Ulysses & the Fugitive - Ch. 17: Debrief
By Alfred Underhill
O'Flannery scribbled notes onto a legal pad. The cold steel of the table vaguely reminded
him of how far underground he currently was. Sure, they kept this particular site climate
controlled somewhere in the mid to low 70's, but it had to be all the earth surrounding the rooms
and hallways that made the table cold to the touch. He smirked at himself.
The door opened. An MP walked in, followed by Ulysses, whom was followed by
another MP. They escorted the young man to the table and shackled his hands to a loop within
one of the table's recesses. One of the MPs issued a stiff 'sir' before both men left the room and
closed the door.
"Hello, Ulysses," O'Flannery said, before continuing his notes. "Give me a minute to
finish up here, and then we can get started." The young man just stared at him and said nothing.
The slump of his shoulders gave the agent a pretty good idea of how this debriefing was going
to go. If he could get everything he needed out of this session, he'd send the kid home within a
day or two.
O'Flannery finished writing his notes and looked up with a tentative smile. "How are you
feeling? She's got quite a grip, doesn't she? Looks like you'll have an interesting bruise there for
about a week or so." He gestured towards Ulysses's neck with his pen.
He looked at the agent and then shifted his gaze to the surface of the table.
"Look, I understand that you're probably feeling pretty hurt and confused right now.
That's understandable. I'm sure you'd much rather not talk to me at all. That said, I'd be lying to
you if I told you that that's an option you have right now. I'm sorry you're here, and I'm sorry that
Nera surprised you the way she did. She surprised me too. I didn't know she was going to do any
of that. True to my word though, as soon as I've debriefed you, I can get you on your way home."
Ulysses didn't move. He just kept staring at the metal surface of the table in front of him.
A long, slow sigh escaped from him.
"I want to see Nera," he said, without looking up.
"That's not possible." O'Flannery responded. "I might be able to get you a moment with
her later, when you're on your way out, but I can't promise you anything." He was firm. He was
professional. He was Jonathon O'Flannery. There was work to be done, and he was on it.
"But before that, I need to ask you some questions about Nera."
"Is she okay?"
It was O'Flannery's turn to let out a sigh. He was trying to be patient, but there was only
so much slack he could cut this kid.
"Yes, she's fine," the agent said. "Ulysses? I need to you to listen to me now. Look at me,
please." He fixed the young man with a stare. "There are a lot of people within the intelligence
community and military that don't think you should be sent home once I debrief you. In fact, a
majority of people within those organizations think we should hold you indefinitely."