The blazing sun woke him again, only once again to give way to the soft white lights of the medical chamber. He was strapped to a bed—or slab—of sorts. Wires and tubes were taped to him and a kind hand rested on the back of his left hand. Another, more authoritative hand rested on his right shoulder. This person appeared Korean the other was Caucasian. The Korean man spoke in perfect calibrated unaccented English, “Good morning Yule. I am Doctor Wong and this is Doctor Irvine. How do you feel today?”
These men seem nice enough.
Talk to them.
“Okay.”
Irvine spoke up as Wong checked his eyes with a light, “Yule we will be asking you a battery of questions. You have been drugged with an agent that will not permit you to lie. Attempts to obscure the truth will only lengthen the process. Are you ready?”
“Yessir.”
Wong took over, “Where were you born?”
“Mother Corp.”
“Where is Mother Corp?”
“Baltimore City.”
You don’t know that.
Apparently I do know that.
“What is your complete name?”
“Yule Alpha Seven, Sir.”
“How do you maintain contact with Mother Corp?”
“I do not, Sir.”
“Are you, or have you been, employed as a military or intelligence operative?”
“Yessir.”
“By whom or what?”
“Three-Rivers, One Prophet of the AllPeople Nation, Sir.”
“What is your position in relation to this organization and its leader?”
“War Chief, Sir.”
“What are your duties as War Chief?”
“Primarily the defense of Three-Rivers and The AllPeople and their sacred town, and also the rubbing out of any Whites trespassing in this here country without the say so of Three-Rivers.”
“Yule, how many people have you killed?”
“Five-hundred-and-thirty-nine military; fifteen paramilitary; one murder—I feel real bad about that now Sir; thirty-two collateral; five apex mammalian, a total of eight consumed operationally and one-hundred-and-eighty-six incidental—feel bad about most of that too, Sir.”
“What is your current op?”
“I’m on leave, Sir.”
“What were you doing in Baltimore?”
“I was bringing word from a brother-in-arms to his mother.”
“That brother-in-arms is who?”
“T. T. Redbone, Sir, my heaviest hitter.”
The men stopped and whispered to one another—no they are whispering into mikes and listening to the responses that must be coming by way of their ear-pieces.
After a few minutes they continued.
“Yule, who is Jay Bracken, and what is your relationship to him?”
“I have assumed his identity by order of Mother Corp.”
“Yule, where is Mister Bracken?”
“He is on exhibit at the Smithsonian Institute, Sir.”
Irvine then spoke up, “Yule, we would like to thank you for your cooperation. We are going to put you to sleep now.”
With that he felt some pressure in his left forearm and began to drift off.
