by H. Alesso
The judge asked, “Do you dispute the direct testimony of this witness?”
“The events that Colonel Rodríguez described are factual,” said Hawkins, stone faced.
“I am glad you chose to admit your complicity without equivocation. We shall reach the truth all the sooner,” the judge grinned broadly. “Do you have any questions you wish to put forward to the witness?”
“Yes, Your Honor, I do” said Hawkins getting up and taking a step toward the witness chair. “Colonel, what would have happened to the innocent women and children seeking shelter in the hospital if the shield had not been restored during the bombardment?”
“Don’t answer that, Colonel,” the judge interjected. “Mr. Hawkins, you are not on trial for any action you undertook to hurt, or help, any bystanders in the hospital. Their disposition is immaterial to this court.” Richter paused while he placed his hand on the red-marked, dog-eared, multi-tagged indictment document and slid it to the side of his desk. Then he said, “You must confine your questions to the germane issue of the court—did you actively aid members of a military group undertaking to overthrow the Jaxon government. Any diversion from this topic will be stricken from the record. Don’t waste the court’s time with any further allusion to anyone other than the rebels in the hospital. Do I make myself clear?”
Hawkins blanched.
“I would have the members of jury hear my defense,” Hawkins said desperately.
Again a murmur was heard in the court.
“Silence! Any further disturbance will result in my clearing the court,” shouted the judge.
Then turning back Hawkins, he rasped, “You shall have your say in good time, rascal.”
The judge glared at Hawkins. “Colonel Rodríguez, you are dismissed.”
Without further interruption, the prosecutor gave a short speech on the treasonable act the defendant had committed. When the defamation was complete, the judge allowed Hawkins to conduct his own defense, such as it was.
The only defense witness, he was allowed, was Joshua Morgan.
Joshua shifted uneasily in the witness chair, tugging at the collar of his orange jumpsuit. He looked scared, but otherwise appeared unhurt.
Hawkins asked him to describe what they had done at the hospital. Joshua explained how they had worked together to restore the force shield.
“Joshua Morgan, you were a neighbor of Mr. Hawkins?” interjected the prosecutor with the judge’s permission.
Joshua cast a troubled gaze at Hawkins.
The prosecutor waited a moment, then pressed, “Is that right?”
Joshua asked “Is what right?”
“Joshua Morgan, were you the defendant’s neighbor on the day in question?”
“I was, but I kind of left that day.”
“Come, come, man, you’re obfuscating the truth.”
“I can’t say that.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know what that word means.”
There was a titter in the courtroom.
The prosecutor peppered Joshua with questions until he admitted both that he was in the demonstrations and that wounded demonstrators were being treated in the hospital.
“But there were women and children, as well,” exclaimed Joshua, trying to redeem his testimony.
“Strike that,” intervened the judge. “The witness will confine himself to answering questions and not contribute his own musings.”
The judge gave Hawkins an opportunity to question Joshua, but again disallowed any mention of the women and children in the hospital.
Hawkins objected, “Your Honor, I had hoped for justice. At the least, I expected a fair hearing, but this trial is a travesty. I have had no opportunity to examine the evidence against me, nor been allowed to call further witnesses in my defense.”
Some of the spectators, who might have been government officials or reporters, snickered and made disruptive noises.
The Senior Justice pounded his gavel again and again, “Enough! I will not tolerate such outbursts.”
Turning to Hawkins, he said, “Rogue! I will not allow slanderous remarks to be made against this court. Do you seek to waste the court’s time with endless subterfuge? You have had every reasonable opportunity to defend yourself, but your only defense is to proclaim yourself innocently caught up in the vortex of war, despite testimony to the contrary. Evidence presented here in this court has established that you willingly aided rebels. I shall not waste this court’s time with any further nonsense from a villainous traitor, the likes of you.”
Hawkins looked as if he wanted to say more, but again the senior justice gaveled for silence and said, “Speak out of turn again and I shall have you gagged.”
