House of the Silent Moons

by Tom Shepherd

  “See, yes.”

  “Anybody coming?”

  “No see nobody. Allza clear.”

  “Okay. Come on down.”

  Tyler decided to leave the dead Dengathi behind, but he and Lovey carried the unconscious human in his bloody kimono across the street to relative safety. Suzie remained in the building to re-task the drones and delete any evidence of the shore party’s visit. She emerged from the compound with André Mercier, who carried the metal suitcase.

  “What is he doing here?”

  “André has graciously arranged ground transport to the real Pirate Court. When it gets here, I’ll call in your airstrike.”

  “And you want me to trust this guy, who almost got us French fried?” Tyler said.

  “He was programmed to deceive us.”

  “Which makes treachery okay?”

  “Listen to me, you bull-headed git. André was designed to be a multi-species holo-attorney serving on starships as legal adviser. Think ‘Father Cárcel’ of juris prudence. His ship got attacked by privateers sailing under letters of marque issued by the New Osaka Colony. He was taken as a prize of war. Tsuchiya Galactic corrupted his ethical subroutines, made him a mob lawyer. I restored his original program.”

  “And you trust him?”

  She smiled slightly. “As much as I trust any lawyer, yes.”

  “Et tu, Brute?” He pulled out the cannulas and scratched his nose. “And that metal case isn’t a bomb, right?”

  “No—Tyler, for God’s sake, replace your O2 line. I don’t want to be a widow before I’m a wife.”

  “I can’t get it right.”

  “You are such a baby.” Suzie adjusted the cannulas. “André’s suitcase is a self-contained holo-projector and operating computer. He’s fully mobile with it, snookered without.”

  “Well, I guess we can’t abandon a sentient lifeform, if he’s A.I.—”

  “I am, monsieur.”

  Tyler frowned. “You’re on probation, Andy. I need a briefing on Pirate law. No more lies, or I’ll decompile your holo-ass.”

  “Oui, monsieur.” He pointed to an approaching six-wheel vehicle. “Your carriage has arrived.”

  They drove the still unconscious hitman a few hundred meters away from the empty compound and laid him on the side of the road. Dr. Julieta administered a mule kick of sedatives to zonk out Tsuchiya’s samurai for at least eight hours. She made sure his pressure bandage had stopped the bleeding, then gave him a shot of nanites to heal the wound while he slept. She also made sure his cannulas were properly in place and the O2 generator had enough battery life to last until he awoke or was discovered. As a final gesture to a defeated foe, Julieta placed his datacom beside the wounded samurai and keyed the locator function.

  Then the shore party plus hologram bumped away in their six-wheeled Groxbitz transport while ten Parvian drones rained from the skies a thousand kilometers west and exploded on impact in the largest black zone on Libertalia-3.

  * * * *

  Port Royal had narrow streets paved with hewn cobblestones, the kind seldom found on Terra anymore. The town was laid out on a circular grid, so all roads led to a hub of buildings and parks at the center, which also served as the town marketplace. Clumps of flowering trees, shrubs, and bushes, most in full bloom, dotted the city, and since only a few structures rose more than two stories, the older trees towered over shaded shops, row houses, and walled courtyards.

  Groxbitz bustled past like chains of ants foraging for food or building a new colony. The roly-poly, multi-limbed creatures baked bricks in kilns at the periphery of town and ferried the cooled product in four-wheeled carts to work sites.

  The indigenous aliens fascinated Tyler. They apparently rolled along for quicker travel but could walk on any combination of members jutting from their body. He counted eight arms-legs on the smaller Groxbitz and at least a dozen appendages on the hefty ones. Young and old, males or females, other options? Not a clue. Neither did Julieta despite her training in xenobiology.

  The six-wheel transport screeched to a halt before the largest building yet seen in Port Royal. Three brick stories with garden balconies terraced a hillside, and unlike the abandoned compound at city’s edge, this place bustled with activity. Pedestrians and people arriving in six-wheel city transports were mostly humanoid, and they wore diverse methods to supply supplemental O2. Some chose small nose cones with straps; others apparently fashioned helmet-like headgear from ship’s supplies. Quite a few, like Tyler’s shore party, settled for the standard cannulas issued by worker Groxbitz at the starport.

