The Archangel Chronicles Part One: Restoration

Daniel’s cell was actually one of the Greymalkin’s crew quarters, a drudge’s room, located in the ship’s bottom tier. But every member of the crew had a window, even if this window was small, and Colonel Rasmussen would have preferred that it had been nonexistent. Rasmussen had found the smallest place he could keep him within Union regulations, since he was not allowed to simply chain him in a broom closet for the duration of the voyage to Coridia. Besides, Rasmussen should have considered the window as a method of allowing Daniel to contemplate his fate. The sentence for murdering seven Union soldiers was spacing, after a proper court martial, of course. Only the Union military could sentence someone to that harshest of all penalties, and they could only do that to one of their own.

His door clicked open. He tried not to visibly pull at his chains. Daniel didn’t have to see who had entered to know that it was Rasmussen.

"We’re out of the Corridor," Rasmussen announced.

"I noticed."

"I’m sorry, did you hurt yourself?" The colonel sneered as he assumed a position on the wall across from Daniel’s bed. That left less than a meter between them.

Daniel shook his head.

Rasmussen sighed and changed his tone. "Lieutenant, despite how it may appear, I really don’t want to see anything terrible happen to you. Everything about this incident saddens me, even what’s going to happen to you."

Daniel, who still had not lifted his bowed head, let Rasmussen’s words hang in the air before he replied, "I’m grateful for your sympathy."

Rasmussen let his knees buckle and slid down the wall into a crouching position, which brought his eyes even with the top of Daniel’s head.

"Will you talk about it?"

"Will I have to?"

"You murdered seven men! One of them--you took his face off with a ripstar."

"I’m sorry for that," Daniel said, since it seemed to be what Rasmussen expected of him. "I have dictated letters of regret to each man’s family."

"Yes, I saw that. I’ve read them. You sound very sincere without offering a single word of explanation."

Daniel looked up at Rasmussen for the first time since he’d entered. "Have you thought about why I may not have done that?"

"Cut that, Lieutenant. We know you’re a Potiphar, we found the meld-slit when we examined you."

"Whoever covered my meld must have done a lousy job. I’m glad I was never examined so closely on a mission."

"You don’t think that The UF would have a way of finding the meld that the other factions don’t?"

"I suppose that’s comforting."

"That’s what I’m here to do--comfort you." Rasmussen’s concerned study had evolved into an outright glare. "I came in here for something that would pass for answers. Something I can take back to the families of my dead men, so they have some idea of why this happened. Can you give me something---anything--like that? I can’t believe you’re making jokes."

"I’m sorry if that’s what it seems I’m doing," Daniel said, sitting up fully to stare back at Rasmussen. "I would never make jokes about killing someone. What happened was . . .