April 8: It's Always Something

by Mackey Chandler

"Was the fellow I...killed, your subject?" Kurt asked. Would that make things harder for him? It was hard to even make himself say it. It didn't seem quite real.

  "No, he was a contractor to a land holder who is a subject. But a homicide in any form is a concern to me. All law regulates killing. Note I wasn't quick to say murder. My man said there were threats. I will give you a chance to explain yourself, and try to assure me most especially that you aren't a continuing threat to anyone. Do you wish to have us call witnesses to observe your trial?" Heather offered.

  Dakota came forward and spoke softly to Heather. She seemed very interested.

  "A moment, I have video I want to review and an audio recording."

  "You record in the cafeteria?" Kurt asked. There was a definite note of disapproval there, though he expected a security camera. Spacers were offended by blanket audio recording.

  "We have a couple cameras pointed from different angles, but no, we don't record audio. The man you killed had a pad recording in his pocket and it was still running when they received his body at the clinic," Heather explained.

  Kurt looked confused. "I can't imagine why he'd want to do that."

  "Perhaps his masters don't trust him and required it," Dakota volunteered.

  Kurt shut up because Heather had donned earphones to hear the recording privately. It seemed a very bad idea to interrupt. She was looking at a pad too, so they must have synced it for her already.

  When she finished she looked at him again, differently. A mask of neutrality had descended over Heather's face. Dakota however looked frankly distressed.

  "I hear him using your sister as a threat," Heather said. "That's clear. But he isn't really explicit what pressure they would bring to bear on her if you fail to work for him. Obviously you felt threatened, but he seems completely unprepared for your reaction. Don't get me wrong, I'm quite glad you didn't agree to spy for him. Although I wish we had him alive to interrogate. I'm trying to determine in my own mind if the threat he presented was credible and if your response was...proportional. Do you want to review the recording yourself?"

  "I've barely stopped shaking," Kurt admitted. "It would upset me too much to watch it. Believe me, every word he said is etched in my memory forever."

  "Let me back up a moment. Do you want me to call witnesses for this trial?" Heather asked.

  "Witnesses? Not jurors?" Kurt asked. "Or do you mean people who saw what happened? I've always heard eye witnesses aren't very reliable. You have full recordings so what could they add?"

  "No, I'll make the final decisions," Heather explained. "All my hearings are posted to the local net for public viewing, but that's far too late for most people to have any input. If we have an audience they may advise me on the appropriateness of my justice. Be assured I've had some very strong advice from both subjects and peers on both the effect of crime on their community and whether punishment served any purpose. I may reject it, but I'm willing to hear public opinion."

  Kurt sat silent a moment and thought about that. She didn't punish dissenters?

  "You seem to doubt the...seriousness of the threat made to me and my sister. You haven't lived in North America, or anywhere on Earth have you?" Kurt asked.

  "No, I've visited Earth as a tourist, but in relatively remote areas, and as a guest," Heather admitted.

  "Then please, see if you can find somebody to advise you who has lived in North America recently. They will understand everything threatened by what Mr. King said."

  Heather consulted with Dakota and both used their pads. The table at which she sat had no built in com gear. It surprised Kurt it was actually wood. He was pretty sure it wasn't fake.

  "We have two people who have lived in North America recently, and two who came to us from Armstrong, which is under North American rule," Heather told Kurt. "Another possible witness is in a rover too far out to join us. These four will be with us in no more than fifteen minutes. One of them is your supervisor Mo Pennington. Do you have any objection he might be biased from knowing you too intimately?"

  "Not at all. I get along with Mo fine. He seems to have his head screwed on straight," Kurt said.

  "I'm sending Dakota to my quarters to bring coffee. Would you like a cup while we wait?"

  Not the cafeteria? Kurt noted, surprised, but said nothing. He quickly accepted. It would be interesting to see what the ruler drank. But he kept feeling ripped back and forth between feeling she was ready to convict him of murder or absolve him. Her signals, or lack of them, was confusing.

