case, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, placed one between his lips, and lit it with an old tarnished Zippo. He took a long drag, but allowed the smoke to exit his lungs in spurts.

He held the pack up to the woman. She strutted over to the table, extracted a cigarette from the pack, placed it in her thin lips, and bent down to place its tip in the flame of Meckler's lighter. She allowed it to dangle precariously before inhaling its swirling smoke.

She continued to stare at Margaret with an expression that revealed little. She did have a hint of a smile on her face, but her general demeanor was one of boredom. Was she here to simply be entertained?

Meckler stared blankly at her, and he seemed unmoved by what he saw. Maybe he's seen many naked women suspended upside down from the rafters of this evil place, or perhaps he only derives pleasure from inflicting pain.

Stram came back and hurried over to the woman. "I've been called away. Put her back in the cell. We'll continue the interrogation as soon as I return."

The woman's eyes widened. "Oh, Julie. Let me continue the interrogation. I'll make her sing like a bird."

Stram held his finger up. "No, my Pet. I must be present during any interrogation. This entire mission depends on my interpretation of her answers."

She pouted. "You take all the fun out of it, Julie. I'm disappointed."

He shook his head. "I don't want one centimeter of her body harmed. Do you understand me?"

Her pout deepened. "Yes, Julie. I understand."

"Good." He kissed her on the forehead."

Why would he kiss her? Unless . . . Yes! This must be Stram's wife. Her name is . . . Marian . . . Marian Stram. She's also a biologist like her husband.

"I'll tell you what. I'll allow you to interrogate her when I return."

Her pout not only disappeared, she lit up with excitement. "Oh, Julie. I would be eternally grateful."

Oh, joy.

Before Stram took his leave, he took a last look at the suspended female. "You can let her hang around for awhile if you wish. I wouldn't want her to get too comfortable."

Stram departed and Marian immediately motioned to the Samoan. "You can take a break. Send Jackson in here."

The big man left. Several minutes passed before the man who had delivered the message appeared with his leering grin intact.

Margaret's face twisted with revulsion, a reaction that Marian delighted in seeing. She encouraged Jackson to move closer and thoroughly examine Margaret's body.

God damn them!

After Marian lit another cigarette, she strolled over to Margaret with a cocky gate and then just stood there, staring at her with a cocky grin.

Margaret coughed. Smoke billowing from the cigarette dangling between Marian's lips burned her lungs.

"Mrs. Hauptman," she finally said without taking the cigarette out of her mouth, "I want you to know that I do not have the patience that my husband has. You will answer my questions truthfully or you will suffer pain at a level you couldn't possibly dream of?"

"I don't understand why you have to hurt me. I'll tell you everything you want to know. Do you really think I want to suffer?"

Marian ignored her. Her dark eyes examined Margaret's body thoroughly, and her hands soon joined in the examination.

"You are in excellent shape for a female of your years."

"Thanks." The response had a sarcastic ring.

Marian felt down Margaret's thigh, pinched her buttocks, pressed into her abdomen, and then felt around her waist. She finished the examination by squeezing her breasts in a clinical fashion.

"There's not one ounce of flab on your body--not one bulge. Your abdominal region is taut, your upper arms don't exhibit the usual fleshy droop, and you have firm breasts. You don't even have any cellulite. In fact, you have amazing muscular development for a female. I don't think I've ever seen a specimen of your years with such attributes."

She turned to Jackson. "Don't you agree, Jackson?"

Jackson's entire face agreed.

"I'm not a specimen," Margaret said with a growl.

"To me you are nothing more than a specimen, an interesting specimen but not an exciting one."

"What are you talking about?"

She seemed momentarily flustered, as if she were embarrassed. "I . . . I'm not here to answer your silly questions."

Now what did I say?

"Hey, why don't you get me down? I would be grateful enough to answer all you questions. You wouldn't have to do anything to me."

"That wouldn't be any fun. I enjoy making you suffer."

"Why? Why do you want to make me suffer?"

"I don't have anything personal against you, Mrs. Hauptman. It's just that I enjoy inflicting pain. In fact, I live for it."

Wonderful. Just what I don't need: to be interrogated by a sadist. What a hell of a way to spend a day.

What really made her angry, though, was the way that Jackson was enjoying the spectacle.

Goddamn the two of them, anyway!