by Tom Shepherd
“I see the unbelievers are here on behalf of the accused.” Advocate Erizond expanded her head fin politely, without emotion.
J.B. cut to the chase. “Where is your son, Advocate?”
Erizond’s head fin tittered, as if caught by surprise. “He accepted a call to serve on Sacred Adao.”
“How long is the assignment?”
“For the duration of the Hunt.”
“I see,” J.B. said. “Very convenient.”
Her eyes darted to passersby. “The penance will purify his soul.”
“They didn’t consult you.”
“No.”
“Can you bring him back?” J.B. asked.
“It is beyond my power.”
J.B. stepped closer. J.B. stepped closer. “Did they threaten Lox?”
Her head fin rose majestically. “I pray always that justice may prevail. This is the courtroom you are seeking, I believe. Now, please excuse me.” Erizond tipped her fin and proceeded down the corridor.
“She wants us to win,” Suzie said.
“Not enough to intervene.”
“They might kill Lox,” Suzie said. “Or both of them.”
J.B. checked his wristband. “Ready to bust into court and charge the government with obstruction of justice? This could get hazardous.”
“You’re the organic. They can’t hurt me.”
J.B. and Suzie paraded into the Judgment Court of the Supreme Council of Pontiffs and sat in the gallery. Since they were scheduled on the official docket, J.B. waited until called and went forward to face the four-judge panel seated at a long table. Suzie positioned herself slightly behind J.B.’s shoulder to render his words in Suryadivan Standard.
“Reverend Lords, I present my prayer for dismissal of charges against my cousin, Esteban Solorio.”
The jurist on the right spoke first. Suzie whispered the name on his holographic nameplate—Father Claudik. From the round face and creaseless forehead, he might have been the panel’s youngest member. Claudik flipped his head fin contemptuously.
“Attorney Matthews has no standing to argue before this court.”
Another justice murmured, “Aye, aye, aye.”
“We claim the right of legal reciprocity, recognized by all civilized star faring nations. Our Corporation has practiced contract law with your government for a century. The Alpha Site Easement, for example—”
Claudik snorted, snapping his head fin. “That precedent does not apply to criminal proceedings.”
The judge on the far left flapped his head fin at his colleagues. He was heavier and older. The ruddy skin on his face had faded to the dull red of an old brick building. Webbed, wrinkled hands and taut wrists displayed themselves at the sleeves of his robe. Even his head fin lacked the sturdiness of younger Suryadivans topsails.
“He is Meister Vorak,” Suzie whispered in Terran. “A legal icon.”
“Claudik, you are mistaken,” Meister Vorak said. “Matthews Interstellar has longstanding rights to access the Suryadivan legal system as trade representatives of the Terran Commonwealth. This applies to civil, religious, and criminal cases.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” J.B. said. “However, I am not presenting a legal argument but a religious petition.”
“Upon what spiritual principle rests your prayer to this venerable court?” the old judge said.
Suzie spoke softly to J.B. in Terran. “Try arguing, ‘Justice for the innocent.’” J.B. nodded, and she rendered it in Suryadivan.
“Counselor, how do we know your cousin is, in fact, innocent?” Meister Vorak said. “The arresting officials declare the human, Esteban Solorio, was talking with his Suryadivan victim, Lox Aspi, before Greeter Lox fell from the roof of your Trade Embassy. There appear to be witnesses to the alleged crime.”
J.B. felt his temperature rising. His mind became clearer with every increased decibel of argument. The Bear was stirring in his den.
“Lox Aspi is alive today, Reverend Meister, because another human leaped from the building—at great risk to her safety—and caught the Greeter before he splattered on the sidewalk.” Energy surged sharply now. He prayed to control the Bear once it appeared. “Amazingly, Yumiko Matsuda’s heroism was ignored by the Religious Police, who arrested her for wearing anti-gravity shoes. Is that not against the principles of divine justice?”
The justices buzzed among themselves, and Claudik reported haughtily that the problem has been corrected. “Your Investigator Yumiko was released this morning.”
“We send thanks to her for the heroic act which saved our citizen,” Meister Vorak said.
