The Administration Series

• Mind Fuck
  ....3
  
• Unlucky Break
  ....298
  
• Friday
  ....309
  
• Pancakes
  ....318
  
• Surprises
  ....355
  
• Family
  ....402
  
• Mirror Mirror
  ....446
  
• Game, Set
  ....459
  
• As Long As It Lasted
  ....540
  
• Fuck of the Day
  ....552
  
• Wine, Women, and Cushions
  ....556
  
• Playing With Fire
  ....570
  
• All Work And No Play
  ....605
  
• Gee
  ....636
  
• Shopping & Fucking
  ....645
  
• Pool School
  ....685
  
• Without The Game
  ....699
  
• Control
  ....705
  
• Wait For It
  ....794
  
• Caged
  ....823
  
• Unaccustomed As I Am . . .
  835
  
• Helen
  ....840
  
• Shopping, No Fucking
  ....853
  
• Losing It
  ....859
  
• Quis Custodiet . . .
  880
  
• Gratuitous Kink
  ....1018
  
• Then And Now
  ....1052
  
• Friends In The Right Places
  ....1061
  
• Smoke & Cameras
  ....1078
  
• Sunday
  ....1095
  
• First Against The Wall
  ....1098
  
• Family Values
  ....1399
  
• Boy's Toys
  ....1612
  
• Make It A Surprise
  ....1625
  

• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eightteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty-One
  
• Chapter Twenty-Two
  
• Chapter Twenty-Three
  
• Chapter Twenty-Four
  
• Chapter Twenty-Five
  
• Chapter Twenty-Six
  
• Chapter Twenty-Seven
  
• Chapter Twenty-Eight
  
• Chapter Twenty-Nine
  
• Chapter Thirty
  
• Chapter Thirty-One
  

The interrogation room was brightly lit and relentlessly white, and had a disinfectant smell that Toreth no longer even noticed. The guards had already delivered the prisoner by the time he arrived; the man sat at the small square table, on a plain metal chair screwed securely to the floor.

"Good afternoon." Toreth liked the little irony, although it wasn't often appreciated.

The prisoner looked up from his contemplation of the tabletop. He looked very much as he had at their brief meeting earlier, which was to say sullen, angry, and frightened. Toreth stood, impassive, letting his height and the breadth of his shoulders kick off the process of intimidation.

Toreth's investigators had reported that the prisoner had put up a good front during his arrest that morning, but to Toreth's practised eye he now looked not far from panic. The incidental tour of I&I's facilities that prisoners enjoyed during processing tended to do that. Like most of the idealist traitors who passed through Toreth's hands, the prisoner had apparently never imagined capture. Idiots, in Toreth's opinion, although it only made them easier to deal with.

This one was an interrogation virgin — never even been arrested before.

It didn't take long before the prisoner looked away again. Toreth brushed a few errant afternoon-coffeetime crumbs from his black uniform and sat down across the table from him.

A little way away stood a more substantial chair fitted with restraints, and beside it a gurney surrounded by an impressive array of medical equipment. Shelves held racks of bottles and vials, and the narrow bench below them had an equally precise layout of instruments.

However, for now they both sat at the table, a spurious equality that did nothing to disguise the dynamics of the relationship between them. That was how Toreth preferred to start things out, although he had a minority opinion on that score. He felt a chance for the prisoner to view the paraphernalia of interrogation neatly laid out was always salutary. Toreth liked to make it clear that a progression to unpleasantness was quite optional at this stage. Many prisoners couldn't bring themselves to make the denials that would send them that short distance across the room to the other chair.

Toreth laid a hand screen on the table between them. "My name is Toreth. Senior Para-investigator Val Toreth, in fact, although I don't particularly care what you call me. I've heard it all before anyway."

He noted a flinch as the prisoner quickly understood the implication. Good. It was always easier to work with someone who possessed an imagination.

"Now, we already have a quantity of information about your crime." Toreth paged through the documents on the screen, for effect rather than because he needed to read them."You passed on restricted information from the Department of External Security regarding operations to detain wanted resisters attempting to leave Administration territory. We have dates, files, when and how much you were paid. Your partner was most informative, although I'm afraid we will still need to hear everything he told us over again from you."

"Go to hell."

Unimaginative, and paper-thin bravado.