  The robot-driver announced they had arrived at the “Equity Center and Captain’s Mast.”

  “Captain’s Mast?” Mr. Blue said.

  Lovey said, “Old naval term for courts-martial held aboard a ship.”

  “Oh! Mast… the Captain meets you at the mast? Where is the mast?”

  “Zenna, it’s a metaphor.”

  Mr. Blue made a guttural sound. “Terran is a language of confusion. With pictures.”

  “You got it, Indigo,” Tyler said. “It’s based on English. Totally irrational, beautifully expressive.”

  About half an hour later, the Star Lawyers found an empty row of theater-style seats at the rear of the courtroom. André Mercier suggested the attorneys in the group—Tyler, Suzie, Lovey Frost and Mr. Blue—would benefit from brief exposure to the Captain’s Mast, as the court proceedings were called at Port Royal. Mercier steered them to a second tier courtroom with a trial already in session.

  “Judge Colin Camran presides here,” André said. “Pardon, but I must take my post.”

  “Post?” Tyler said.

  “I am programmed to be a court-appointed Public Defender. If the defendant has a lawyer, I observe from the defense table unless the Judge orders me to assist.”

  “Okay, go.”

  André went to the defense table and put his metal case on the floor and sat at the far end. The defense attorney glanced at him but said nothing.

  Julieta and Yumiko went along for security and drifted to opposite corners at the back of the chamber. Mr. Arrupt found some Dengathi milling about the corridor and elected to kibitz with them.

  A judge in black robe was seated at a raised judicial bench like the kind seen on colonial worlds across Terran Space. Tyler heard Portuguese, Mindorian, and a few non-human languages spoken in the corridor, but the proceedings were in Terran Standard. Not really a surprise, since most of the participants came from worlds which emerged from the Terran Commonwealth, whose language heritage provided a lingua franca among quite a few ex-colonial planets.

  “Captain-Judge, all I am saying is—should we be under attack—this trial needs to be postponed so every man jack can run for his ship.”

  “We are not under attack. Some damned rogue drones crashed in a black zone. They were programmed from a compound at the city’s edge. The Chief Magistrate is looking into the situation. She’s already found three dead Frogs and holds a live New Osakan in custody.”

  “Your Honor, where did them ‘rogue drones’ come from? How do we know the Bitch Admiral ain’t testing our defenses and has her fleet poised to strike?”

  Tyler and Suzie exchanged glances. She held up two fingers, the ancient peace sign. Keep cool, we’re okay.

  “Mr. Koshka, you know damned well Matthews Interstellar don’t know where we are. If they did, you’d be dead, not standing there cluttering my courtroom with this bilge.”

  “Beggin’ Your Honor’s pardon. But—”

  “I know your game, Félix, an’ it won’t work. The jury wants to report. So, unless you have more objections—and you don’t—sit your ass down and shut up.”

  “Yes, Your Honor." He sat next to a worried-looking fellow with a large ring in his nose who grabbed the lawyer’s arm.

  “Bilge,” the Captain-Judge muttered. He searched his desktop and found a note, which he read silently, laboriously, forming the words with muted lips.

  Tyler said s
oftly to Suzie, “We’ll request a continuance after this trial is over. We need to find witnesses, read ship’s logs and official reports.”

  “And talk to Tavares?”

  “Yeah, I guess we gotta.”

  “He said the trial opens today.”

  “I know. We’ll have to find the right courtroom.”

  From his high desktop the Captain-Judge turned to a panel of tough-looking characters seated along the far side of the courtroom. “Mister Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?”

  “Aye, Your Honor,” the foreman said.

  “The defendant will stand and assume the position of attention.”

  Defense attorney Félix Koshka rose with his shaky client. André followed suit. People in seats immediately behind them got up and moved into the aisles.

  “What say ye?” the Judge asked.

  “The bugger is guilty.”

  Judge Camran pulled a kinetic blaster from a drawer in his desk and shot the defendant dead. Half a dozen multi-legged Groxbitz rolled down the aisle, hopped the gated barrier like leap frogs, and grabbed the executed defendant. Three smaller Groxbitz appeared with cleaning supplies and tidied up the defense table. They were gone in less than a minute, carrying the dead convict overhead like a crowd surfer at a music festival. Camran crushed the verdict note and dropped it on the floor.

