The Secret of Zormna Clendar - Julie Steimle (best autobiographies to read .txt) 📗

room had expected as much. Zormna Clendar, the girl who had wrestled into submission a high school state champ famous for getting into fights, who had just defeated two particularly strong orderlies that handled all kinds of wild and out of control people, and who had already given them so much trouble—a professed military school student—would not just give in like that.

“Repeat the command. Be more specific,” their general ordered from the far darkness along the back wall. His gravelly, pre-cancerous voice resonated over them with heavy responsibility. Dr. Holbrooke didn’t usually like interference from their main director, but he did not have a choice in this case. The general had come to see the ‘subject’ for himself. He also brought along his cigar. In that confined space, it was difficult not to gag on the vapor.

Sullenly casting the general a look, Dr. Holbrooke tried again. “Zormna, tell us your full name.”

Zormna had been examining the darkness, making out shapes when he asked the question. And she reacted slowly, blearily blinking as she murmured through heavy breathing, “Alea…Zormna…Clendar…T… ung!”

Agent Sicamore straightened up. She was still resisting. And he knew what she was holding back. But why? Why hide that name of Tarrn when openly admitting a title such as Alea?

Her eyes closed. She was looking solidly sick. Possibly it was the vomitable stench of cigar smoke she was reacting to. It was making Sicamore feel mildly ill.

Sweat trickled down her neck.

“She’s still hiding something,” Dr. Holbrooke murmured with delight. “Marvelous creature. She’s really fighting it.”

“Creature?” Agent Sicamore said with a grunt of protest. “You tested her DNA at least ten times. She’s human.”

“Similar enough to one, perhaps,” the doctor retorted.

“A genetic match,” Sicamore growled.

“Forget the preliminaries. Go to the real questions,” the general ordered.

Huffing, Dr. Holbrooke did as commanded. “Where did you come from?”

They watched Zormna attempt to maintain lucid comprehension of her surroundings, especially as she said, “That is a rather philosophical question.”

The general in the back laughed. “Cheeky.”

“Give her another injection. She’s not giving,” Dr. Holbrooke growled with disgust. He peered over her, taking great offense to her resistance.

She stared up at him as if he were a nightmare.

“Just be careful not to give her too much,” Agent Sicamore warned again.

“Apple man…” Zormna murmured to herself. She had identified him by his voice. It sent chills down his back.

Agent Sicamore pulled back into the darkness.

Zormna strained against the straps again, but they still didn’t budge.

The assistant shifted to her other arm and rubbed the inner part of her elbow with iodine. Once more she struggled, though with less strength. As he removed the needle and pressed another cotton ball to the injection site, Zormna’s body almost automatically relaxed against the table. Her gaze drifted. Her breathing went shallow. But she still looked green in the face, like she was dealing with nausea.

Dr. Holbrooke started the interrogation again.

“Where are you from?”

Her consciousness failing, yet still looking ill, Zormna answered. “Arras.”

Then she groaned, straining upward and arching her back.

 “It’s breaking her,” a voice from the back declared. “Ask more questions.”

“Breaking her?” Agent Sicamore worried with a deep frown, inching near again. “The drug doesn’t make people hurt.”

“Ask her more questions,” the general ordered.

“Where is Arras?” Agent Sicamore asked, knowing it wasn’t on Dr. Holbrooke’s list. “France?”

Zormna whimpered.

“Of course not France!” Dr. Holbrooke protested. “You and I both know she is not from this world.”

“Know?” Agent Sicamore shook his head. “The last woman we interrogated was known to be insane. Remember? Not a reliable source. We need to cover all our bases.”

“Sending transmissions into space is sign enough,” Dr. Holbrooke snapped.

 But Sicamore ignored him. “Come on, Zormna. Tell us. Which Arras are you from? Where is it?”

Panting, tired, weak, Zormna said as if it drew blood, “You know it as Mars.” Tears dribbled out of the corners of her eyes. They intermingled with the sweat that coursed off her forehead from the heat lamp.

Everyone had gone silent.

“Ok,” Dr. Holbrooke triumphantly continued, “How did you get here?”

Murmuring, clearly unable to fight the drug now, Zormna answered, “One of my officers dropped me off in the forest.”

“One of her officers?” Agent Sicamore wondered out loud. One of her officers. How old was this girl?

