Free EarthRise by William C. Dietz

were actually guilty. A subtlety that his superiors, beings like Hak-Bin, often missed. But that was the way of it, and just one of the reasons why the ancient ones had seen fit to formally invest his particular line.
    None of which was apparent to Has as the toes of his sandals skipped over the surface of the metal deck and fear seized his body. Confronted with the Sauron’s carefully lit visage, the sight of rods heating in the forge, and the stink of previously singed fur, the Ra ‘Na would have loosed his bowels yet again except for the fact that there was nothing left to give. All he could do was make a strange yammering sound as the Kan carried him over to a vacant spot on one of the bulkheads, strapped him into place, and backed away. A Kan moved to cut the subject’s clothes away and soon left him naked.
    It was then that Has realized that he wasn’t alone. Bodies other than his decorated the walls. The compartment was dim, lit by little more than the forge and a scattering of deck-mounted lights, but the newly arrived prisoner could make out half a dozen Ra ‘Na, two humans, and a ghostly white Fon—all suspended by straps similar to his. None of them seemed to be aware of the newcomer’s presence, or if they were, chose to conceal that fact. Some knew from harsh experience that to demonstrate awareness was to invite more pain—something none sought to do.
    Now, his entire weight suspended by the bloodstained straps, Has watched in horrified fascination as the painmaster withdrew one of the glowing rods from his forge and shuffled across the deck. Having interrogated countless slaves, and knowing their areas of weakness, the Zin entered his regular routine. The first step was to provide the subject with a sample of that which could be. A quick flick of the wrist was sufficient to the task. Has flinched as the glowing tip of the red-hot implement touched the tip of his left ear. The resulting scream emptied his lungs.
    The painmaster, who expected nothing less, started the slow methodical questioning. The answers, all of which were recorded, would be evaluated by others. “What is your name?”
    “Has . . . P’ere Has.”
    “And your identification number?”
    “RS47602.”
    “Good,” the painmaster allowed deliberately. “You have been truthful so far. There are more difficult questions, however, much more difficult, as those around you can attest. Now, consider carefully . . . How long have you been a member of the Ra ‘Na resistance movement?”
    Has stared at the rod’s slowly yellowing eye as the instrument wove intricate patterns in front of his face. He could feel the perspiration working its way out through his pores, trickling down along individual hair follicles, and wetting the outer surface of his fur. It was a trick question, he knew that, and clung to the truth. “I am not a member of the resistance.”
    Has actually heard his flesh sizzle as the rod touched his ear. The scream was louder than the one before.
    The painmaster clacked a pincer in what seemed like annoyance. “Come now . . . surely you are wrong. The Kan brought you here, correct?”
    Has wanted to touch his badly burned ear, to see what it looked like, but knew he couldn’t. Where was this line of questioning headed? There was no way to tell. “Yes, the Kan brought me, but I don’t see . . .”
    “Of course you don’t see,” the Zin interrupted, “inferior beings rarely do. The Kan are Saurons, true? And Saurons are infallible, are they not? All of which attests to the fact that you are guilty.”
    The truth , Has instructed himself, you must stick to the truth. The cleric braced himself against the pain about to come. “No, your eminence, I am not guilty. Not of crimes against the master race.”
    The painmaster started to bring the rod down onto the heretofore untouched ear but stopped short. The last answer intrigued him. “Ah, so you are guilty of something, what is it?”
    “I am guilty of sloth,” Has