Against Gravity

There was always hot food and coffee on these occasions. Kendrick's interrogator followed a routine where he'd get himself a coffee and a doughnut while reading through his eepsheet messages. Every time this happened Kendrick felt like he was trapped in some unique version of Hell, looking in from behind a one-way mirror while some office worker ingested his morning dose of carbohydrate and caffeine before pursuing a mundane life that Kendrick could now only dream of. The strange thing was that, despite his hatred for Stenzer -an emotion so intense that the old Kendrick could scarcely have imagined feeling it towards another human being – he found himself irrationally trying to please the lieutenant.

For a while he'd thought that the morning routine with the coffee and doughnuts formed a part of the general torture. But then he wondered if it was instead more on a par with the lack of response he got from the soldiers and scientists moving purposefully along the subterranean corridors of the Maze, an unintentional cruelty that served to weaken him further nonetheless.

Stenzer finished reading his eepsheet, then folded his hands into each other again and scrutinized Kendrick.

"August thirteen, time fourteen hundred hours. Interview with subject Gallmon, charges relating to" – Stenzer's eyes flicked down to the eepsheet – "subverting the government of the American people by aiding and abetting its enemy." Stenzer stared closely at him. "Mr Gallmon, are you prepared to answer some questions today?"

"I don't know any of these people you tell me about," Kendrick mumbled. "I never met any of them. I'm not a terrorist."

"But your wife did meet with some of them?"

Kendrick couldn't remember how many times they had spoken exactly these words to each other. "I don't know," Kendrick replied automatically. "She interviewed people. She was a journalist, like me. Meeting someone doesn't imply collusion with them. I know I haven't done anything wrong."

"Mr Gallmon," Stenzer said, almost gently, "if you're i

Kendrick's stare met Stenzer's. "Where are we?"

And then… something amazing happened.

Stenzer stood and poured a second cup of coffee, then held it out in front of Kendrick's face. Kendrick eyed the cream-coloured cup as though it was going to bite him.

"It's all right," said Stenzer. "Take it."

At first Kendrick hesitated, but then he reached out and took the coffee cup in both hands. By contrast with the jungle far above his head, the Maze was cold and the warmth of the mug flowed into him like a liquid sun melting into the core of his soul. The scent and the steam of it made his head swim, as if he had just been handed back a tiny sliver of his previous life. At that point he felt at his very weakest.

"You can have a doughnut too if you want. Just help yourself."

Stenzer's voice had an almost conspiratorial tone that Kendrick had never heard before. He sipped at the coffee and grunted at the flavour of it. He then reached over and picked up a cream doughnut, watching Stenzer with frightened animal eyes. Stenzer only nodded encouragingly.

The interrogator did something to his eepsheet and it greyed out; Kendrick could see that he'd turned it off. "Listen, right now what goes on in here is between us. Nobody knows what I'm really saying to you. Do you understand?"

Kendrick touched the creamy edge of the doughnut to his mouth and felt a surge of bile rise halfway up the back of his throat. Then the confectionery was in him, his hands cramming the sugary dough into his mouth, filling him with a rush of warmth and pleasure.

Kendrick swallowed and coughed. "I don't believe you," he continued wearily. Of course the room was bugged. Of course they would record everything.

"Mr Gallmon – Kendrick – we both know this is a waste of time." Stenzer stared at him. "We both know this is going nowhere. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I'm not sure."

Stenzer shook his head. The sugar had now entered Kendrick's bloodstream, making him as blissful as a newborn baby. Stenzer came around the desk, putting one hand almost paternally on his shoulder.

"Listen to me," Stenzer said in a low voice. "I can't do this any more. Do you understand me?" Kendrick turned slightly and stared at him.

"I'm serious," Stenzer insisted. "I can't go on treating you this way any more. So when you come here, you eat what you like and I won't tell the guards."

Stenzer picked up another doughnut and handed it to Kendrick. Kendrick took it and forced himself to take more time eating it. The idea that Stenzer actually meant what he said formed a tiny brief blossom of hope deep within his chest, but he pushed the idea away.

He was, after all, in Hell. Hope was an impossible commodity in Hell.

"Tell me about yourself," Stenzer continued. Kendrick finished the doughnut and drained the last of the steaming black coffee.

"I've told you everything I know." The same thing he had become used to saying, over and over, week after week.

"Yes, I know," said Stenzer. "But I want to know who you are – who you really are. There are files that tell me things about you, about your family and your life, your job. But they don't tell me everything I want."

"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 gri

"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.