J.B. smiled. Way to go, Demarcus.
“Nonetheless, you cannot argue innocence on behalf of the perpetrator,” Claudik said. “Esteban Solorio did not leap off the roof after his victim.”
“Aye, aye, aye.”
“Señor Solorio is a man of impeccable character and piety, but he cannot fly.” J.B. was now fully awake and flexing his legal claws, praying he could control the Ursus Dormiens energy rising within him. “Could a godly man like Esteban Solorio—who studied for the Roman Catholic priesthood—hurl a broken-hearted soul off a roof?”
“We do not recognize the piety of aliens as precedent for good character,” Claudik sneered.
“That is regrettable,” J.B. said. “We respect yours.”
“Broken-hearted, you say?” Meister Vorak repeated.
“Yes, Reverend Meister. We have evidence Lox Aspi was not a victim. He attempted suicide.”
“Suicide? Preposterous! What evidence?” Claudik said.
“Our personnel wear communication bracelets when going ashore.” J.B. raised his arm to show the silver band. “To access data resources of our ship and remain in contact with other members of the shore party.”
“How is this relevant to the assassination attempt on Lox Aspi?” Claudik said impatiently.
The Bear prowled around his prey, looking for an avenue of attack. The only option meant extreme risk. He knew exactly what Lox’s final words were before the young man jumped. “Damn the Supreme Council of Pontiffs and High Priests. Damn everyone who seeks immortality through the suffering of others. My religion is built on selfish cruelty. Damn them all.”
The presenting problem was how to weaponize that information without it blowing up in J.B.’s face. He settled on the oldest strategy of the legal profession: Tell the truth, but not the whole truth. The truly dangerous parts he needed to imply without disclosing, or he would be arrested by this theocratic court as a purveyor of ungodliness.
“For safety and later review, the Main Library Computer of our ship records all conversations. We have files aboard the Patrick Henry containing the precise words of Señor Solorio and Lox Aspi. The recordings show Esteban tried to calm the Greeter until the moment he jumped.”
“And you have the full text of his remarks?” Meister Vorak said.
“Yes, Your Honor.” J.B.’s eyes swept the row of judges. “Reverend Lords, I am prepared to release Lox Aspi’s exact words, which frankly are quite incendiary, if you feel it is necessary to demonstrate Esteban’s lack of culpability.”
J.B. was fishing, because he had no idea what Lox’s angry ramblings meant. The judges shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Meister Vorak shook his head fin in a quivering, stop-and-go pattern, which Suzie reported as a nonverbal linguistic device signaling disapproval, but not about what J.B. had said. The spoken equivalent to Vorak’s gesture was, “I told you so.”
The Bear’s confidence grew steadily. He owned this forest. “I believe the public will find the Greeter’s critical words about certain religious practices disturbing but credible.”
“The public does not sit on this judiciary,” Claudik said. “You are making the case against Esteban Solorio more serious by slanderous accusations about heresy in high places. You tread dangerously close to blasphemy, Counselor.”
“Reverend Lords, they are Lox Aspi’s words, not mine. You can decide for yourselves what it mean
s.”
Claudik leaned forward, his head fin straight up. “And you expect us to believe manufactured lies from an alien information system over the testimony of our citizen?”
J.B. suppressed a grin. Way to go, you dumb sonuvabitch. Got you now. “Excellent point, Reverend Lord—I accept your challenge.”
“Challenge? What challenge?”
Out came the claws. “To hear from Greeter Lox Aspi in person, so he can substantiate or refute our claims in court. The alleged victim surely knows what was said and done.”
“That is not our procedure,” Claudik said, clearly taken aback by his blunder.
J.B. gestured to the crowded courtroom. “Don’t you think the citizens of your Sacred Protectorate would be interested to hear him? Was Greeter Lox, or was he not, driven to suicidal despair by the offenses against Suryadivan religion by certain impious figures in the high circles of power?”
Now the previously quiet crowd murmured, prompting Meister Vorak to raise his head fin and flap at them. Silence returned.
“Greeter Lox is unavailable,” Meister Vorak said.
