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and as his subordinate had pointed out, there weren't many other places to put POWs right now.  He moved the soldiers out as fast as he could, but there were always a few around.  He wondered what the Confeds did with his own people when captured.
                  "You were right to bring her here, at least," he allowed.  "She will be a pleasure to break."
                  "She can hear you," Halley muttered as she carefully tested out muscles and joints.  Between the explosion and enthusiastic efforts of her captors, she'd received her fair share of retribution from the troops.
                  "That's good," the interrogator said as he approached her, though careful to stay well outside the arc of where she could lean or lash out.  Despite being restrained by the hands and feet to the confinement chair, something about her gave him pause and he decided to assume she was going to be trouble.  There was also the small consideration that she had understood them speaking in their own language, not the regional standard she spoke in reply.  She had just become more interesting.  "You know, you killed ten of my soldiers today.  That is unfortunate for you."
                  "I only killed six; there were four more out there in varying degrees of pain and suffering.  Unless you didn't rescue your own people from the building."
                  She was good, the interrogator admitted.  Throwing his arguments back at him, trying to put him on the defensive; she knew what she was doing. 
                  "Give her the chemicals," he said to his assistant on the side, "no sense wasting any time before questioning."  He turned to Halley.  "Sooner or later, you'll tell me what I want to know, like who you work for and what your business was in that building.  You'll tell me with a smile on your face, and it will burn you up inside because you'll be powerless to stop it."
     
     
                  Web had heard the commotion the previous day after the thunderous explosion at the corner of the courtyard.  He'd seen the building collapse slowly, then saw nothing more as the guards mercilessly shoved all the prisoners in the yard back inside and down to their cells.
                  They were interrogating the new guy, Web assumed.  He'd just barely seen the Primans making someone take the walk of shame past all the cells down towards the interrogation rooms.  He hadn't heard any noise, though.  Often, especially with the Confed troops who had basic conditioning to resist psychological interrogation, there were screams, yelling, cursing.  He figured it meant this new one was either a politician, because they often admitted to just coughing up whatever the Primans asked, or he was one tough old bastard. 
                  Web hoped it was the latter.
     
     
                  Loren sat in the booth at the rear of the restaurant, back to the wall as he surveyed the occupants.  From their previous business there, he remembered and had verified the sight lines and exits.  He'd also ordered a simple food item that was almost impossible to screw up, with a glass of water that had come from the station's own purifiers.
                  He shifted in his seat, feeling the reassuring heft of his SSK in his waistband holster and covered up by his civilian jacket.
                  Garrett walked in exactly ten minutes early, something Loren had seen him do on a regular basis.  He also assumed the fixer had cased the place thoroughly well beforehand.  Loren gave the man a casual two-fingered wave as they made eye contact.
                  "This seat taken?" Garrett asked in good humor as he slid into the booth opposite Loren.
                  "I ordered up a few hundred credits' worth of food and told the waitstaff the person who joined me would pay," the Confed man replied with a