"As it is, there is more than enough information here to see you tried and convicted. And, I may add, executed. However, the Administration prefers things to be tidy. All I wish you to do is confirm what we have already learned. If you cooperate, execution will become re-education."

Not, Toreth had always thought, much of an improvement. However, it got a reaction, a tilt of the head as the prisoner considered the proposal.

"I can give you a guarantee of that in writing. I can have it authorised and in the hands of your Department of Justice representative within the hour. Well?"

The prisoner shook his head, and Toreth knew it was because he didn't trust his own voice.

"Ah, well. A pity." As usual, he meant it. A quick and easy capitulation with no damage to the prisoner always looked good.

As Toreth stood up, he made a small bet with himself.

"In that case —" He gestured towards the chair with the restraints.

And because Toreth was very good at his job, he, as usual, won his bet. The prisoner looked towards the chair, and then towards the door, where the two guards stood mutely watching. Then he crumpled in the chair, the remains of his facade of composure dropping away before Toreth's eyes.

"What . . . where do you want me to start?"

After the guards took the prisoner away, Toreth paged through the draft of the transcript on his screen and smiled. Even Tillotson would have to call this a success. Everything matched up beautifully. Investigation closed. There was still another prisoner from the case to interrogate, if Tillotson was willing to authorise the time, but Toreth knew she wouldn't have any extra information. One of his team could handle it if necessary.

Checking his watch improved his mood even further. Only midafternoon. Once he'd told Sara to start processing the transcript for submission to the Justice Department, he could begin the formal case report, and still get to the gym for an hour before he went home. Better yet, now the case was closed he'd be able to finish everything off tomorrow morning and leave work at lunchtime to spend a couple of hours at an almost-relevant seminar he'd spotted. Then he could take the rest of the day off without booking holiday.

Sweet, sweet success.

He left the interrogation room whistling, cheerfully and persistently half a tone flat, and headed for the lift up to his office, nine floors above.

The next morning, mist still skulked in shaded hollows and below the trees as Toreth walked to work. Early October, and here and there the leaves were beginning to turn and fall. However, the blue of the sky deepened steadily as the sun climbed, and the day looked set to be beautiful.

Before his secondment to the Mars colony, Toreth hadn't truly appreciated how good his life had been. To begin with, despite the fact that someone had felt the need to create a senior para-investigator post there, Mars base had no crime to speak of. Certainly not the political crimes that interested the Investigation and Interrogation Division. Six months of investigating petty anti-Administration comments, on a strictly dry base, amid perpetual safety drills and in the company of the dullest people he had ever met, had taught him to appreciate Earth.

When his return shuttle had touched down and the doors opened to let in warm, humid air with a tang of shuttle fuel — rather than sterile, recycled dome air — he had vowed never to complain about anything again. Now he'd been back for nearly two months, the shine had rubbed off a little, but he still enjoyed the walk in.

The Investigation and Interrogation Division Headquarters occupied part of a massive collection of buildings on the outskirts of New London. The Administration had built the entire complex ten years earlier, during the great reorganisation, when they moved various divisions under the umbrella of the new Department of Internal Security. With modern facilities and pleasantly landscaped areas between the buildings, Int-Sec London was noted as a plum posting within the European Administration.

Vast as the complex looked, the visible portion was only a part of the whole, which extended below ground, beneath and between the white stone buildings. If you could find your way through the disorienting windowless corridors — and if you had the security clearance — it was allegedly possible to reach any part of the complex without venturing above ground.

The most convenient access to I&I on Toreth's route in happened also to be the main entrance, where a large statue of Blindfold Justice kept watch over a pleasant grassy expanse.

There was an early-morning busyness to reception as he worked his way over to the employee lifts and paused briefly for the security scan. Then the noise faded as the lift's door closed and it descended smoothly to the detention facility.

Down in detention, the walls were a cool light grey, the hard plastic floor a darker grey. Doors opened and closed by remote control until he reached the vast control room for his habitual morning visit. He could've checked up on his prisoners from his office, but he liked to talk to the security officers on watch. There were always little things which never made it as far as the official logs, and attention to detail frequently paid dividends.

Today there was nothing particularly unusual to hear. Six prisoners, relating to three cases, although none was scheduled for interrogation today. He checked the live cell feed on the monitor. His prisoner from yesterday lay curled up on the narrow bed, clearly awake. The records showed he hadn't slept at all well during the night. Probably regretting the deal he had made.