J.B. managed to look worried. “Has he fallen ill? I will pray for his recovery.”
“Lox Aspi is not sick!” Claudik said. “He has taken a sabbatical to attend the Sacred Hunt on Adao.”
Vorak shot the younger judge a look that said, in the nonverbals of any culture, “Shut up, fool. You’re volunteering too much information.”
“I demand the right to question Lox Aspi,” J.B. said. “Let me answer the challenge of Reverend Lord Claudik. Who knows? The Greeter might prove me wrong in this temple of righteous judgment.”
“You may bring him before us after his sabbatical ends,” the Meister said. “In seventeen days.”
“Reverend Lords, Esteban’s case comes before you in nine days. I therefore request a continuance until such time as the government produces their key witness.”
“Request denied,” Claudik said. “It is a matter of invariable law. Ten days to trial, followed by execution of sentence the next sunrise.”
“Even if the result is a travesty of justice?”
“Regardless of facts later assembled, if this infallible court of the Forty-Six gods has pronounced guilt, no injustice is possible,” Claudik said.
“Bloody fundamentalists,” Suzie muttered in Terran. “I know what’s true; don’t bother me with evidence.”
J.B. spoke to Suzie. “Tell them we appreciate the ruling of this honorable court and shall return in nine days for Esteban’s trial. Don’t elaborate.”
She delivered his message, then translated J.B.’s closing statement of praise and appreciation, and the judges’ dignified responses as the stylized language of the Suryadivan courtroom processed toward the next case.
As they exited the courtroom, Suzie leaned closer and micro-projected a whisper to J.B.’s ear alone. “We’re going to Adao, aren’t we?”
He nodded. “Getting more probable every minute.”
But what amazed J.B. most was the complete control he had exercised over the Bear within. Power without explosion. It was almost as if his Ursus Dormiens was not there anymore. But that wasn’t possible.
Twenty-Six
Tyler and Rosalie, still carrying Lulu-Lucy, found their way to the extensive public transportation decks under the skirts of the Gobikan to wait for the first available hover car. He contacted J.B. and learned they were still wrapping up post-court administrative details.
“Go ahead without us,” J.B. said. “We’ll be there before suppertime.”
“Good. I need time to prepare for tonight’s hearing.”
“Be safe,” J.B. said. “Take care of baby Sister.”
Rosalie broke in. “Hey, I heard that! The only baby on this trip is a shape-shifter.”
J.B. laughed. “Just be safe.”
“Will do. See you back at the barn.” Tyler closed the link, but it buzzed immediately. He tapped the Answer icon. “J.B., I told you we’ll be safe.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, Counselor.” It was Demarcus Platte. “I’m awaiting the discharge paperwork for Yumiko, to make sure they don’t turn around and arrest her again. Where are you?”
“Heading back to the Patrick Henry with Rosalie and Lulu.”
“No, you’re not. Do not enter a vehicle until I’m available to clear it.”
“Not necessary,” Tyler said. “Finish your admin work. Bring Yumiko home a free woman. We’ll be okay.”
“Damnit, Boss—”
“We’ve already boarded an empty floater cab. It’s a new one. Picked at random from the thousands drifting in and out of here. What are the odds?”
“Get out.”
“Too late. We’re moving.”
“Check the registration date.”
“Jeez, man. You worry too much.”
“You pay me to worry.”
“We’re okay. See you back at the Henry.” He closed the link and blocked incoming calls.
Rosalie and Lulu-Lucy slid into the front seat, which faced backward toward the bench where Tyler slumped. Apparently designed for group conferences en route, it was a downsized version of the craft that ferried them to the Gobikan. The cab had wide, clear windows around and above, promising excellent views of the city on the way home. Rosalie handed him the sleeping Lulu-Lucy while she entered their destination in the Suryadivan language’s Sawn-Zhu logographs.
As the car slipped noiselessly away from the sheltered transit deck, Tyler slid across the smooth bench seat, raised an armrest, and took in the towering spires through bulbous windows. So, this is what a goldfish in a flying bowl felt like. The shuttle cruised a programmed route ten meters above streets and tree-lined boulevards, which were crowded with surface traffic and pedestrians. The skimmers were stratified in layers to thin the traffic, so they passed only the occasional auto-floater cruising this level. Other vehicles whisked across the ceiling panes. The headrest cradled his neck, and he relaxed, feeling safe above the chaos of an alien metropolis. An odd urge arose to wave at the alien peasants below. He was a prince of the city returning from victory in battle. Or at least a princely goldfish.
Finished with her task, Rosalie entered another command, which brought a frown. “Hey, Ty? The registration indicates this floater has been in service two days.”
“So, we drew a brand-new ride. Lucky us.”
“I’m calling Inspector Platte.”
“Don’t bother him. We’re safe.”
“Let your security chief decide,” Rosalie said.
When she told him about the new vehicle, Demarcus barked, “Get out of that car.”
“What’s wrong?” Tyler's finger nails dug into the armrest. Did his royal coach just became a hearse?
“Don’t argue—get the fuck out, now!”
“We’re still moving.”
“Jump.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Do I sound like I’m shitting you, Boss? Jump, now!”
Buildings whisked past and the street was a blur below. Tyler pressed his finger to the alien script on the dash board.
“Rosalie, where’s the emergency—?”
“There! Bold logo-squares above a clear panel. Blue button.”
He tried to pry the cover plate free, then balled his fist, shattered the glass, and finger-jabbed the button. Nothing happened. Tyler pressed again. Still nothing!
Rosalie pointed at the alien picture-blocks. "Three times! It says, ‘Hit three times, fast!’”
His hand bled from broken glass, but Tyler mashed the button thrice. Alarms blared. The cab hatch blew out like a pressurized door in space. The shapeshifter—asleep on the bench seat and still in the form of a human child—awoke with a squeal, leapt into Rosalie’s lap, and clung to her neck like a baby monkey. The vehicle lurched to a stop, and Tyler looked down at a public green belt edged by tall trees. At least two stories, and they had no anti-grav shoes, which God-knows-why were illegal here.
Rosalie’s ey
es steadied. “We gotta jump, Ty.”
“Oh, Christ.”
Tyler glanced at his kid sister. His mind flashed to explaining what happened under Mother’s withering glare—if they survived.
Rosalie placed Lulu-Lucy on the floor. “Can you do a bird?”
The child morphed into a blue-green falcon, spread her wings and zoomed out the open door. Tyler smelled the unmistakable scent of fresh coconut. Lucy climbed hard, leveled off, and circled the green belt.
Rosalie and Tyler held hands and leapt to the grass. It was a rough landing, but they tumbled with the fall and rolled to their feet without any visible signs of injury. Tyler knew his ankles would remind him later that they weren’t designed for vertical impact. They sprinted across thick green carpet to the cool barrier forest at the far end of the meadow. Breathing heavily, they watched the hovering car for several minutes from the edge of the trees. Nothing happened. Somewhat irately, Tyler called Demarcus.
“Hey, man, that was much ado about nothing. We abandoned ship, but so far—”
A blast roared above the meadow and the transport disappeared in a yellow fireball. Tyler and Rosalie flattened on the grass, covered their heads. No debris, no shockwave, but even from more than 100 meters away the blaze swept past like the heat from an oven door jerked open. By the time he reported what happened to Platte, Tyler shook with anger and the aftershock of survival.
“How did they get a goddamn bomb on the random car we stepped into?” Tyler howled. “We could be burnt meat in that smoking rubble!”
“Look, Boss, the motherfuckers out to kill you are watching every move. They’ve got friends in low places all over Pokey Town. All they had to do was hold the rigged floater in up-level traffic until you appeared on the boarding platform.”
“Oh…yeah.”
“Next time, do not board a vehicle without letting the professionals clear it first.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And don’t call me ‘sir.’ If there’s a sniper listening, I don’t want the sonuvabitch thinking you work for me.”
Tyler managed a weak laugh. “Thanks, amigo.”
“Now, give me the details again.”
While they talked, Lucy the falcon swooped low and made several passes over Tyler and Rosalie. Checking on the Family. Good birdie.