Judge, Jury, & Executioner Boxed Set

by Craig Martelle

  I hope everyone enjoyed this story. It was fun to write in a way that I found most relaxing.

  Peace, fellow humans.

  Please join my Newsletter (www.craigmartelle.com – please, please, please sign up!), or you can follow me on Facebook since you’ll get the same opportunity to pick up the books for only 99 cents on that first day they are published.

  If you liked this story, you might like some of my other books. You can join my mailing list by dropping by my website www.craigmartelle.com or if you have any comments, shoot me a note at craig@craigmartelle.com. I am always happy to hear from people who’ve read my work. I try to answer every email I receive.

  If you liked the story, please write a short review for me on Amazon. I greatly appreciate any kind words. Even one or two sentences go a long way. The number of reviews an ebook receives greatly improves how well an ebook does on Amazon.

  Amazon – www.amazon.com/author/craigmartelle

  BookBub – https://www.bookbub.com/authors/craig-martelle

  Facebook – www.facebook.com/authorcraigmartelle

  My web page – www.craigmartelle.com

  That’s it—break’s over, back to writing the next book. Peace, fellow humans.

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  August 8, 2018

  THANK YOU for reading this story, and our author notes in the back!

  “Rivka can’t live and have a future without you.”

  So, that sentence above was something I was going to tack on to the first paragraph when it hit me how true it is. We (the bigger ‘we’ of Indie Authors in general) only have so much time in our lives. Some of us are independently wealthy. (Not me, but I hear there is at least one Indie Author who is independently wealthy. I imagine they have a Unicorn that is twelve inches tall for a pet, or maybe a tiny dragon.)

  However, most of us work for our living whether that is work full time in writing and publishing (me) or they work at another job and write part-time (many, many others.)

  Either way, our time is limited, and we have to decide where that time is going to go. For some authors, our favorite character was accepted by fans and became a way for us to both feed our families and write about who we want. For others, we have so many characters that we can only choose the characters that resonate with the fans.

  Why? Well, in a word, income.

  If it takes anywhere from two weeks to three months to write a book, that book needs to be contributing to our income as much as possible. So, characters that resonate and pull in the fans who WANT to read the next book become a very important aspect of choosing what (or who) to write about next.

  This isn’t always true, of course. Sometimes characters’ scream to get out of our heads and for some writers, they MUST get that out of their heads before moving on. Brownstone, for example, was a character that I really, really wanted to write about but the fans wanted more Bethany Anne.

  So, I delivered.

  Not only to please the fans (thank you so much for pushing me along!) but also because Bethany Anne stories sold.

  There, I said it. I admitted that income was a driving factor.

  Once I completed my twenty-one books for Bethany Anne, I took a three-month sabbatical to get out other stories that I had wanted to see the light of day (Protected by the Damned (Michael Todd) and The Unbelievable Mr. Brownstone.)

  Now to explain how that affects Rivka.

  Craig has MULTIPLE series he works on. He is a beast when it comes to writing (seriously, I’m not joking. Check out the story he wrote in a weekend one-time at Gary-Con.) But even Craig has to make decisions on which series to move forward, next.

  Rivka’s story usurped the next Terry Henry Bad Company story in the queue (and I’m happy to admit as a fan, I helped push my own character back a release.) Craig was going to write Bad Company, then Rivka 2… But, after some cajoling, Rivka 2 became the first, with Bad Company becoming the second.

  However, Craig didn’t want to let down the Bad Company fans, so he made sure there were some scenes with our lovable T.H. in this story.

  As an author, we have our favorite characters we wish to write about. Then, we have the characters our fans want us to write about, and somewhere in the middle, we meet.

  For any authors you follow and read, ‘vote’ with your reviews and messages on Facebook or other places to encourage your favorite characters to get their next story. Admittedly, that can be a challenge if five thousand fans want the next book in a series, and you plus one other person want the next one in another of your author’s series. (If that happens, I suggest premeditated begging, or offering ways to make it happen. That will have to be the subject of another author note sometime.)

  So, for Rivka to continue living and existing, feel free to pester the shit out of Craig to write more of her. I did my job and moved her from #2 in the queue, to #1, and now we have her book right here, right now. It’s your turn to turn up the heat for book 03.

