'I'll tell you anything you want to know,' Kendrick replied. 'And I have no idea how many times I've told you that. I just don't know what else I can tell you.' The words spilled out in a dull monotone.
'It doesn't have to be anything important,' said Stenzer, stuffing his hands into his pockets and resting against the edge of the desk. 'All I really need is some piece of information I can give to my superiors, no matter how trivial it may seem to you. And then, I swear, maybe we can do something to get you out of here.'
'I don't even know why I'm here.'
Stenzer studied him. 'You're charged as an accessory to sedition, to aiding and abetting the enemies of the United States. America is at war, Mr Gallmon, and the rules inevitably change during wartime. Under the new emergency legislation, you can be held without charge for the rest of your natural life, if necessary – if it is believed that you in any measure could harm our nation.
'Not only that: while you are under military jurisdiction, you are required to serve our nation by any means necessary that might contribute towards maintaining the United States as the pre-eminent free democracy.'
Kendrick was utterly appalled. 'Jesus Christ, what did you lot think I did – blow up LA personally?'
'Perhaps you weren't directly responsible, no, but your wife interviewed individuals known to associate with enemies of our country. Terrorists, dissidents and the like. Your own work at times led to your having contact with the same kind of people, and your written articles made it clear you understood the implications of a terrorist threat.'
'But I didn't make anyone do anything. I just-'
'Talked to them? And if you hadn't been there to disseminate their vicious, anti-American views, do you think they would have even given you the time of day? Perhaps you even shared those views.' Stenzer shrugged. 'But some of the things you said about our country – about our President – they were designed to undermine us.'
Kendrick tried to speak, but only a kind of feeble croak emerged, as the horror of what he was hearing slowly filtered into his mind. 'I thought you said you wanted to help me. This… this bullshit can't…' He shook his head, his words tailing off.
Stenzer mustered something like a smile. To Kendrick, it seemed like a grinning skull clad in paper-thin flesh.
'People make mistakes,' Stenzer continued. 'They associate with the wrong people, and there can be… consequences that they might not have expected. Like the LA Nuke, or even the rot that devastated our great farmlands. I meant what I said: I could walk you out of here right now, if I wanted, and you could be home in a couple of hours. But I can't do that just yet.
'The fact is I need to give them something, or they wouldn't keep me here in this job. And then I'd never be able to help you. If you can give me something – anything, no matter how trivial it might seem to you – I swear I'll do my damnedest to get you out of here. Today, if I can.'
Kendrick smoothed his suddenly sweat-slicked hands against his legs. 'I don't know. What is it you want me to say?'
'Anything you can give me,' Stenzer replied, his words imploring. 'I can help you, but only if you can help me.'
But what can I say? Kendrick wondered. He was a journalist. Stenzer already knew everything about his life. It still seemed incomprehensible that there could be any correlation between those articles he'd written and his imprisonment here without any official charges ever being laid. There was nothing he could tell Stenzer he had not already described in excruciatingly repetitive detail.
Tears came to Kendrick's eyes: Stenzer was clearly employing a new tactic to get from him that which he did not have to give.
'I don't have anything. I don't. I've told you everything I can, everything about my wife and myself, God knows how many hundreds of times over. I wish I could tell you something more, but there's nothing, I swear.'
Stenzer's expression became grim. 'The smallest detail, Mr Gallmon. You might think it isn't important, but it might be. Your wife was in contact with dissidents and enemies of the nation. Are you telling me she had America's best interests at heart when she consorted with the kind of people who would incinerate a city full of innocent people? I have copies of everything either of you ever wrote and, let me tell you, I have never been so sickened by so much unpatriotic filth.' His voice was rising now.
Kendrick shook his head violently. 'Christ, you don't even know that terrorists caused the field rot! Anyway, the environment's been fucked for decades, and-'
'Don't tell me what to think!' Stenzer screamed into Kendrick's face, spittle spraying from his mouth. Until now, it had just been questions, endless questions, while Kendrick's mind grew dull from boredom and hunger.
Now, something had changed.
Stenzer struck him hard. It took several seconds before Kendrick understood he had been assaulted. He found himself lying on his back, the chair tipped over to one side, his mouth full of the taste of blood and iron.
Stenzer loomed above him, his fist cocked as if prepared to give another punch.
'I can't tell you anything,' Kendrick repeated weakly, falling into his familiar litany. 'I've told you everything I can, again and again. If there was anything else, I'd tell you, I really would. But there isn't. I want to go home.'
Stenzer nodded, his expression hard and inhuman. He walked to the door and opened it. Two guards were waiting outside, ready; they must have been there the whole time. They gripped Kendrick by the arms and hauled him to his feet, then dragged him back out into the corridor, blood dripping from his damaged face.
'What would you like us to do with him, Sir?' one asked.
'Kill him,' Stenzer replied curtly, closing the door forever.
16 October 2096 Leith Docks
'There you are.'
Erik Whitsett still wore the same woollen coat as when he'd first approached Kendrick outside the Armoured Saint. The same scarf was wrapped carefully around his neck, the collar of his jacket pulled up to cover his ears.
Kendrick glanced out along the quay. They were standing near where the ships were docked, the air filled with the cries of gulls and the smell of brine. Warehouses and half-derelict office buildings lined the waterfront. In recent years the area had regained its former notorious reputation, particularly since all the refugees had arrived. Kendrick had lived here himself for a while when he'd first come to Scotland. Those had been difficult times, but he knew the area well enough to know that they'd be left alone now.
'You seem out of breath. Did you find your way okay?'
'I wasn't exactly sure where you meant,' Whitsett replied. 'I'm not so familiar with these parts, remember?' He coughed up a small cloud of steam into the chill air. 'Sorry if I'm a little late.'
'No problem. Care to take a walk?'
Whitsett made an exaggerated show of looking around him. 'Christ, couldn't you have picked some bar at least?'
Kendrick grinned. 'There's one a little further along, yeah. But if we're going to talk about Buddy then I'd prefer somewhere where nobody's likely to hear or see us.'
'Well, I don't see any alternative. So, yeah, let's walk.' They fell into step with each other, the sea at Kendrick's left shoulder.
'You come down here a lot, don't you?'
Kendrick smiled. 'From time to time, yes. This is where I first arrived on these shores.'
'On one of the ships?'
'Yeah, in the early years of the war. Cargo ships came across, carrying thousands of us once the rioting spread to the East Coast. And then the Legislate navies tried to run a blockade to stop too many of us getting in.'
'Kind of harsh.'
Kendrick shrugged. 'What's it like back over there these days?'
'Same as you probably see daily on the news. Used to be the rest of the world that was fighting among
