Free Kraken Mare by Jason Cordova, Christopher L. Smith

concentrated on what I was supposed to do.
    The doors closed, and I tensed. If anything were to go down, this would be the place to do it. Natural leader and hero or not, Holomisa was still a prisoner, and one that was damn difficult to keep that way.
    Thirty seconds later, the doors opened to the research deck. I had never been down this far yet, so I was immensely curious to see just what went on in the most restricted area on the station. I was not to be disappointed.
    The larger entry room was barren save for a few more tubes for the kraken to swim in. There were not windows of plasteel here, only the sturdy walls which blocked anyone from looking out or in. Oddly enough, there didn’t appear to be any of the aliens in this part of the station. I’d seen them everywhere so far, so it was a bit strange to not see any here. I chalked it up to circumstance and walked Captain Holomisa into the room.
    Dr. Marillac turned as we stepped out, PDA in hand. Her face was devoid of any emotion, which I figured was her “professional scientist” look. She nodded at Lockhart and jotted down an entry on her PDA.
    “Prisoner H-6 has entered Research for his prescribed treatment session,” she said into the mic. “The time is five-five-six pm Central Standard Time. Treatment will be handled by Doctor Isaac.” She turned to the scrawny scientist next to her. “Doctor Isaac, if you would, please.”
    “Good evening, Captain,” Isaac said, stepping forward. The young doctor carried his PDA in one hand and a strange-looking device in the other. “If you’ll come with me, we’ll get started.”
    Holomisa nodded and followed the doctor, Lockhart and I falling in at his side. Bigfoot silently took up the rear once more. The procedure room looked like most of the exam rooms I had been in, with a few computer screens, an IV stand, heart-rate monitor, etc. A small wheeled table held a tray with assorted surgical instruments arranged neatly on a blue napkin. Dead center of the room was dominated by a large chair, over which was suspended a large machine. The various needles, probes, and invasive-looking gizmos gave it a very sinister appearance. All in all, the whole room gave off a “Marquis de Sade, D.D.S.” feel.
    Only far less comforting.
    “The captain is always on his best behavior while here, rookie,” Lockhart said as we approached the chair. “But some of the others may give you some pushback. We’ll do this by the numbers for your sake.” He stopped next to the armrest, facing Holomisa. “Captain, please turn around and back up slowly, until your calves are against the leg rest.”
    Holomisa complied, again moving slowly and deliberately.
    “John, please attach the restraints on the leg rest to the captain’s ankles.”
    I ran the heavy leather straps around Holomisa’s legs and buckled them tight.
    “Captain, please be seated.” Again, the captain did as he was directed, hands still cuffed behind him
    “Now release one cuff and attach it to the armrest.” I did as instructed, closing the cuff around the D-ring bit into the chair. “Now take your cuffs and repeat with the other arm.” I did. Lockhart gave a quick grin. “Thank you, Captain.”
    Holomisa gave a small nod and closed his eyes as the chair began to elevate and recline. I heard the door open behind me and turned.
    The next shift had arrived. I had only met the two guards briefly, a few minutes here and there the week before. The larger, one Joseph Capdepon, was a barrel-chested Texan whose huge beard barely contained his constant grin. Good-natured guy, from what I could tell, but did tend to bitch about the lack of beer. Specifically, St. Arnold’s, from back home in Houston. The stuff must have been nectar to the gods or something with his constant lamenting and moaning about not having the beer.
    Johnny Minion was smaller, but he was just as wide as Capdepon. He carried it well, and I knew from the gym that he wasn’t soft. He was quiet, but