  “Next case.”

  Tyler leaned to Suzie’s ear. “Dang, I hope the Judge doesn’t do that if your objection’s overruled.”

  “Beastly way to be made redundant,” she said. “The nutters are running this place.”

  “Let’s go.”

  The jury shuffled out, replaced by a frenzied musical-chairs process from members of the audience. Tyler stood, but a green Kolovite bailiff in mud-brown robes stepped forward to read the prosecutor’s bill of summation for the next case. She wore no breathing apparatus, not surprising for an ectothermic species. Tyler decided to wait for the Captain-Judge to pause after the initial reading of charges.

  “Here ye all. The Free Enterprise League demands justice due to the following offenses. High treason, collusion with pirate-hunters, murder of shipmates, espionage, and cupidity—all charges against a member of our Society. The accused has betrayed the League to Law Enforcement Officials on multiple occasions and worked to bring the destruction of this star-nation. The foresaid accused has hoarded prizes taken under rules of privateering and denigrated the good name of our lawful profession.”

  The judge gestured to a man in the gray uniform of Sakura House. “Kindly identify the blackguard, Mister Prosecutor.”

  “Capitão Flávio Tavares of the starship Henrique.”

  “I think we found the right courtroom,” Suzie whispered. “And look who’s prosecuting.”

  “Oh, shit,” Tyler said.

  He was Kaito Tsuchiya. Middle son of Hideki. Brother of Haruto and Kichirou.

  “Why is Kaito here?” Suzie said. “Unless...”

  Tyler nodded. “Shōgun Daddy knows about the House of the Silent Moons.”

  Fifteen

  A brace of security guards marched Flávio Tavares into the courtroom and down to the empty defense table. He was dressed in a single-piece green jumpsuit and shackled hand and foot. He did not wear any apparent breathing assistance equipment. The crowd of spectators had doubled, and most chairs were filled. A few dozen latecomers stood by the windows along the sides of the chamber. Four more Japanese attorneys joined Kaito at the prosecution table.

  “Middle son of Tsuchiya, probably assisted by Sakura House’s top barristers,” Suzie said. “If those fuck nuggets get their hands on Flávio, force him to spill the beans—”

  “M-double-I will face an enemy with super-weapons from the old Empire.” Tyler rose. “Let’s go to work.”

  The judge put his blaster back in the drawer. “So, Flávio, how have you been, lad?”

  “I have been better, Colin.”

  “That you have. ‘Tis a shame you’ve come to this, isn’t it now?”

  “Do I receive a trial, or will you shoot me summarily?”

  “Well, yes, I could do that. But all these people have gathered for a beautiful trial. It’s a little amusement they’re craving. So, why don’t we have a trial, and then I’ll blast you?”

  “Uh—Your Honor?” Tyler and his team moved forward to the gate separating spectators from trial participants. “May I cross the bar?”

  Judge Camran laughed. “Wish we had a bar. I could use a wee nip.” The audience hooted and whistled, thumped their feet. He motioned Tyler forward and the Star Lawyers took positions behind the defense table.

  “I am representing Capitão Tavares. He pleads not guilty.”

  “And what be your name, young man?”

  “Tyler Noah Matthews the Fourth.”

  Hundreds of blasters appeared in the hands of aroused spectators, who leapt to their feet. Every weapon pointed at Tyler’s head. Including the Judge’s execution special.

  Tyler gulped. “You did hear me say the Fourth, right?”

  “Son of Noah Matthews and Admiral Bianca Matthews-Solorio,” the Judge said. “You prance in here with that pedigree, expecting to walk out alive?”

  “Your Honor, sir, I have always believed in ‘Honor thy father and thy mother,’ but I’m not particularly keen on dying for them.”