  "What the hell?" Kurt said and tried to jump up, but felt dizzy quickly and sat back down hard.

  "What's wrong?" Dakota asked, worried. Her hand went to her gun easily.

  "I saw what looked like a tremendous huge spider go behind the other bench there," Kurt said. He was already upset and wondered briefly if he was hallucinating from the stress.

  "Sorry," Heather said, embarrassed. "We have a couple small security robots we're testing, that patrol the administrative cubic to keep out other tiny drones and spy bots. They usually avoid being seen. We haven't mentioned them publicly until we see how they work out. If they are released in the full public spaces then of course we'll have to tell everyone."

  Kurt just nodded, rattled again all over.

  When the coffee arrived he wasn't offered cream or sugar. Apparently they both took it black and didn't keep the condiments on hand. Perhaps didn't even think about needing them. He took a sip and tried not to peer around the room looking for the creepy little bot.

  Kurt was halfway through the best American style coffee he'd had in years when the first witness arrived. He didn't recognize the man, and he still had on a paper isolation suit over his clothing. Chances were he was involved in the new enterprise of raising plants. He took a seat at the bench against the wall and didn't have any questions. Kurt noticed he wasn't offered coffee.

  Mo, Kurt's section boss, came in and frowned when his eyes fell on the bandages. Kurt hadn't even started to worry about what he was going to do if they didn't put him against a wall and shoot him. It was just a temporary bandage and a blood clotting pad held against it by a sterile ball that looked very much like a tennis ball. The whole thing was covered with a huge pad and about ten times as much tape as he'd have used. It looked bulky and he'd have trouble, dressing and eating even after they reduced the size of the bandage and sealed it up . No way it was going inside a suit glove any time soon. The doc had told him he needed to do some minor surgery before he closed it up permanently. Unless they tossed him out the airlock first.

  The next two people to come in were dressed casually. Kurt suspected they were office workers, until Heather introduced them by name and indicated the fellow in the paper suit was a biologist recently from Bangladesh, the two in casual clothes, a man and a woman, were scientists who had defected from Armstrong. The man obviously hadn't had any Life Extension Therapy, a fact Kurt was surprised how easily he recognized now.

  Kurt noticed the precise word Heather used about them too...defected. That seemed a plus for his side of things. It struck Kurt that all of them were considerably over his pay grade and probably his social class. As much as spacers seemed to have any social classes. A research scientist certainly made more money than a prep cook. As much as money could ever substitute for class.

  Heather showed them all the video with the audio synced to it, explaining the origins, but stopped it after the shot of Greg King's face, frozen on his smug expression as soon as his words about Kurt's sister were out of his mouth. She didn't show them his attack, which was fair, since that wasn't pertinent to evaluating the threat implied.

  "Do you have that son of a bitch in custody?" The male scientist asked.

  Heather hesitated, and then answered that they did. It was true after a fashion.

  "Then I vote you hang him," Mo said with a snarl.

  Heather was shocked not only at the suggestion but at the expressions on their faces which ranged from sullen to actively hostile.
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  "Mo, you're an engineer. You should know hanging at Lunar gravity isn't practical," Heather said.

  "So it might take a few days," Mo said. "That's a feature not a bug."

  The female scientist was slowly nodding agreement with a smile that wasn't pretty.

  "Why?" Heather demanded of them. "Enlighten me on why this upsets you so."

  "We've lived it," the woman scientist said. "His sister might just be arrested and never seen again. Her work mates and family would have no idea if she was alive, or tortured and buried. Or they might just inform her bosses she wasn't dependable. Once she was denounced she'd never have a legitimate job again. No agency would ever manage to finish the paper work if she applied for help, being jobless and homeless. She might find something to survive, day work off the books, picking vegetables or prostitution perhaps. She might suicide which still serves as a lesson to others. I still worry what I may have unleashed on my cousins in North America by defecting. If they could even find them."

  "Why do you think we came here rather than go back to the Slum Ball?" the male said.