A string of foul curses exploded from the defendant’s mouth, excoriating the Senior Justice and his supposed ‘Rule of Law.’
The judge waved to the security guards, who seized, bound, and gagged Hawkins, tossing him back in his chair.
Looking expectantly at the jurors, the prosecutor summed up his final arguments to the court. He addressed himself to the jury, not the crowd, gauging whether they were sympathetic to his words.
“Certain treasonous acts cannot be denied. While some actions may be subject to multiple interpretations, the defendant’s actual rebellious activities are not in dispute,” said the prosecutor pointing a finger directly at Hawkins.
He concluded, “You’ve heard the evidence in this case. It is now your solemn duty to bring in a verdict of guilty in this matter.”
“Now then,” said Senior Justice Richter, at last satisfied. “The jury will withdraw and reach the only verdict possible in the case of the Jaxon government verses the treacherous rebel, Jamie Hawkins.”
Several of the jurors rose, but the jury foreman spoke up immediately, “Your Honor, there is no need for an adjournment. We are ready to render our verdict.”
The jurors looked at one another and nodded. The foreman said, “Guilty.”
The smile on the senior justice’s face expanded even more. He banged his gavel and said with satisfaction, “This court sentences Jamie Hawkins to life imprisonment at hard labor in the Zeno Penal Colony.”
CHAPTER 4
Far Away
Hawkins recalled the orchid in his backyard and the rich ripe peaches dripping juices with each bite, of the fruit pies his mother had baked and set on the window sill to cool, of the sweet pungent scents that drifted past his nostrils, of the warm spring breezes when he would sit on the front stoop eating those pastries. For a time he was able to cloak himself within the sensory extravaganza of those memories, but soon, against his will, the repulsive nauseating stench of close quarters and deplorable sanitary conditions permeating the transport vessel pulled him back to reality, causing him to nearly retch.
Midway through the two month voyage to Zeno, within the confines of the overcrowded cargo bay, Hawkins was lost in the crush of assorted crooks, hardened criminals, and murderers, along with those the Jaxon government found equally repugnant—rebels—every man jack of whom was condemned to a life sentenced.
He picked up a cup of brackish brown-tinted water and grimaced as he took a swallow, but the fowl taste forced him to spit it out. He unenthusiastically chewed on a moldy bit of synthetic nutrition bar that served as his daily ration, but the decade-old substance, probably from a military field kit, had deteriorated beyond palatable. Resigning himself to the necessity of consuming some sustenance, he swallowed the portion whole and trusted his stomach to somehow digest the distasteful lump.
Rising from his uncomfortable metal seat, he pushed his way through the cargo bay, shoving past surly, scowling men until he reached one of the few ventilation grills that admitted a faint whiff of fresh air.
“Let me by,” he said, pressing forward insistently.
“Hey, look out,” one beefy man protested. He turned to shove back, but after sizing Hawkins up, let him pass.
Hawkins finally reached the handrail that ran up the side
of the bulkhead and pulled himself up, hand over hand, until he reached a tiny viewport ten meters off the deck. Originally intended for use by ship workers when they moved cargo, the port now served as the only outside view available for any prisoner vigorous enough to climb up to it.
Hawkins glanced down at the oppressively claustrophobic space, then with relief, shifted his gaze out the viewport at the void beyond.
The Jaxon star system consisted of six planets, separated down the middle by an asteroid belt. The three inner planets were united as a democracy governed from the second planet, also named Jaxon. On the other side of the asteroid belt, the three remaining planets were under the thumb of dictatorship, ruled from the fifth planet, Hellion. Through the centuries, up to and including the Twenty-Third, communication and travel between stars remained challenging. The vast interstellar distances left the Earth colonies mostly on their own. The earth-like planets had been settled quickly, while the less hospitable ones had been terraformed more slowly. It had been five decades since a ship from another star had visited Jaxon and during that time, Hellion had started a war.