He stared down at her as Dr. Holbrooke murmured, “Dropped her off?” then the doctor quickly asked, “How did he drop you off?”

“He found a bald spot near the edge of town,” Zormna softly said. She seemed on the edge of losing consciousness entirely. There was definitely too much drug in her system.

“No,” Dr. Holbrooke impatiently snapped, “What transportation did you use?”

“A ship, stupid,” Zormna replied with her characteristic arrogance.

Several observing the interrogation snickered. The general guffawed.

“Even drugged she has an attitude,” one whispered to another.

“Fine. What kind of ship?” Dr. Holbrooke asked, sounding annoyed but for different reasons.

“A shuttle. Small grade transport,” she said.

“What does this shuttle look like?” the doctor asked.

“Minivan.”

They blinked, taking that in.

“A what?” the doctor asked.

“A minivan,” she said again.

“This is a spacecraft we are talking about, right?” Agent Sicamore asked.

The doctor turned to snap something at him, but Zormna answered, “Yes. Small space craft. Minimal weaponry. Stealth transport.”

“Stealth,” one of the observers murmured.

“Would we be able to notice it on the road?” Agent Sicamore asked.

“No….” Her breathing slowed. “Not likely.”

“Does it have a cloaking device?” Dr. Holbrooke asked.

Agent Sicamore cast him a dirty look.

“No,” she said. “That’s fiction.”

“Well, scientists have been working on…” one of the observers muttered.

“So you can just land here and no one will notice?” Agent Sicamore asked.

“Yes,” she breathed out.

“Why did she come here?” the general asked.

“Why did you come here?” Dr. Holbrooke repeated, sharper with a glare at Agent Sicamore.

“To live with my great aunt,” she said.

“Tell the truth,” the doctor ordered with bite. “Why did you really come here?”

Zormna moaned. “The Kevin said I was in danger and sent me here.” Then she added with a whimper, “I did not want to come.”

“The Kevin…” Agent Sicamore murmured.

“She mentioned him to the other kids,” one of the agents observing said. “Is he a real person? Or made up?”

“Who is Kevin?” the doctor asked.

“Jennifer’s boyfriend,” Zormna answered.

Dr. Holbrooke groaned. “No… Who is the man you call the Kevin?”

Zormna groaned, resisting. It was amazing she could still do it.

“Who is the Kevin, Zormna?” Agent Sicamore asked.

Breathing hard, she whimpered, “Leave me alone…”

“Who is the Kevin?” Dr. Holbrooke almost shouted.

“He’s the leader…” she breathed out.

“Of your people?” Agent Sicamore asked.

Zormna weakly rocked her head back and forth against the table. “No. Of the Surface Patrol.”

“What is the Surface Patrol?” Dr. Holbrooke asked.

It took a moment, through struggle, straining and panting when she gave up. “My military.”

Dread sunk into Agent Sicamore’s stomach. It was not the answer that he wanted to hear. But it was the kind of answer the other men in the room expected. The girl was, after all, military trained. It was obvious.

“You mean your school?” Agent Sicamore asked, hoping that was it.

But she shook her head again. “Only started out in…all orphans are recruited.” She was losing consciousness again. Losing the ability to fight, if not the will. And she whispered, “I graduated.”

“Graduated,” Dr. Holbrooke repeated. He asked, “What are you now, in the military?”

Agent Sicamore cringed, waiting for her response.

“Alea.”

“She’s a child. She can’t be in the military,” the assistant that had handled the drugs retorted.

“What is an Alea? What is that an equivalent to?” the doctor asked.

“Captain,” she murmured.

“And what did you do in the Surface Patrol?”

Zormna replied, almost hypnotically, “I headed the Zeta District. Third in rank under the Kevin.”

“She’s important,” somebody muttered.

“And what does the Surface Patrol itself do?” the doctor asked.

“We keep the borders between Arras and Partha,” she mumbled, breathing more heavily. “We apprehend dangerous fugitives…so they do not reach this world. We keep out prying eyes from Partha…and other places. And we propagate… disinformation on Partha.”

“What is Partha?” Agent Sicamore asked.

“Earth,” she said. “You call it Earth.”

“Propagate disinformation?” someone else exclaimed. “Like what?”