  "They tried to blackmail me when I first came up," Mo said. "I thought you knew that story. Unless Jeff didn't want to explain the whole filthy thing to you in detail. Maybe not the same faction of the same government, but they all have a sameness about how they operate. I don't expect it to improve any time soon. I've heard there are still a few places that aren't so bad, Switzerland and a few other small European enclaves. Japan is the same as always if that's your thing, but it's still not welcoming to outsiders. Australia and some of the islands still seem civilized enough, but most of the Slum Ball has gone just as bad as China has been now for years and years." He thought about it, and added: "I don't know if Africa has ever been anything but a mess."

  "We have Mr. King's body in custody," Heather finally admitted, feeling she would be deceptive to hide that from them. "Kurt Bowman killed him immediately after he threatened his sister. It's with regard to that killing I'm making a judgment today."

  "Give him a medal," Mo said. "I'll design one if you haven't got around to such things yet."

  Heather didn't address that suggestion.

  "I've heard enough to render a decision," she announced, rattled at their vehemence a little. "Mr. Bowman, you have a choice. You can accept my justice, or if you fear facing it you may refuse it and face expulsion. Anyone who has rejected my justice is unwelcome at Central in the future. You may leave for anywhere you please, but I gather from your situation that North America is not somewhere you'd want to see again. Armstrong is under their law, and frankly there may be other issues with Armstrong in the near future. I'd be remiss if I didn't warn you, it may not be a safe haven even if you had no problems under North American law."

  Kurt glanced at the witnesses, and none of them seemed surprised at her warning.

  "You may leave if you choose," Heather allowed, "but where is none of my concern, beyond your heading there as quickly as commercial transport makes practical. If you leave for Home my understanding is you are unlikely to find accommodations, even temporary ones such as a hotel room, so you should plan on passing through Home with another habitat or Earth nation as a final destination.

  "If you subject yourself to my judgment it will be enforced without delay. I may decide anything from letting you walk out the door without any censure at all, to public execution. I may impose conditions or just make suggestions. This is an issue of my sovereignty, so we shall consider it independently of your status over this homicide. What is your desire in this matter?" she asked sternly.

  Kurt really wished Heather was more readable. Her face had been a mask of neutrality since looking at the video. If it was Dakota deciding he'd run, because she was horrified at the video. There was the favorable testimony on the one hand from the witnesses, that there was a credible threat. And he had limited funds and places he could reach. His job prospects anywhere he went were also uncertain, but he was wagering his life. He'd hate to play poker with this young woman, much less a game of bet-your-life.

  The pistol laying close to hand on her table suggested she not only meant what she said, but might carry out a capital sentence right where he stood. Should he ask for mercy? Or would that just suggest he'd done something wrong for which he needed forgiveness?

  "May I make a short statement before saying yes or no?" Kurt asked.

  "Certainly," Heather agreed.

  "I regret killing the man, as a practical thing. At the instant I acted I felt threatened. My chest was tight with terror. I'd just gone to a lot of trouble to get away from people like him. And then there he was, right in my face, here, where I felt safe.

  "I have one more question. Have you ever been in my position? Have you ever killed someone and had to worry about being punished, or at least how people would regard you over it?" His eyes tellingly went to the pistol on the table.

  "I haven't aimed at a man and pulled the trigger," Heather admitted. "But I've directed an artillery strike and told my gunner to fire. I've ordered missiles launched to kill a vessel and conduct bombardments. I take full responsibility for having said fire, the same as if I pressed the button."

  That satisfied Kurt. "Then I will subject myself to your justice."

  Heather gathered herself, but didn't hold him in suspense too long. "I declare your homicide self defense. One has a right to defend not only yourself, but family and country. It is considered honorable many places to defend a home in which you are shown hospitality. Therefore I thank you for removing an agent, a spy, from our midst."

  Kurt let out a sigh he wasn't aware he was holding.