As the star field blinked against the inky black vacuum, Hawkins tried without success to pick out Sol—lost among the bright points of light, billions of kilometers away.
He shook his head.
Damn.
***
At last, the cargo ship arrived at the star system’s third planet, Zeno, at the edge of the asteroid belt. For days, rumors had circulated among the prisoners that they would make landfall, but none had truly believed it until the derelict vessel dropped into orbit and they got their first glimpse of their new home. They disgorged by the score as shuttlecraft moved back and forth from the vessel to the spaceport. The astonishing human wrecks that flooded into port shocked even the most coldhearted guards. The red-rimmed eyed beggars were desperate for decent food and medical attention. After being confined in the cargo bay in unsanitary conditions, malnourished, and given foul water, disease had spread amongst them causing dozens of deaths. Hundreds of pathetic souls no longer could claim to be part of civilization after the squalor they had endured aboard the transport where they had been treated more like merchandise than human beings. Many had once been part of an inspired host, marching on the capital city of Jaxon intent on righting the wrongs done them. Now, one could wonder, “Where was their hope?”
Instead of the swift, even merciful execution ordered by Colonel Rodríguez, these wretched human souls were condemned to a brutal existence of torment and pain.
Hawkins gawked.
The prison complex was a startling change. Instead of the minimal care and attention on the transport, the prison concentrated on maximum control. After passing through a cleansing and decontamination chamber that rubbed their skin raw, the new arrivals were given fresh clothes, some cursory medical attention, and their first decent meal in some months. Nutritional standards were set to optimize the prisoner’s work performance. Cleanliness was strictly enforced to reduce disease and a medical infirmary was available. The prison was a smoothly polished metallic complex of interlocking structures where the prisoners were housed in electronically controlled cells with force shields with video monitors. The guards were armed with deadly weapons, as well as electronic whips, stun guns, and sonic whistles that could shock and daze a person.
This is different, but will it be any better?
Zeno was a dwarf planet with a thin, but breathable atmosphere and vast stretches of dry desert lands. The arid land was perennially hot during the day and freezing at night. The little surface water was concentrated in a single modest lake less than twenty kilometers east of the prison complex.
A powerful military fortress—the planet’s main defense—lay just north of the prison. A dozen kilometers to the south and separated from the prison by a jagged mountain range, the spaceport boasted a vast array of transport vehicles for loading and unloading cargo ships. The penal colony itself served as a transportation hub from the asteroid mines to the inner planets. The prisoners performed the heavy lifting and operated the equipment for moving millions of tons of material—everything from mine ore heading toward the inner planets, to finished goods returning to the asteroids.
***
Several days after their arrival, the newcomers were marched into a courtyard like soldiers on parade, lining up with the rest of the prison population. The bright sun beat down on their drab orange shirts and trousers, their faces staring at the array of gray-uniformed guards and officials that surrounded them.
After an hour, or so, of standing in the broiling sun, Jacob Seward, the paunchy balding prison warden, appeared on an overhanging balcony to address these unfortunates.
Seward said, “Welcome! You are now under the authority of the Zeno Penal Colony. You are here because you were weak. You fell into temptation and committed unforgiveable crimes, crimes for which you will be made to pay and pay and pay, because there is no power greater than the law. You must now humble yourselves before its representatives.” He paused for effect, then added, “Those who are obedient and obey the rules will find life tolerable, but be forewarned—troublemakers will suffer.”
He droned on, extolling his own virtues and belaboring his demands for compliance. Hawkins looked around and saw fear on the faces of most prisoners. To his surprise, many of the guards wore the same expression.
What are they afraid of?
After an hour of this diatribe, venting the dark suspicions that festered within him, Seward came down from the balcony and stalked around the yard, sizing up the new arrivals. He returned a salute to the chief of the guards and nodded approvingly at the spotless yard and rigid array of guards in their parade uniform.
