The Administration Series (202 page)

[What do you remember? Think.]

He remembered the interrogation. He remembered the prisoner: his voice, his body jerking against the restraints, his overwhelming fear and pain. He remembered fighting down nausea as he watched Toreth's hideous, professionally detached handiwork. And he knew the memories wouldn't help for long. For now it gave him the strength to clench his teeth, shake his head.

"Tell me, lover." Voice in his ear again.

Compromise. Maybe that would be enough. "After. I'll tell you after."

"Come on. That last glass must be kicking in about now. You want to tell me, don't you?"

[If you tell him about I&I, we're dead. Is any fuck so good that you want to die for it?]

Yes.

Yes to both — he didn't care if he died here and he did want to talk. It was taking every gram of willpower he could summon to keep his lips closed, the words piling up in his throat. The voice in his head still talked to him, berating him, but the words grew increasingly indistinct. He couldn't even remember why it mattered any more. Nothing mattered, except Toreth.

[Well, that's it from me. You're on your own.]

"Why did you come to I&I?"

"In order to — " Last hopeless effort, and then his control slipped away. "In order to destroy I&I, I had to be inside it, in charge."

"Go on."

"They think it can be reformed. Morons. You can't change psychopaths. It has to go. It's everything that was wrong about the Administration. Pure evil, if evil exists."

"That's very good." Kisses. Angel's kisses, rewarding him. "Now tell me how."

"By letting them see what it's really like. They don't know. I didn't know, until you showed me. When you broke that prisoner, just to demonstrate how it was done."

How could he speak so clearly? He should be panting, writhing, begging for more of the indescribable caresses he could still feel. But he wasn't — he talked on, telling Toreth what he wanted to know.

"That's why I gave you that pathetically repressed lieutenant. I knew you'd charm him, and he'd back you up to the Service. I could stand back and let you run, and then in the end, they'd all see there was no choice and it would finally be destroyed."

"So why me?"

"Because I love you." Some distant part of him knew it wasn't true, but he felt it.

"Of course you do. But that wasn't the reason, was it?"

"No. I knew you'd get done what I needed — you were the perfect tool. You'd destroy the tribunals, you'd manage to get all the interrogators and paras reinstated. You'd insist on the damage waivers. You'd make certain that they saw the whole obscene structure, because you're proud of it. You disgust me — you and all of the rest of the animals there. I'm sorry."

"No need to be, love." Sunshine voice, stroking him like the hand on his cock, pushing him closer towards orgasm. It was all right — Toreth understood. Silly of him to think that he wouldn't.

He could hear himself panting now, the strange detachment slipping away, everything becoming too real.

"Is there anything else I need to know about?"

Speaking faster, trying to get it all out before it was too late.

"There's going to be a report, an inspection. Weeks. Two . . . two weeks. That's when it'll be decided. And then they'll be . . . executed. Everyone. Paras and interrogators. Investigators. Eradicated. I'll make it happen. Toreth, please make it —"

"And is that everything?"

"Yes. Everything. Everything." Everything falling apart. Holding on to Toreth, holding him close. Soon . . . God, please, soon. "Everything."

"Good." Even through the blissful haze, he heard the voice change. "Then let's get this over with."

Sudden, hard thrust, pushing him down into the bed, shattering the beautiful intimacy.

"No. Toreth, don't —"

Hand over his mouth, pressing down, making him struggle for breath.

"Shut up, you worthless . . . lying . . . piece of shit. Just be grateful . . . that I'm going to finish it . . . at all. I should . . . break your fucking
neck
." Short, vicious strokes, grinding deep into him. "Bastard. Treacherous . . . treasonous . . .
bastard
. I —
Warrick
."

Toreth's weight bearing down, as his hands tightened on him — mouth and cock — and that was enough to carry Carnac over the edge. Coming and coming, endless shivering spasms, jerking up against the body pinning him.

By the time he could think again, he was alone in the bed. Gasping for air, utterly spent.

Knowing he'd failed.

I'm sorry, he told the voice, wondering if it was still there. I couldn't . . .

[It doesn't matter. We'll deal with him in the morning. He won't get away with this.]

A cold touch against his neck startled him. Hiss of an injector.

[Ah. Yes. Unless, of course, he makes sure that . . . we . . . don't . . . remember . . . ]

Darkness, reaching up to swallow him.

When Carnac awoke, the light through the window seemed unbearably bright. He made the mistake of rolling away to shield his eyes, and the nausea and pounding headache that awakened made him moan out loud. Too loud.

It took him a moment to make sense of his condition, because it was something he experienced so rarely. Hangover. He had the most horrendous hangover of his life.

Carefully, he turned over onto his front and pushed his face into the pillow. Dark. That was better. Not much better, but without the glare of daylight — painful even through his eyelids — he could just about manage to think.

Hangover. Which meant drinking. He was on assignment, on an
important
assignment, so why would he be drinking at all, never mind to the extent that he must have done to cause this?

He couldn't remember. He absolutely couldn't remember, and that was far worse than any of the physical symptoms.

Theoretically, he knew that the consumption of a sufficient quantity of alcohol could induce memory loss. It was theory only, because the Socioanalysis Division didn't permit the brains of their young charges to be affected by anything other than carefully controlled chemicals. By the time he had been old enough to be within reach of temptation, the lessons had been thoroughly absorbed.

Two glasses of suitably expensive wine was the maximum he ever permitted himself. He loved clarity of thought too much, feared the idea of damaging himself, and above all, he hated the loss of control.

Not last night, clearly. Last night had been different. How, and why?

Something familiar distracted him from the exploration. A small pain, more of a discomfort and insignificant beside the monstrous pain behind his eyes, but nagging at him, insisting on its importance. He directed his attention down his spine and shifted carefully, assessing.

