Fear slowed his tongue, but the sudden lancing headache paralyzed it. One of the marines grabbed him as he fell forward and another helped drag him down the passageway. Every step, every jolt felt like a hammer smashing his closed eyes against his brain.
An eternity later the marines came to a halt. The two marines in front of him parted enough to reveal a thick metallic hatch with a thick transparent window. The airlock was dark.
“What’s going on?” a familiar voice shouted behind him.
“Quiet, you’ll find out soon enough,” Hettinger said as Ted turned Eric to face the newcomers.
“Eric!” Pascal blurted. At the sight of the marines, the man’s eyes shot wide and he paled.
Eric’s fear clawed at him, tearing into what little calm the anti-anxiety drugs still afforded him.
“Your friend here has information we need. If you want to live, I suggest you convince him to talk,” Hettinger told Pascal as he keyed the airlock.
Lights inside snapped on while the door opened. Eric could see stars through the window of an identical door on the far side. Calm settled over Pascal’s features as the marines stuffed him inside. Hettinger glanced between Eric and Pascal. The interrogator’s face hardened at Pascal’s silence. The two stared at each other for some time before Hettinger stepped to the airlock controls.
Pascal dropped his chin to his chest and began to speak.
“Lo, there do I see my father.”
Hettinger punched a key and the airlock cycled shut.
“Lo, there do I see my mother, my sisters and my brothers.” Pascal’s voice drifted through the door’s speakers. His voice shook, but he spoke with confidence.
“Lo, there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning.” Pascal locked eyes with Eric as Hettinger lifted a safety cover. Eric blinked away a tear.
“Lo, they do call to me. They bid me take my place amongst them. In the halls of Valhalla, where the brave may live. Forever.” Hettinger smashed the emergency override. The lights inside shifted red and the outer doors snapped open moments later. The speakers howled as the maelstrom yanked Pascal into the black beyond.
Ice ran down Eric’s spine and settled in his gut. Hettinger turned to regard him. The outer door closed and the red lighting blinked off. Footsteps.
“Progress?” Doctor Isaacs asked. Hettinger shook his head. Behind him, the airlock’s lighting swapped to white. “Both of you could have walked away from this, Eric. Continue, Drew.”
Hettinger nodded. “Ted, take the cuffs, they’re worth more than he is.”
The airlock opened. Ted removed the handcuffs and shoved Eric inside. The hatch closed. Pushing through the migraine, Eric clawed himself up to the window.
Behind the glass, Doctor Isaacs looked bored.
“You have the rest of your life to decide,” she said. “Where, Eric?”
She scowled. Moments later, he heard a resonant hum. Air pumps. Oh shit, oh shit! He sobbed involuntarily and tears shot from his eyes as agony lanced through his mouth from what felt like a hundred small hooked knives prying out his teeth by the roots. The air pressure in his ears adjusted with a deafening bang. He dropped to his knees, crying from the pain. Stop! Stop, please stop! Panic crashed over him.
Eric forced down the sobs, gutting the pain as he pulled himself back up to the window.
“A wreck. We found a wreck,” he gawped.
“Where?” she asked, her voice sounded tinny and distant through the thinning, cold air.
Eric opened his mouth to reply and winced as fire flashed across his brain. When Eric opened his eyes he couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t find any words. They had vanished like smoke in a sudden breeze. He blinked, and stared blankly at the woman in the lab coat on the other side of the glass. Slowly thoughts came to him.
What’s going on? Where am I? Who are you?
The woman frowned. “Goodbye, Eric.”
The lighting flashed red and gravity vanished. He felt more than heard a metallic thump behind him. Eric clawed in vain for purchase on the door in front of him as what remained of the atmosphere pulled at him. His skin tingled for a moment before ratcheting to a stinging burn as he drifted free of the outer door.
“Whatever you do, don’t hold your breath,” a voice whispered from a disintegrating tendril of memory. Fighting against himself, Eric opened his mouth and the escaping gas imparted a slow spin.
The ship he’d been on rotated out of view, replaced by a field of endless stars. In the distance he beheld a pale blue orb, a planet. As his eyesight clouded and darkness leeched in, Eric marveled at the greens and blues, the whites of the clouds and high peaks, the shimmering lights nestled on the night sight of the planet. Beautiful. As the last of the color drained from his vision, he distantly felt something touch his shoulder.
Adjudication
Blinding light. Eric recoiled, blinking the tears out of his eyes. Penlight. Man. Coat. Doctor. Bright. Too bright.
“Back with us?” the man asked. Receiving no answer, he continued, “Do you know your name?” The man paused and sighed. “No? I thought as much. Do you remember me at all?”
Eric pursed his lips.
“No? I suppose that’s expected as well.” The man harrumphed and began to speak slowly. Eric struggled to keep up. “I’m Doctor Barnes. Eight hours ago you were exposed to vacuum. You lost consciousness. The process leading up to that moment aggravated a brain injury from your past. Do you understand?”
Eric nodded weakly.
