Xia was a good listener. To her surprise she found that as compelling as if they’d hopped in the sack. As they indulged in G-89 he listened quietly when she opened up about her brother. How Herb endlessly teased her in her pre-teens about her lack of looks and intelligence. How it had robbed her of self-confidence. “I’ve often thought my father knew that and took advantage of it,” she had told him, frightened that it would lead him to ask for more information than she was ready to give.
Xia didn’t. He listened. There was something in his eyes—a self-awareness—that she’d never seen before. It compelled her to speak more deeply than she had ever done with anyone else. She spoke more of her father and her coldness toward him. She spoke of Herb’s goodness. “How he tried to protect me. How he was sent off to boarding school for it,” and how “He was called back a short time later when our father died from a tumble down the stairs.” She spoke of vying for their mother’s affection and how “it drove a cleaver between the two of us.”
Xia continued to listen. There was no patting of her hand, no “My dear,” or other fawning gestures. His eyes were strong, clear, decisive. In control.
Rebeka found it intoxicating and compelled her to continue on. “Herb and I had grown further apart after our mother died. Even with that and with him trying to steal the company and as utterly insane as it may sound…I regret that he’s dead.”
Hearing that, Xia’s face softened. He looked at her and said, “I’m sorry.” The compassion in his voice caused her to tear up. She leaned in and kissed him.
When they did make love the following night, Xia surprised her even more. In the throes of passion she had done what she did many times before, slapped his face to increase her own pleasure. She was dumfounded when Xia slapped her back harder, thrust harder and immediately climaxed.
She found Xia’s ability to comfort and at the same time seize control, enrapturing. This was beyond Jocsun and the other clowns. This was deeper. It was erotic, loving and at the same time terrifying because she found herself seeking Xia’s approval. Something she fought hard to keep in check. She forced her thoughts back to the present and the six hundred militia at her disposal. She said to Xia, “Cost per each soldier’s machine gun and garb is thirty thousand dollars.”
He thought for a second and replied, “Eighteen million dollars plus millions more in mechi-machines and transportation. Is it worth it?”
“Every dime.” She stepped to the edge of the observation deck’s railing for two reasons. One was to give the troops a better look at her knee length red boots, which symbolized her power. The other reason was to get a better view of the takeoff and landing base. There, the wolf-skulled, fifteen-foot-tall WarBots lumbered up ramps with a sonorous thump, thump, thump into the four circular combat aircraft stacked on top of each other. Rebeka studied these lurching, hunched weapons of destruction and the ships that carried them.
In less than two weeks, she thought, it’ll all be over for the Truattans. The latest dispatch from their informant had given the exact location of the poor bastards’ camp and the number of occupants. It was less than she had surmised, a measly six hundred. But what really sparked her was the news that not only was the Humachine there, but so was its creator, Niyati Bopari.
Rebeka had no clue how the woman survived the transport explosion of two centuries ago or how she had managed to evade them for all this time, but she was grateful for it. When the news gets out that I’ve captured her, the company’s stocks are going to climb into the mesosphere and the stockholders will want to erect a statue in my name.
“Madam Takáts, the troops’ communication receptors are activated and ready to receive,” a voice behind her said. She glanced back. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard General Bangura approach. He had taken a place next to Xia, who was slightly behind and to her right.
She nodded.
Xia gripped her shoulder. She wanted to clench his hand, look back and smile, but dared not. It would send the wrong signal to those gathered below. General Bangura escorted Xia to a seat next to his, where the other commanders were gathered.
Rebeka cleared her throat and squeezed the nail on her right middle finger. It glowed blue. She stood tall, looked over the sea of troops, and said, “Men and women of Ameri-Inc.” Through the private address system, her words carried into the communication apparatus embedded in her fingernail to the headphones in the soldiers’ hoods. “In four days you will take part in the greatest commerce battle Earth has ever witnessed.”
A great roar rose up from the troops. The generals nodded to each other.
She waited until the noise peaked and held up her hands for them to quiet. “Know that we battle for more than wealth. For more than pride. We battle for freedom, because commerce is freedom.” Rebeka felt herself expanding. She was rising, rising up. “As the guardians of enterprise it is our job—our obligation—to defend commerce’s principles, for these principles are what our great universe is built upon.”
As she had practiced and marked in her notes, Rebeka glanced across the expanse of hooded mercenaries as if she was making eye contact with each and every one of them. “The Truattans have taken our core belief of a contract and the commitment that comes with it, and stomped upon it. Why? Because they want to destroy our way of life. They want us to forgo everything we’ve fought for and everyone who’s died defending our principles. Simply stated, they disagree with our values.”
While she continued to speak, a sound grew from the men and women. It resembled the low-pitch growl of a dog waiting to attack. In the distance the thump, thump of the WarBots trundling up the ramps echoed.
Rebeka felt goosebumps. She fist-thumped her left hand over her heart, thrust her right fist to the sky and said, “As God is our eyewitness, we will not allow this!” The troops roared their approval. Her heart pumped with excitement. Her neck and chest flushed from the blood rushing through them. She again waited for the noise to crest, and patted the air to motion them into silence.
When they had quieted, she placed her hands on the railings, and said softly, “This won’t be easy. There will be deaths. Many on their side, some on ours. With theirs will come hell. With ours will come everlasting glory and compensation. The greatest gift we, as honorable citizens of the American Federation, can bestow upon our loved ones is the security of never having to face financial want. With this promise comes an even greater one from Ameri-Inc.”
Rebeka once more scanned the mass as if she was gazing at each one individually. “To the very few who may perish in this noble cause, your GTS benefits will be extended to your spouses and children. And that is our binding contract to you!”
Xia and the joint chiefs rose to their feet and applauded vigorously. The troops yelled, “Hoo-bah, hoo-bah, hoo-bah!” and alternately pumped their right-left-right-left fists in the air.
Rebeka had thought long and hard about the decision to extend GTS survivor benefits. Ultimately, it was a no-brainer. This would give the troops the added incentive to crush the Truattans. The board wasn’t happy with her decision, but she convinced them that there would be relatively few casualties on our side, and for the little GTS they’d have to dole out, Ameri-Inc. would end up with the entire planet’s supply of the mineral.
“You’ve certainly roused the natives, my dear.” Xia was again standing by her side.
“That was my intention.” She turned from the feverish scene and calmly made her exit.
Chapter Fifty-One
Date: 2250
Planet Truatta
Pocketsville/Courtroom
Located in the Town Council building, the courtroom was a plain, rectangular room that measured roughly 200 feet wide and 100 feet long. On the trial’s first day, Norma pointed to two men and a woman dressed in gray robes and gloves who entered from a door at the head of the room. “Those are the judges,” she whispered to J-1.
The judges took their seats behind desks sitting side-by-side, located a few feet from the door. The desks were construc
ted, like nearly everything else in Pocketsville, of wood, stone and confiscated war parts. Norma again whispered, “The gray color represents their neutrality.”
J-1 was too nervous to do anything but nod. He felt hot and jumpy, as if he had been overcharged. The past few nights he had paced his cell, and sitting here he couldn’t stop bobbing his heel against the floor.
Norma reached beneath the table where they were sitting and pressed her hand on J-1’s knee to stop his movement. “Stay calm.” Norma had bags beneath her eyes, as if she had done her own share of all-night striding.
To the front left of the judges was a six-inch-tall platform with a chair nailed to it. J-1 assumed that was the witness stand. Next to it stood the bailiff. A whistle hung from a lanyard slung around his neck. On the floor beside the bailiff was a velvet sack. By the outline of it, it contained something resembling the body of an acoustic guitar.