  The Captain-Judge laughed and put his blaster away. “Stow your firesticks, everyone. The Free Enterprise League has rules about fair trials and quick executions. Let’s have us one of them. Mr. Matthews, take your place beside this guilty sonuvabitch and let’s have a grand clash of legal combatants.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded to his team. “If it please the court, my co-counsels, Your Honor. Lieutenant Lovey Frost, Prince Zenna-Zenn of the Quirt-Thyme Empire, and my fiancé Suzanne London.”

  “Well, well. You may have terrible taste in parents, but perhaps your choice of female companionship mitigates the misfortunes of birth.” The Judge did a double take. “By gaw, that is a dog-eared Quirt lawyer and a prince to boot, you say?”

  “Absolutely, Your Honor. His Royal Highness Tertiary Sub-Prince Zenna-Zenn Ringadool-Khelida-LeBokk, Junior. Third husband to Empress Veraposta, who rules 2.1 trillion Quirt-Thymeans.” Tyler smiled. “I call him Indigo.”

  “Third husband, eh? No wonder you’re here and she’s there.”

  The audience burst into laughter.

  “Well, now that we’ve heard the plea, shall we get on to opening arguments?” The Captain-Judge checked his chronometer. “I have a lady waiting my attendance.”

  Kaito stood. “The prosecution is ready.”

  “Excellent. How about you, young Matthews?”

  “The defense has no idea what the charges are, Your Honor.”

  “But you already entered a plea of not guilty.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. Capitão Tavares is innocent of all charges, whatever they are.”

  “Now that’s lively of you, lad.” The judge sat back in his chair, which creaked loudly. “Let’s get started.”

  “The defense requests a continuance.”

  “A what?”

  “As you noted, we don’t even know what he’s accused of doing.”

  “But you said he didn’t do it?”

  “No, Your Honor,” Tyler said. “The charges against him were created out of whole cloth.”

  “Who cares if there’s holes in the cloth? Have you been into the rum, laddie?”

  “Whole cloth, Judge!” An ancient, fin-headed, female Suryadivan in black shirt and white collar, like a Roman Catholic priest, rapped on the little desk where she worked. “Legal term. It means fabrication, made from lies.”

  Judge Camran frowned. “Thank you, Guppy.”

  “The defense needs a continuance to get its case organized,” Tyler said.

  “Organized how?”

  Tyler pressed onward. “You know, interview witnesses, gather facts, talk with our client, read arrest reports, check the forensics?”

 
“That ain’t how we do things here, laddie. You get up and tell us why we shouldn’t give this scallywag what he deserves for betraying the privateer star nation. Then Jappo-What’s-His-Name over there gets up and demands his head. The jury votes. Bang. Next case. Any more questions?”

  “Jury?” Tyler pivoted to a set of spectators seated behind a rail on the prosecution side of the well, mostly human males, plus two women and a Dengathi. “Did I miss voir dire?”

  “If you mean that delightful French whore, her case was yesterday. Not guilty due to fucking too many of the jury members. Most of the men on the planet are hot for her. No wonder it was not guilty.”

  “Incorrect!” the court recorder said. “Her name was Vida Decuir.”

  “I didn’t ask you, Guppy.”

  “You should. I take good notes.”

  “Captain-Judge, pardon me,” Tyler said. “But who chose the jury? Ordinarily, the defense and prosecution have a voice in jury selection.”

  “Nobody chose them.”

  “Yet I’m looking at an empaneled jury of eighteen citizens.”

  “You saw what happened. The old jury skedaddled. Eighteen chairs come open, an’ whoever sat down gets to play. Twelve jurors plus six alternates, just like Commonwealth Courts. The juries usually gather in the tavern ‘round the corner for lunch and spirits after the trial. The court buys the liquor, which I suspect’s the reason why most of them slackers plopped their asses in the jury box.”

  Tyler was aghast. “You finish capital trials before lunch?”

  “Aye, sometimes within the hour. Had two already this morning. What’s the point in dragging out the proceedings when everybody knows the scoundrel is guilty?”

  “Your Honor, I have a lot of evidence to share with this court.”

  “I told you, we ain’t interested in evidence.”

  “When I say share, I mean share.” Tyler plunged ahead. “Some of the exhibits are quite valuable. I will need to bring them here under armed guard. That takes time to arrange.”

  The Judge scratched his chin. “Quite valuable, you say?”