  "That said...Your response was excessive, and not well thought out. However, I find its very excess proof of innocence. You did not plan this attack. It was obviously a visceral response. One should not push another into a corner without considering the possibility they have been pushed too far. Have you had any training in fighting or the martial arts?" Heather inquired.

  "No Ma'am...uh, Heather. I haven't struck anyone since I bloodied a fellow's nose in elementary school. We both got a month off and assigned to alternate classes for that. I've never owned or fired a weapon either. Not even when I worked on Home. I stuck mostly to the workers cafeteria and recreation area and didn't socialize much with the Homies."

  "There is no judgment or fine against you," Heather said. "We do not have any sort of dojo, even an informal one at Central. However you said you intend to go back to Home and I know they do have a group that meets. I strongly suggest you seek to join whatever group exists when you return and seek instruction. Such arts are always centered around self discipline. It may keep you from reacting badly another time, when there is no guarantee you will be found blameless."

  "I'm quite willing to do that," Kurt promised.

  "Neither can I shield you from all the consequences of your actions," Heather warned. "Some of the people who witnessed your attack are going to be afraid of you. I won't release the video to the public net. It's entirely too brutal for a public document. Some may decide not to socialize with you. They have freedom of association and what they do outside their job duties is their own business. There is even a remote possibility North America may target you if they find out what happened to their agent. Keep all those things in mind."

  "What are you going to do with the agent?" Kurt asked. He couldn't bring himself to say body.

  "My friends on Home have had a similar situation before, and all they got was abuse for the courtesy of returning the fellow. This one is simply going to disappear. If you don't mention him again, we won't either," Heather promised.

  "No Ma'am. That works for me."

  "We are concluded then," Heather said, not to them, but to Dakota. She dismissed them.

  Chapter 11

  "You hurting very badly?" Mo asked.

  "More an occasional twinge," Kurt assured him. "They have a nerve stimulator on it that senses when it hurts and injects a message to counter it. Sort of lik
e wearing noise cancelling headphones. I just get a quick pin prick now and then, and it disappears almost as soon as I notice it."

  "Can you drive?" Mo asked. "I mean, a manual control vehicle? I have a truck that needs to be driven to Armstrong and there's no reason it can't be done one handed. If you're alert. It runs most of the way on auto but you need to drive it to dock or wait in a queue if they are backed up. You aren't taking any drugs for the pain?"

  "No, just some Naproxen. Nothing you wouldn't take on your own for a headache." Kurt was just glad he was all business, and wasn't interrogating him about the killing. Heather hadn't made the video public, but she'd shown Mo the rest of the video she'd started to show at the trial. He was the main supervisor to Kurt, so she figured he deserved a full report. Mo kept that to himself.

  "I've never driven a truck though. Not even a pickup truck. I've driven several kinds of cars, if that's sufficient. I've never pulled a trailer behind a car either. I understand it can be hard to back them up."

  "No problem," Mo assured him. "This is a straight truck, not articulated. It's a little wider than an Earth car, but you can see the edges and it has a back-up camera. It has a heads up screen to route you, and when you get there it will overlay where to park or wait."

  "Do I need to get a license?" Kurt worried.

  Mo gave him a remorseful look. "It's pretty simple to drive a vehicle on a road. I suppose if we start having too many accidents they might start a private driver certification process, like getting a pilot's ticket. But that's not a government license."

  "Oh, sorry. Earth Think creeping in," Kurt said, and grimaced. "Where do I report?"

  "I'll send the routing to your pad. Also, Security requests you run video on your spex the whole trip, door to door," Mo requested. "If you don't want it on your own set they'll give you a pair to wear."

  "That's no problem. I have lots of open memory, and can download it to them when I get back. Do you know what they're looking for?" Kurt asked.

  "I'm not sure they know what they're looking for," Mo said. "But there are signs they are militarizing Armstrong again. Anybody visiting is being asked to record their visit. Where they're getting enough people to analyze it all is another question I don't know. But it's not my problem as long as they aren't stealing my people to do it."