  “Rivka can’t live and have a future without you.”

  Ad Aeternitatem,

  Michael Anderle

  Serial Killer

  Judge, Jury, & Executioner Book 3

  Chapter One

  The diplomat bowed to the welcoming committee. Her delegation stood at a respectful distance. “Thank you for your invitation to Collum,” she said pleasantly.

  The male, a representative from the Chancellor’s office, smiled broadly. “We could not be more pleased with the arrival of the females from Zaxxon.”

  Her pleasant demeanor evaporated. “There are no males on my planet,” she replied coldly. “We are what we are. No need to caveat our existence.”

  “My apologies, Ambassador.” The man bowed deeply to show his sincerity.

  The Zaxxon jerked unnaturally before glancing at the hole in her chest. She looked up, confusion and surprise wrestling to dominate her expression, and started to topple. No one moved until she hit the ground, already dead.

  No one had heard a shot or realized the ambassador had been murdered until after the killer had escaped.

  “Training for a couple weeks before we accept new missions,” Grainger told the Magistrates. Jael, Chi, Buster, and Rivka nodded intermittently as he looked from face to face.

  “Two things. They’re called ‘cases,’ and give me time to get my crew into the Pod-doc for an upgrade or two,” Rivka stated, raising one eyebrow in Grainger’s direction.

  He threw his hands up. “What?”

  “Maybe a case where we’re not fighting a war?” Rivka asked. “I’m a lawyer first. Your galaxy-jarring missions call for a heavier hand.” She held hers out to show they were small and delicate. Cheese Blintz and Bustamove put their hands next to hers, showing that theirs were bigger.

  “Nope.” He crossed his arms and leaned back, a smug look on his face.

  “I only deal with royalty,” Chi stated, smiling.

  “I don’t do guns,” Jael offered.

  Buster didn’t say anything until all eyes turned toward him. “Fine. Now that Philko ascended to being an AI, I find myself strangely intrigued by cybercrime.”

  “White Collar Crime, a new weekly series starring Bustamove,” Grainger said in his best announcer’s voice.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “You’ll never see another cybercrime,” Rivka told him, mimicking Grainger. “What case do you want? That’s nice. NO! You get something completely different.” She looked pointedly at the Magistrate at the head of the table.

  Grainger shrugged. “As long as we keep winning, we’re not changing the playbook. Ain’t no I in Team. What do you say we order some pizzas, throw the iron around, and then hop on my ship for a quick ride to Opheramin?”

  “I’m sorry, I must have drifted off from the mind-numbing drone of your voice.” Jael leaned forward and locked eyes with Grainger. “I thought you said we were leaving the station?”

  “That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  �
��Why?” Chi asked.

  “Because maybe you don’t get to know what we’re doing for training. This is important, and once it’s over, you’ll see why. Did no one hear the part about pizza?”

  “I like a good pizza. Are you buying?” Buster asked.

  “Red is going to want to go,” Rivka stated flatly, “especially if there’s pizza.”

  “Pizza first, then go.”

  “So we’re taking pizza with us in our space suits?” Jael asked.

  Grainger stood, grabbed his datapad and strolled away, nose high in the air. He refused to engage further at this juvenile level, or rather at the legal intern level where everything was questioned.

  He smiled as the others followed him out.

  After the workout that didn’t include sparring because Grainger didn’t have enough time to send someone to the Pod-doc, they cleaned up and reconvened at one of the many airlocks. Grainger had pre-staged a number of spacesuits.

  Red and Lindy were waiting. “How did you find out?” Grainger wondered, confusion holding him hostage.

  “What kind of bodyguard would I be if I didn’t know where my charge was?” Red crossed his arms and looked down at the Magistrate.

  “And I’m with him. She’s our responsibility. If she leaves the station, so do we.” Lindy mirrored Red’s pose.

  “There won’t be any danger,” Grainger stated weakly before conceding. “Suit up. You won’t need any of your gear.”

  Red removed one strap and then the other to set his unusually long backpack on the deck. “I always need my gear,” he remarked, opening the top to reveal two railguns, a shotgun, grenades, and an assortment of items illegal outside of the military. