Eden's Trial

by Barry Kirwan

  A piercing sapphire light shone into his eyes, increasing in size till he realised something was coming toward him. When it arrived, Micah was surprised to see an ostrich-like creature with an indeterminate number of legs, like a millipede. Finchikta, his resident informed him, Level 9; judicial officer; do not address until it has first addressed you. A sharp mental twang, as if someone had just plucked a guitar string inside his skull, accompanied that last piece of information.

  The creature had three eyes – Micah hadn’t noticed until the third one opened. He wasn’t expecting it to speak English, though. Polyglot, the resident stated.

  “Facts: Q’Roth Ambassador assassinated by those calling themselves human; illegal weapon brought into Market area; stolen Q’Roth ship, last reported at scene of two Q’Roth ships destroyed. Verdict: guilty of murder of high ranking official, space vehicle theft, murder of twenty-four Q’Roth onboard two destroyed vessels; use of second illegal weapon, namely a transit-mine. Punishment: voiding.”

  It was fast, dream-like. Micah assumed at first this was some sort of arraignment, an outline of the charges being brought against them. But as he heard and felt the disc underneath him crackle and splinter, he realised that they’d just been tried, convicted and sentenced in twenty seconds. “Wait!” he yelled, as the Finchikta turned to depart. “What about our side of the story?”

  The Finchikta paused, then continued on its way.

  “Fuck,” he said, glancing at the glass splintering underneath his feet. A fragment fell, and as it hit the barrier it flashed and passed straight through into open space. The resident, detecting his and its own plight, began showing him potential juridical procedures Micah might be able to use to stall their imminent demise. The Finchikta’s sapphire light was fading. Micah heard the others behind him waking up, and then various expletives as they each realised their predicament, but he had no time to explain. His left foot fell through the disk, and he only just managed to find his balance, bending over and gripping both sides of the disk with his hands.

  “Micah!” Sandy screamed up to him, but he focused on the options flowing through his mind. The blue light was just a dot now, about to go out. There! That was it, he was sure, had to be. He lifted his head and shouted as loud as he could: “I declare retribution grounds for species violation.” The glass held. “Species 195 Q’Roth committed unlawful genocide of species human in … angt 753871GDS.”

  Suddenly the bird was right next to him. “No need to shout,” it said. “I hear very well.”

  Micah managed to bring his leg back up through the hole, and sat on the remaining crescent of his disk.

  The Finchikta’s third eye was closed. “Q’Roth had permission to cull human species Level Three.”

  “Not Level Three. Am I Level Three?”

  The third eye opened, staring at Micah. It closed again. “Possible irregularity. Adjourn. Gather more evidence.” It turned to leave again.

  “No,” Micah said, firm. “Trial.” Micah was scanning the resident’s outpouring of information, downloading direct into his brain as if he’d just remembered it. “Species violations … require trial, judged by … Tla Beth.” He’d seen enough now. “We have rights, this is not just a defence, this is a prosecution against the Q’Roth for direct violation of Grid Society laws.” He folded his arms.

  The bird paused, staring at him for a long time. Micah was glad the others stayed quiet, for now.

  The bird’s two main eyes closed, just as the third one, central and slightly above the others, opened. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  The offhand manner of the question disconcerted Micah, but he decided he had to see this through. Without a trial, ‘gathering more evidence’ would involve the Q’Roth – it would just delay his and the others’ deaths a few days at most. He nodded. “Yes.”

  The third eye closed and the other two opened again. “Trial begins tomorrow. Q’Roth delegation en route. Ranger recalled. Tla Beth representative in station. Deposition candidate will be taken in one hour. You will select.”

  He had no idea what that meant, he would need to study some more. The bird’s two eyes closed, and the central one opened. “You are above level three.” The eye closed, the other two opened, and the creature backed off into the distance. The glass began growing to its full disk width. The phrase deposition candidate wasn’t clear to him, and he had the feeling it was significant. He slipped into memory replay mode, while the others shouted to him.

  “Micah,” Zack said, “wanna tell me why I’m not dead? And what was all that about anyway?”

  Sandy shouted too. “Zack, Micah’s just trying to impress us, since he’s lousy with a nanosword.” She laughed, relieved. “We’re impressed, Micah, really. You just saved our necks.”

  His smile at this slipped, however, as the missing fragment of information – deposition candidate – surfaced in his mind. Oh Shit, he thought, one of us has to die!

  “What were you thinking, Micah?” Sandy stomped up and down the curved, windowless cell. The walls were the colour and texture of jade, revealing tantalising shadows outside whose form and purpose they could only guess at.

  “He was saving our lives, Sandy.” Ramires sat in a lotus position on the bench which ran around half the room.

  Micah noted Zack was silent on the issue. “Well” he said, standing up, “it was my call, so I should –”

  “Sit the fuck down,” Zack said.

  “Zack,” Micah began.

  “Has made up his mind.” Zack finished.

  The way Zack said it, Micah had the feeling there was no way he could go up against it.

  “Shit, this sucks.” Sandy kicked the wall. A dull boom reverberated around the cell. “Alien justice – it’s insane!”

  “Dunno,” Zack said, oddly calm. “Kinda makes sense to me. If we’d have had this option in the War, I sure as hell woulda used it on the enemy. Anyway,” he stood up and stretched, “when in Rome, as they used to say. You guys have something ahead – me, it’s mostly behind. Trust me, ain’t no picnic living like that. Shoulda died along with my platoon back in Thailand. Carrying around that time bomb in my head, nearly killing Blake, driving Sonja nuts…”

  Micah didn’t know what to say; their time was almost up.

  Before Micah or the others could remonstrate with him, the single, circular door opened, revealing the Finchikta – Micah didn’t know if it was the same one – standing on its filament legs, in front of a large sphere of shifting colours. Zack stood up and without warning or being asked to, walked toward the bird. Its third eye opened, staring at him. Zack waved a goodbye – no last words – and stood in front of the sphere. It hovered toward him and then enveloped him completely. Sandy joined Micah at the doorway, clutching his wrist so hard it hurt, but he just watched. Within a minute, the sphere retreated, leaving behind a translucent form of Zack, like a highly detailed waxwork model made of crystal. But even from the way it stood, Micah knew it wasn’t Zack anymore. Micah’s resident kicked in. Transpar – that was what this simulacrum was called – a transparent witness, unable to lie, his personality erased completely, his bodily functions obliterated. A vessel containing transparent memory strings – the perfect witness. The resident offered a footnote: Transpar procedure used only for species below Level 8, since such species cannot be trusted to know or tell the truth reliably. The idea stung Micah.

  The Finchikta addressed Micah and the others. “You will remain silent during the deposition, on pain of immediate death. It turned to the crystal Transpar. “You have the memories of the human known as Zack.”

  It didn’t sound like a question, more a statement, a judicial formality.

  “Yes,” the Transpar said, its voice tinkling like wind chimes. Even its eyes were transparent, like watery glass.

  “Did you help kill the Q’Roth Ambassador?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you help kill the other Q’Roth using a transit mine?”

  “Yes.”


  Sandy clutched Micah’s arm. This wasn’t looking good.

  “Do you wish the destruction of the Q’Roth race?”

  “Yes,” it answered, without hesitation.

  “Does this go for these humans, and the rest remaining on Ourshiwann?”

  Shit!

  “Yes.”

  The Finchikta spoke to Micah. “Deposition received. Trial convenes tomorrow. If you lose, your race will be handed over to the Q’Roth. Do you wish to call any witnesses in your defence?”

  Micah had been pondering that one, remembering his discussions with Rashid before they’d left the planet. “You mentioned a Ranger. Was he present during the ... Q’Roth incursion?”

  “The Ranger Ukrull will be present. Anyone else?”

  He looked glum and shook his head.

  “The Transpar is now the property of the court.”

  Sandy spoke up, risking protocol defiance. “What if we win? Do we get him back? Can you –”

  The Finchikta’s third eye opened. “Your friend is no more.”

  The court official and the effigy of Zack left, the door squelching closed behind them. Sandy sat down, laying her head on Ramires shoulder. Micah waited for her to attack him, to curse him for what he’d done. Nothing came. That made it all the worse.

  Micah went into analysis mode several times during what he presumed was night, but each time the predictions came out with deplorable survival odds. He’d gambled on a legal procedure to save their four lives in the short term, losing Zack’s straight away, and unwittingly putting humanity’s survival down as collateral. The one parameter of uncertainty in the equation was Hannah. He speculated as to whether she had somehow escaped, and could warn the others back on Ourshiwann. But why would she? She wasn’t welcome back there in any case.

  He glanced over to Ramires, who looked up from his meditation. Sandy was asleep, curled up next to him.

  “Micah, you did the best you could.”

  “Not exactly an accolade given the way things look right now.”

  “Perhaps it is better this way. You’ve placed humanity on trial, but at least this way it will be resolved. We cannot hide on Ourshiwann for long, some alien race will find us. If we can demonstrate we’re better than Level Three, maybe then we have a chance.”

  Micah stared into his lap. “I know you’re trying to help, Ramires, but if my skills are at least Level Four, and I hope to God they are, then they’re telling me we’re all going to end up in the hands of the Q’Roth.”

  The doorway opened. “Hello Micah.” Hannah stood at the entrance but didn’t enter. Sandy stirred. Ramires unfolded his legs.

  “Hannah, where have you been? What happened?” Micah was puzzled by the taut, scared look on her face. He saw a shadow behind her. A tall woman in a blood red gown advanced into the room, her long dark hair strained back into a braided ponytail. A sneer spread across her face, accented by her hooked nose and hawkish eyes.

  “I happened, Micah.”

  Ramires leapt towards her. A blur of fists and feet flailed in her direction, but she moved unbelievably fast, blocking every attack with arrogant ease. Her palm shot into his chest, slamming him back across the room into the wall.

  “Sister Esma,” Micah said.

  Her sneer deepened, a crevasse opening up in her white-as-snow face. She studied Sandy helping the winded Ramires back into a seated position, but said nothing.

  Good, she doesn’t know whose child Sandy is carrying. Micah met Hannah’s eyes, and for the briefest moment, she shook her head. He wasn’t sure what it signified, whether it was an apology, or her way of saying don’t fight back, but it meant something to Micah. He suspected Sister Esma had arrived unannounced, and Hannah had made a quick survival choice. She hadn’t actually betrayed them – him, he thought, because it mattered to him personally.

  He watched Sister Esma, High Priestess of the Alician Order, architect of Earth’s demise – we finally meet.

  She addressed him. “I see this as a wonderful opportunity. Since obviously Louise failed to crush humanity, now the Grid Court will do it for me. The galaxy works in mysterious ways, indeed.”

  “Come to gloat, bitch?” Sandy said, walking right up to her.

  “You are with child, my dear, which is the only reason your neck is intact.”

  Micah took Sandy’s wrist. “But she has a point. If you have nothing to say, leave.”

  “I do have something to say, Micah. I wanted you all to know that we are prospering on our new home world, and Alicians have already begun to explore the Grid. Humanity – the upgraded Alician version – will continue and thrive, taking its rightful place in the galaxy. Oh, and we will be awarded the Transpar after your execution and humanity’s extermination. We will keep it as a memento, reminding our children never to slip backwards.”

  Micah gripped Sandy’s wrist stronger, feeling her tug against him.

  “Well, see you in court.” She left, ensuring Hannah departed first so she could not make any eye contact with the others. The door slid closed.

  “She’s lying,” Sandy said.

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know Micah, but I know when somebody lies to my face. She’s afraid of something. That’s why she came here, to try and provoke us, to throw us off-balance. She’s worried the court might find us above Level Three.”

  He nodded dully, but his predictions said that the Alician presence made their case worse. He’d been considering ways to show humanity’s ingenuity, but now the Alicians would argue that all the inventions, the great advances, were on their account, not ordinary humans. There was no evidence either way, so it would just be their word against Esma’s, and the dead Q’Roth Ambassador would tip the scales against mankind’s favour.

  Sandy seized his shoulders and shook him. “Micah, are you listening to me? We have a chance. She came here to try to put you off, even parading Hannah in front of you like stolen spoils, and the parting shot about Zack. You’re the threat, Micah, because you’re so damned intelligent. Don’t you see? We have a chance.”

  He bit his lip. Her words made sense, but his emotions were in freefall. She pulled his hands down to her belly. “You feel this, Micah? There’s a child in there. It’s Gabriel’s son. That witch killed his father, so don’t you dare give up on me now. I want my son to see daylight, dammit.”

  He felt a movement there, in her belly. It jolted him, and the feeling of having been beaten subsided. He pulled her to him and held her, tight. Cold fire, Zack had said. He put his pessimistic analyses aside, and let her go. “Ramires, I’m going to need a fast history lesson, the Sentinels and the nine hundred years’ war against the Alicians.”

  Ramires stood, rubbing his chest. “Gladly, but first… Sandy, you said Gabriel.”

  “Yes, a Sentinel like you.”

  “Not like me. He was the best. I did not know him, but we had the same Master, Cheveyo, who gave his life on Eden in combat with the Q’Roth.”

  “Is it a problem?” she asked.

  “No … quite the opposite. My Master’s last wish he conveyed to me was to protect you. Now I understand why. I will protect you and your child with my life, until it ends.”

  Sandy risked a smile. “Best offer I’ve had for a while.”

  Cold fire, Micah intoned, cold fire. “Okay, we don’t have much time. History lesson, Ramires. Q’Roth, Ranger, Alicians, Sentinels – all of it, please.”

  * * *

  Louise sat hunched, back against the wall, cradling her right elbow, occasionally scrunching her eyes against the grinding pain of a dislocated right shoulder. The usually green walls were splattered with scarlet scabs exuding brown pus. The ship was healing itself after her little pyrotechnic skirmish with the Hohash; the room smelt like char-grilled excrement. “Bastard,” she said. What is it you want from me anyway? Clearly not to kill me.

  The Hohash loomed a few metres away, patrolling like a shark. Abruptly it stopped, pivoted, and turned its mirror face toward her, t
he smooth surface flowing like oil on water. An image rose from the depths: a fleet of titanic war-ships, of various shapes, hanging in space before a shimmering curtain. She recognized several Q’Roth planet-killer class craft. Thought they were all moth-balled: last time they were used was the Licutius rebellion, fifty thousand angts ago. The squid-shaped vessels had eight tendrils thousands of kilometres long, by twenty wide, sporting thorn-like crust-breakers, capable of puncturing a world’s outer and inner layers, leaving it to drown in its own lava. I could use one of those…

  Other, equally gigantic ships of unknown origin straddled the shimmering field, an impressive menagerie of destructive power. She forgot about her pain. “Quite a line-up.” No sooner had she said it than the entire fleet was sucked through an impossibly small hole. Ships twisted, momentarily stretched toward the rift, before disintegrating en route. She knew what it meant – a massive gravitational shear force applied in a nano-second, bending the normal laws of physics. The next image wasn’t unexpected – utter carnage, organic beings and hardware alike de-skinned, disembowelled. The ships had been turned inside out, their occupants, too.

  “Is this history, or now?”

  It flashed back to being a mirror for a moment, reflecting her bruised and bloody face, a lock of her blonde hair singed black.

  So, it’s now.

  The next image was of another fleet pouring in through the widened tear. These ships were all of the same origin, dull black lozenges with spiralling indigo lights pulsing from front to back. Something accompanied them, too, blacker than black, only visible by their silhouettes, undulating like an electric ray she’d once seen in an aquarium. They loitered in the wake of the ships, wild beasts on a tight leash. She had no sense of scale, but reckoned they were bigger than a Q’Roth transport.

  The last picture was a face. It would scare most people, but she intuited something beneath the bubbling flesh: rage, unadulterated, distilled anger. Some would call it pure evil, but she recognised an incredible force of will.