Summary

Ann Wilson Youngling: A Terran Empire story

He could only hope they'd kill him before he came so close to his own that he'd have to activate the conditioning. He preferred to meet death knowing who he was.
A sudden flashing movement of Joste's claws ripped the tough material of the human's shirt to ribbons, exposing the soft undershirt. A single claw took care of that, still without breaking thin human skin. "Why did you here come?" Joste asked softly. "Now say, and yourself much pain save. You no honor have to lose."
Now what the hell did he mean by that, Marguerre wondered.
Source: Gutenberg

Ann Wilson Youngling: A Terran Empire story

Good, Joste thought. The man was going to be stubborn. "You mine now are, Major, and you will much more say. When you have enough pain had, you will to me gladly speak." Slowly, almost luxuriously, he reached for the man, extending his claws.
Marguerre tasted fear, his mouth bitter-dry as he watched the clawed gray hand approach. He remained still, though he could feel himself going pale. He'd expected death if the mission failed, but not like this—not being tortured for information while two of his people lay badly wounded in a Traiti military hospital. He knew his interrogator was right
Source: Gutenberg

Ann Wilson Youngling: A Terran Empire story

Joste was fully aware of human frailty, and was being far gentler than he cared to, but he was still startled at the amount of blood welling from such shallow wounds. He would have to be even more careful; if he weren't, this Marguerre might bleed to death before giving him the information he needed. It might be best to use fists or slaps instead of claws or teeth, at least for the most part, until the time came to execute the man.
Source: Gutenberg

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