About ten feet in front of the bailiff was J-1 and Norma’s table. Behind them were rows and rows of benches. Teague and Mata occupied the bench seats directly behind Norma and J-1. Twenty feet across from and to the right of Norma and J-1, Prudence sat at a table. She was dressed in a white robe similar to the one J-1 was given to wear. Sitting with Prudence was her attorney; a beanpole of a man with thinning silver-blond hair. “Montooth Hack,” Norma said to J-1 with near-reverence. “I’m not going to lie. He’s good.” Like Norma, Hack was dressed in a black tunic over black trousers.
An armed guard stood in each of the room’s four corners. Two more guards stood in the rear entranceway, frisking spectators for weapons before allowing them in the courtroom. Two to three hundred people packed themselves into the benches. The room thrummed with noisy excitement.
Outside, the town bell in the public square tolled twice. The room went silent. The excitement remained, but seemed to ball into a fist. The bailiff picked up the guitar-shaped velvet sack and carried it to the judge who was sitting in the middle of the other two. The bailiff whispered something to him. The judge nodded. The bailiff opened the sack and removed an hourglass that stood sand side down.
Norma said to J-1, “Each trial begins and ends with the sand.” The grains were blue-tinged. J-1 didn’t need Norma to tell him that they were GTS granules.
He asked, “How long does it take for the sand to fall?”
“About one third of a life cycle,” Norma replied.
J-1’s chest tightened. A Truattan life cycle was about equivalent to a twenty-four hour Earth day. “Eight hours? This is a joke, right?”
The bailiff placed the hourglass on the judge’s desk. The crowd hushed. The bailiff returned to his place next to the witness stand.
The three judges stood. Each gathered behind the hourglass and gripped one of three spindles that held it upright. In a single motion they flipped the glass over. The GTS granules sifted slowly down the upper bulb to the lower one. Montooth Hack immediately jumped to his feet.
“Your honors,” he said as the judges retook their seats. “I request an immediate end to this proceeding.” He walked to the center of the trial area and pointed at J-1. “This thing isn’t a living creature. It’s a treasonous, mechanical killer and traitor that deserves to be melted.”
“I challenge!” Norma rose and stepped face-to-face with Hack. “J-1 is not a killer or a traitor and I will prove it.” She slipped a gold-bladed knife from her tunic pocket and raised it to Hack’s chest.
J-1 recoiled and nearly fell from his chair.
Montooth slid an identical knife from his tunic and raised it at her.
The entire room—including Teague and Mata—stood and whooped.
The scene was so discombobulating, J-1 thought he was suffering from a circuit malfunction.
The middle judge picked up a baseball-sized stone lying on his desktop and pounded it against the surface until everyone settled down and took their places. The judge said, “Well played,” and glanced at the other two judges. They nodded. He said to Hack and Norma, “You may proceed.”
Norma and Hack lowered their knives and shook hands. Norma returned to her seat and tossed the knife in her briefcase.
“What just happened?” If J-1 was nervous before, he was nearly panicky now.
Norma smiled at him. “Every trial begins like that. It’s a traditional show of our belief in our clients. You don’t have that on Earth?”
J-1 glanced at the tumbling sand and groaned.
~~~
Montooth Hack called Prudence to the stand. “In minute detail, explain to us what happened.”
She told how the squadron had been attacked by the Dark Prey and how “the only way they could have known our location was because that mechanical traitor told them.”
“Postulation.” Norma stood. “Your honors, there’s absolutely no evidence to indicate collusion with the Dark Prey.”
There were a few snickers in the crowd. The middle judge glanced at the other judges and said to Norma, “This is the plaintiff’s testimony, Adviser Mardeen. Your turn will come to disprove it. For now, listen.”
Hack bowed his head to them and said to Prudence, “Continue, please, expressing only the facts as you know them.”
J-1 looked at Norma. She smiled back sheepishly and took her seat.
Prudence continued her story, in which she reversed the roles. She claimed that it was her that initially entered the cave, not J-1. It was her that fired at the bushes outside. And that, “the Dark Prey ripped the electro-rod from my hand and tossed it and me to the ground. I hit my head against the cave wall and was semi-conscious. I thought I was going to die.” She nearly broke down when she said that. Montooth Hack removed a hanky from his tunic and handed it to her, but she firmed herself and waved it off.