Coming from the corner where fetid cigar smoke wafted over the general, they heard him say, “Ask her.”

This was the moment he had been hoping to avoid. Yet Agent Sicamore obeyed. “When is the invasion?”

“What?” Zormna seemed to come into consciousness for a second, if only briefly.

“Ask her again,” the general ordered with a grunt.

“Zormna, you are part of a military force, and Martians—” Sicamore groaned just saying that “—are coming to Earth. Don’t tell me there isn’t an invasion.” Even though he really wished she would. “When is the military invasion?”

An honest huff, along with a chuckle came from her. She seemed lucid, if only for a second as she replied, “There is no invasion.”

Agent Sicamore sighed with relief. It was the same as the old woman had said.

“Ask her again,” the general demanded once more.

“Tell…Mr. Stinky…” Zormna breathed with effort, “there is no invasion.”

Dr. Holbrooke choked down a laugh. Yet he replied, “He will not believe that. You have an enormous military force that has been scouting us out for—”

Zormna almost wept, shaking her head. “No. No. You don’t understand. We are already here.”

The room seemed to draw in a breath.

“What do you mean by that?” Agent Sicamore whispered.

She looked towards where he was in the shadows. “Long before I was ever born…long before you…ages ago…. You do not invade what you have already conquered.”

“I don’t believe it,” someone in the back said.

“She’s bluffing.”

But Agent Sicamore asked, “Are you saying your people run this world?”

She laughed, and wept, shaking her head. “No.”

“But you have infiltrated us,” Dr. Holbrooke concluded with bite.

Zormna blinked toward him.

“Disinformation?” the doctor said. “And sabotage?”

Agent Sicamore stiffened. If that were true, every government agency would need to go through an overhaul. They would have to dig out the moles.

“In what agencies do you have operatives?” Dr. Holbrooke asked.

She emitted something between a whimper and a sob. “All of them.”

The collective gasp drew in again.

“Including heads of state?” the doctor asked, almost hungrily.

She exhaled, sinking back into the table. “No.”

Dr. Holbrooke’s shoulders sagged. Agent Sicamore wondered whom he had suspected to be from Mars. It would create the ultimate witch hunt, worse than looking for communists.

“Any high profile individuals?” Agent Sicamore asked, just to be sure.

“No,” Zormna murmured. “Our soldiers have to be able to withdraw on a moment’s notice.”

The room went deathly silent for a moment.

“For what?” Agent Sicamore asked.

She sighed. “In case they are compromised.”

The men shared looks. Then one asked, “Are you an operative?”

She sobbed. “No.”

“Why are you here?” Agent Sicamore asked, again.

“I…” She sank deeper into the table, losing consciousness again. “The Kevin sent me here to be safe…but I am not safe….”

“Why are you not safe?” Agent Sicamore asked.

“Someone in the FBI killed my great aunt,” she said. “Someone from Home.”

“Why did they kill your great aunt?” Agent Sicamore asked.

Everyone listened to her answer.

“Because…I am a Tarrn.” And Zormna promptly threw up over herself.

Everyone took a quick step backwards.

“I’m going to be sick,” someone declared. Quickly after, the door opened and closed. Sicamore did not see who left.

“Tarrn.” Dr. Holbrooke pulled back into the blackness, scratching thick notes onto his clipboard.

“Don’t write that down!” Agent Sicamore reached for his notes, grabbing the paper. “The killer is still loose! And apparently among us!” He ripped the page off.

“Hey!”

“Let Sicamore take it,” the general said.

Reluctantly, Dr. Holbrooke obeyed, relinquishing his clipboard. Agent Sicamore tore off that one part, tossing back the rest of the documentation. He then gestured for the audio recording to be immediately censored.

“Orderly! You! Clean that up!” the attending doctor called to someone on the side.

 “Tarrn. Tarrn, Tarrn, Tarrn,” the Dr. Holbrooke continued to murmur. Each time, Zormna shuddered, her body tensing.

The general in the back of the room sucked on his cigar, blowing out the cloud of stench before speaking. “Just like her aunt. The same word. Gentlemen, do you know any significance to this word? Why she struggles to hide it?”

Agent Sicamore murmured over it, scrunching up the paper he torn off of the doctor’s clipboard. He intended to burn it. “Her aunt tried to hide it