“We’ve done what we can for you, but there will be lasting effects. Short-term weakness and nausea are normal. Whatever you’ve lost memory-wise should come back on its own in due time. Expect that to take months or potentially longer. Every person is different. There is a chance, however small, considering the locations and severity of the brain injury that some memories may not come back.
“Before we brought you back, we administered a few medications, anti-anxiety mostly, that should help you transition. You may feel quite groggy for the next few hours. Combined with the after effects of the injury, you may not feel quite like yourself. While some level of nausea is expected, seek medical attention for any sudden migraines, vomiting. Also, avoid narcotics and alcohol for at least the next month and anything that raises your blood pressure for as long as possible. Any questions?”
Eric numbly shook his head and the doctor helped him to his feet. Someone in pale blue motioned to him to follow. Eric shuffled after them to an adjoining room where two men waited. He found himself fidgeting with the zipper on the orange coveralls he wore as the nurse spoke with the men. The woman in blue told him the men were here to take him somewhere.
As Eric nodded and tried to thank the nurse, one of the two men fit him with handcuffs. Moving as quickly as his teetering gait could manage, Eric barely kept up with the two men. They stopped by an elevator.
Eric looked up and noticed a sign overhead, placed to be seen by those exiting the elevator. Pointing the way they had come, an arrow proclaimed the way to ship’s medical. Below that an arrow pointed the same way for “Detention Block Access, Restricted Area.” Eric mulled those words over as they waited. In dribs and drabs small details came back to him. A thought coalesced when he looked down at his orange coveralls.
I’m a prisoner. Wait, why aren’t we going to the prison?
“Guys, where are we going?” he asked.
One of his escorts looked over at him, “The nurse wasn’t kidding, Felix, this guy must’ve taken one huge hit to the head. He doesn’t remember shit.”
“Buddy,” the second one said, “We’re taking you up to Judicial. Your trial is today.”
“Oh.”
Footsteps approached and he saw a woman in black with a black duffle bag over one shoulder and a smaller metallic case in one hand.
Do I know her? I feel I should know her.
His escorts snapped to attention and saluted the new arrival.
“Carry on, marines,” the woman
said and nodded to them as she dropped her duffle to wait with them.
I know that voice. He stared at the black coat over black coveralls as his escorts showed him in and hit a button. White. White coat, she should be wearing a white coat. Doctor... Doctor…
Eric’s mouth spoke on its own accord, “Doctor who?”
The woman looked over at him. Several emotions played across her face before settling into something friendlier than the rest. She cleared her throat before saying, “Isaacs. Doctor Isaacs.”
“I know you from somewhere.” Her expression didn’t change as he looked at her face. “Your eyes. Did you know they’re the same color as,” he trailed off, looking for the words.
“Ferram’s Reach?” she offered as everyone shuffled in.
“Yeah, that’s it, Thanks, sorry, I--the doctor told me I’m going to have issues with my memory for a while. How’d you know I was going to say that?”
“Somebody I knew told me that before. They were just trying to get on my good side.” She cleared her throat again.
“Oh. That’s shitty,” Eric sympathized. “Still, they were right. Have you ever been there?”
Coldly, she replied, “No, that’s a good distance outside of Protectorate space. Have you?”
Eric frowned. He shrugged as he said, “I’m not sure. I think so? I had to at some point, I guess. I can’t remember much about it other than the star was this gorgeous blue. No, I have been there. I remember I could watch it for hours. The shifting corona gave the color so much depth. I think all the blues reminded me of somewhere. Home, I think. I can’t remember home either.”
Her lips curved downward ever so slightly and a chime announced the elevator’s arrival.
“That’s sad. Did your doctor say how long it would take to get your memory back?” she asked as crewmen filed out of the elevator.
“He said it could take years, if it comes back at all. There’s so much I can’t remember. I can remember remembering, but not, uh, the remembering directly. I think.” They shuffled aboard the elevator. “I know they think I did something bad,” he nodded to his escorts, “I can’t remember what it was, but I’m pretty sure they kill people for it around here.” Eric nearly missed the softening of her features before a mask of indifference smothered everything. Two people in light blue coveralls stepped into the elevator as the doors started to close.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to work on getting your memory back,” she told him.
“I hope so,” Eric said as the elevator stopped and the late arrivals stepped out. Her duffle bag caught his attention and his head throbbed. Snippets of garbled memory babbled at him. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
“What?” she asked.
“You got fired? Yeah. Something I did got you fired. I’m so sorry.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not exactly how it happened. Don’t worry about it, my next assignment is a lot closer to what I cut my teeth on. Should be a lot more fulfilling.”
“Oh, what’s that?”
“Iterative design.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened. The marines parted for her as she hefted her bags. Doctor Isaacs glanced back before the doors closed. “For what it’s worth, Eric, it was nothing personal.”
As his escorts visibly relaxed they shared glances then looked at him for several long seconds as the elevator rose.
“Wow,” the marine on the left breathed.
“What?” Eric asked.
“Been on the Shrike since it left Engleston last year, buddy. That woman was the commanding officer for detention and interrogation.”