Seward cast his shifty glance at suspicious-looking individuals in line, darting from one row of prisoners to the next, his prominent hawk nose leading the way. Several times he stopped and spoke to older prisoners as if they were his friends. Hawkins made a mental note marking these as his toadies.
When he caught sight of Hawkins, he leaned forward a little too eagerly, “You there. What’s your name?”
“Hawkins.”
“I thought so. I’ve had word of you. Who’ve you been conspiring with? What treachery are you about?” His thick brows lowered into a wrathful glare and he raised his fist, ready to strike.
Despite the oppressive one-hundred-and-ten-degree temperature, Hawkins remained mute and unflinching.
Not now.
Seward said, “I’ll have you know, I can spot conspiracies and squash them flat. Don’t think you can hide from me.”
Hawkins bit his lip, rather than make a caustic reply. His eyes scanned the older prisoners to look for any signs that the warden’s behavior was unusual. The tense atmosphere in the yard seemed to raise the heat a notch.
Annoyed by Hawkins’ silence, Seward said, “Your face is a mask of guilt. Remember this; I will beat your bad ways out of you, if I find the slightest disobedience. It would be a pity to have to change your sentence from life, to death, but I will not hesitate to execute mutinous troublemakers.”
The warden returned to his place on the balcony and ordered, “Chief, have the prisoners pass in parade.”
As they started the procession, a section guard held his hand up to stop one group of prisoners. “Halt. Stand fast. Get the doctor.”
“What? What’s this? Why have they stopped? Who has countermanded my orders?” cried the warden.
“Sir, a prisoner collapsed. I stopped the men to get him help,” said the guard, his voice trembling.
Furious, Seward roared, “Insubordination! Resume the review immediately. Get the sick man out of the way. Chief, I want that guard placed on report. I’ll have no insubordination here.”
Guards scurried to obey.
“You’ll be sorry. You’ll be sorry, I promise you!” screamed the warden.
The chief of the guards tried to intervene, “He was only doing his duty, sir.”
“Conspiracy! You’re
in it, together.”
The face of the chief blanched. He titled his head down and angled his face away.
Seward ordered the chief of guards to have the troublesome guard whipped.
Maintaining discipline among headstrong prisoners left no room for discussion. Each guard had several electric shock and sonic weapons to control prisoners. A stiff jolt was usually, all they needed. Such spur-of-the-moment punishment was common. However for serious cases, the electronic whip was used to flog problematic prisoners and occasionally, disobedient guards.
The unfortunate guard’s pleas for mercy were ignored as he was tied to the whipping post in the middle of the yard. Under the watchful eyes of the guards, any prisoner who flinched, or turned away received a jolt from a stun gun. When the delinquent guard finally collapsed, he was dragged away to the infirmary.
Seward seemed renewed by the event and he left the yard.
The guards remained at attention and the prisoners weren’t dismissed immediately. Hawkins looked about curiously. Seward reappeared briefly, taking a quick look around the yard as if trying to catch anyone out of position. Satisfied there was nothing more to see, he said, “Ah, bah!” and disappeared into his headquarters.
At last, the chief of guards ordered, “Officers, dismiss your sections and march the prisoners back to their cells.”
Is the warden a paranoid psychotic?
CHAPTER 5
A Timely Intervention
Prison had unyielding walls, callous guards, and harsh realities—there were no flowers in prison, no acts of kindness or warmth, no smiles of friendship or helping hands. Zeno sapped the will and killed the spirit, leaving each to find his own way to preserve his self-respect.
For the most part, Hawkins survived both the warden’s whipping post and the hierarchy of villainy within the walls. Over time, however, Zeno left its mark on Joshua. He had endured the malnourishment of the transport ship and survived sonic shocks from the guards, but the constant bullying of the prison thugs demoralized him. Cringing whenever someone approached, his erstwhile eagerness disappeared, replaced by empty lethargy and lackluster eyes.