Well and truly fucked, by the feel of it.

He backtracked, looking for a point where the darkness became memory, until he found it. A single, horribly clear scene. Himself, leaning against the wall of a corridor, needing the support, and pulling Toreth against him. Toreth's mouth on his, demanding. His hands on Toreth, fondling him through his clothes. The sharp, dizzying excitement at finding that Toreth was hard.

He'd said something then. Something to Toreth, the words thankfully blurred. However, he remembered Toreth laughing, kissing him again.

"I'll do it here if you really want me to. But wouldn't you rather wait until we get back to the room?"

Staring into the pain-filled blackness behind his eyelids, Carnac sincerely hoped that he'd said yes, because Toreth had certainly fucked him somewhere.

He should, perhaps, have tried to remember more, but right now he couldn't bear it. He struggled up to sit on the edge of the bed, almost sobbing as the headache intensified, setting the room spinning around him.

Managing a painful squint around the room, he found no sign of his presumed lover, and no clothes other than his own. Toreth must have left already, last night or this morning. Of course, he had far more practice at this sort of thing.

After he'd showered and dressed — everything taking at least twice as long as normal — Carnac discovered that he'd missed breakfast at the hotel. To he honest, he felt relieved. He felt obliged, on medical grounds, to eat something, but his stomach was not impressed by the importance of replacing lost salts. Black tea, perhaps, might be acceptable.

Before he left the room, he searched as carefully as he could, looking for any kind of note from Toreth. He found nothing, which was another relief, but also pointed to a tiresome scene ahead. No doubt Toreth would have a great deal to say about the night before.

He had appointments elsewhere that day, but he decided to detour to I&I first. Better to clear things up than to let the situation disturb his concentration during the day.

Toreth wasn't in his office, but Sara was outside, and she directed him downstairs to Security. Carnac searched her face but found nothing. Interestingly out of character for Toreth not to have told her everything at the earliest opportunity. He held little hope that Toreth had learned some discretion since their previous encounter at I&I.

In the Security offices, Toreth was in earnest consultation with Bevan. When Carnac asked to speak with him for a moment, he expected Toreth to delay, to make him wait. However, he excused himself at once and followed him out. Carnac found a quiet corner, and decided to tackle the problem head on.

"Toreth, last night —"

He smiled. "Enjoy yourself?"

There was no point in pretending. "In all probability, yes. The latter part of the evening is a little unclear."

The smile widened. "Really? Want any reminders?"

Perhaps he should have left this until later, when he felt more in control. "I believe I have an idea of the main points of the evening."

"We should get a coffee and compare notes."

"No, thank you." And suddenly, he saw a potential escape route from this tedious, childish confrontation. The hangover really was slowing him down.

"I hope Warrick wasn't unduly inconvenienced by your absence. I must remember to apologise for detaining you, the next time I see him."

Toreth froze, the smile turning into a mask. "What the fuck does Warrick have to do with anything?"

A button so reliable that pushing it was hardly even amusing any more. Not at this trivial level, anyway. "You were going to tell me what happened, I believe?"

A brief, visible struggle, then Toreth said, "Nothing happened. We had dinner, we got pissed, and I put you to bed. End of story."

The pleasing realisation that he might be able to come out of this ahead on points did a great deal to dispel the misery. "Very much as I recollect it."

Toreth nodded sharply. "Right." He waited, looking distinctly uncomfortable, then said, "Was there anything else?"

"No. Just to let you know I shall be out of my I&I office today. I'm sure you'll be able to manage splendidly without me."

As he left, he heard Toreth mutter something under his breath. He couldn't hear the words, but the tone was perfectly clear, and kept him smiling all the way back to the car.

When Toreth went back into the office, Bevan was still behind his desk, looking sourer than ever.

"What did that tosser want?"

"Morning after the night before." Toreth considered sitting down, and decided pacing would feel better. God, he hoped Carnac had bought it, because if his suspicions were aroused now —

"Sit down and stop panicking."

Toreth stopped dead. "I'm not fucking panicking."

"No? Well, maybe you should. I'd be giving it serious fucking consideration if that bastard was gunning for me."

He forced himself to sit down and not fidget. Bevan was the last person he needed thinking he couldn't handle things. "I wouldn't look so bloody smug about it if I were you. He's very fucking thorough and he likes you about as much as you like him."

Bevan opened his desk drawer, produced an unlabelled bottle of something clear and a couple of paper cups, and poured them each a generous measure. "Here you go."

The first, incautious mouthful burned down his throat like acid, sending him into a coughing fit that lasted a good minute. When he managed to stop, eyes watering, he asked, "What the fuck is that?"

"Friend of a friend of a friend makes it."

"Where does he work, a chemical factory?"

Bevan took a sip himself. "It's good for the nerves."

"I bet it is. As a solvent." The second sip went down more easily. There wasn't much of a flavour, although that might be attributable to unconditional surrender on the part of his taste buds. "Thanks."

"Pleasure." No one could say that less convincingly than Bevan could. "So, to get back to business, how did you find all this crap out?"

"I fucked it out of Carnac last night. With some pharmaceutical help."

Bevan snorted. "Talk about devotion to the bloody cause."

"Yeah." Toreth rubbed his temples, and wondered how Carnac felt. "I've had better nights. He had a lot more fun than I did. I bribed the waiter to doctor the wine with a needle before he opened it, so I had to drink the fucking stuff as well, at least until Carnac was well gone — I spent five hours afterwards throwing up from the antidotes and blockers." His ribs hadn't enjoyed that one bit. "I can't believe you can put most of that shit into prisoners on a level four."