J-1’s insides soured. He wondered how many times her and Hack had practiced that. He glanced at the judges and back at the spectators. The judges were harder to read, but it was written all over the sympathetic looks of the others where their hearts lay.
Prudence continued, “Thank the blessed, my plan worked. The flames flared up and temporarily blinded the creatures.”
Hack interrupted. “But you had a bigger monster—exclude that—bigger nightmare to deal with, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Prudence glared at J-1. “By the time the fire died down, I had nearly regained my senses. I reached for the electro-rod, but it”—uttered with as much disdain as she could gather—“stole my weapon.”
“What do you mean, ‘stole?’ ”
“I mean the Earth robot—”
“Suspend!” Norma jumped to her feet. “I ask the judges to declare this trial a default.”
“Sorry,” Prudence muttered to the judges. Hack shook his head.
The middle judge turned the hourglass on its side and motioned both attorneys to him and the other judges.
Norma and Hack approached their desks.
J-1 turned back at Mata and Teague, and whispered, “What’s going on?” He could see that the crowd was as confused as he was.
Teague replied, “Because of the prejudice against Earthers, it was agreed in pre-trial that no mention of your place of origin would be referred to unless it was of immediate relevance.”
J-1 nodded and turned back. He wasn’t sure how to process this information. He thought about it. The Truattan’s had it in for him. That he understood. Yet the trial seemed to be on the up-and-up. Could he actually be found innocent, or was it all a charade to appease whatever rules they governed by? He watched Norma, Hack, and the judges huddled together, and wished he knew the answer.
At the huddle, the middle judge said, “Give me one good reason, Mr. Hack, why I shouldn’t grant Ms. Mardeen’s request to default.”
Hack wiggled the neckline of his tunic, as if it hindered his breathing.
Watching him gather his response, Norma knew the Earth remark was no accident, but she hoped that he had overplayed his hand.
“Your honors, I apologize to you and to Adviser Mardeen. In my client’s zeal to get
her testimony out she unwittingly referred to the defender’s place of origin. It was an honest mistake that won’t be repeated.”
“Mr. Hack has been using Earth inference from the beginning to discredit my client, but this has scaled the blockade,” Norma said. “I demand a default.”
The male judge sitting to the side of the middle judge said, “Mr. Hack, I’m inclined to agree.”
“We’re talking treason, your honor. No offense to Advisor Mardeen or her client, but this is too important of an issue to be decided on speculation. The verdict could affect our very existence.”
The middle judge glanced at the other two judges. He said, “If it happens again, we’ll toss you in Prison House for malfeasance and continue the trial with another attorney. Is that understood?”
Hack grimaced and nodded.
“I protest,” Norma said.
“Notated.” The middle judge waved the pair back to their places and turned the hourglass back to its original position.
Though she hadn’t gotten what she wanted, Norma did get something—confirmation that the judges’ decision would be based on evidence, not prejudice. That renewed her hope. Norma sat, pressed her hand a moment on top of J-1’s and whispered, “Motion denied.”
J-1 frowned. The little trust he had in the court dissipated. That answers my question, he thought. The trial is going to be swayed by prejudice against me.
Hack questioned Prudence again. “Picking up where we left off, you stated that the robot stole your weapon. Is there a chance you might have misinterpreted the machine’s action? Perhaps it wanted to use the electro-rod to protect you from the Dark Prey.”
“Not a chance,” she answered. “The mechi took my weapon and used it as a crutch to support his bad leg so he could hobble off and leave me to be ripped apart by the creatures.”
There was a collective gasp. The middle judge reached for his pounding stone, but pulled his hand back when the outburst quickly died.
“And then what?” Hack asked.
“As the fire died down and the light from it dimmed, the Dark Prey started to regain their bearings and come at me again. I yelled to the robot, but it ignored me.”
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