The other marine nodded and continued, “Stone-cold killer, like ‘strap her own family down and pry off finger-nails.’ This is the first I think anybody’s seen her act like a normal person.” The first marine nodded.
They rode the rest of the trip in silence. When they stepped out into a passageway crowded with security and manacled prisoners Eric was still trying to figure out what was nothing personal. The marines walked him over to a collection of security personnel.
“Handing you off to the bailiffs,” the marine told him as his comrade talked to security. Eric winced as his head started pounding.
Two bailiffs came over and the more overweight of the two asked, “Prisoner Eighty-Seven?”
Eric gave them a confused look.
“Eric Friedrich?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Just got out of medical--”
“Don’t care,” the other one cut him off.
Jerks.
“Hey, we have eighty-seven here, which court?” the impatient one said aloud.
“Thanks. Jeb, courtroom three.”
As they led him away, his headache worsened and Eric realized something about the lighting aggravated it. Eyes mostly closed, he followed them into courtroom three.
“Sit here until you’re called,” impatient one told him. After Eric sat, the bailiff looped a chain around his handcuffs. Eric sighed and closed his eyes.
Maybe a short nap would help? I should have almost an hour left.
“Do you understand the nature of the charges brought against you?”
Eric jerked awake and blearily looked up. He was shackled to a chair in what looked like a small auditorium. A low railing separated his seating area from a single table that sat before a raised platform. Several seconds passed before he realized this was a court room.
The hell? What happened?
Eric looked about before remembering his arrival. Heart beating fiercely, he focused on calming himself. Two men sat at the low table, a man in a suit and another in orange coveralls. The man in coveralls stood.
“I do,” he replied to the man in black behind the bench on the platform.
“Your plea has been considered and we have reviewed your case. Under the authority entrusted to me as Judicar, I pronounce you guilty. The sentence for trafficking in the quantity and type of goods you were found with is death, to be carried out immediately. Bailiff, next prisoner.”
The man slumped and began to blubber as he was led away from the table and through an archway to the judicar’s left. No one in the courtroom seemed to react to the pulse of an energy rifle seconds later.
Someone grabbed his shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Stunned disbelief kept his mouth shut as he was led to the table and forcefully put into the seat.
“Prisoner Eighty-Seven, one Eric Friedrich?” the judicar asked.
Eric swallowed and awkwardly stood. “Yes, your honor.”
“You stand before the court accused of piracy. The Naval provost has chosen to drop the charge of murder in the first degree. Do you understand the charges brought against you?”
Wait, piracy?
The man next to him cleared his throat and stood.
“The Public Defender has further motions for consideration?” the judicar asked.
“I do, your honor. The Naval Provost moves for a continuance,” the lawyer replied.
The man’s cheap suit tugged at a memory. Eric briefly smelled coffee before a vague recollection surfaced. Tomas, his public defender. Eric squinted at the judicar and then at his lawyer. Wait, why is my lawyer making motions for the Provost? The judicar nodded and Eric noticed the corpulent man shimmered momentarily when he moved.
“On what grounds, councilor?”
“Exigent circumstances, your honor. The accused has been inaccessible for the bulk of his incarceration, making a proper debrief impossible.”
The judicar frowned and looked down at the bench, “According to your records, you had open access to him for almost three weeks total, is that correct?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“And in that time you were unable to obtain sufficient evidence of this man’s guilt?”
“Not entirely.”
“Councilor, either the accused is guilty or he is not. Either you have evidence to the same or you do not. I am awfully curious why I should allow you to waste more of the P
ublic’s treasury. Motion denied. Anything else?”
“The Naval Provost moves for extra-judicial isolation, securitatem publicam.”
A sudden stream of blue light illuminated the judicar’s shocked face as a robed figure materialized next to the bench. The figure flickered for several moments before color bled through.
Holograms.
“The Senior Judiciary grants the motion,” the new figure pronounced and vanished as fast as it appeared.
The judicar frowned. “I see you briefed the Senior Judiciary, Councilor. Well played. Eric Friedrich, for the charges of piracy this court finds you not guilty. Under orders of the Senior Judiciary, you are to be remanded to the Navy who will transport you to where you are to be held in exile until such a time as the threat you present to the public has passed. All items inventoried at the time of your arrest are to be returned to you in their original form. Bailiff, next prisoner.”
Eric turned to Tomas, confused.
“What?” the lawyer said.
“I thought you said you were my legal counsel?”
“Not your counsel, Eric. The counsel. Words mean things. Enjoy your exile, pirate.” Tomas smiled.
“Fuck you,” Eric spat as the bailiff dragged him toward the archway where two marines waited. Goddamnit, it figures. Pascal was right. Lies all the way down. All of it.
“Mr. Friedrich, we have a tight schedule if we’re to transfer you to the Relentless before it departs. Please follow me.”
Quarantine
As his marine escort promised, the schedule had little margin for delay. At the out-processing center, Eric listened to his escorts wheedle the administrative clerks multiple times as their deadline neared. When a hurried clerk finally presented a case containing his suit, the man tripped over his words apologizing for the absence of suit’s undergarment.
By Dawn's Early Light Page 11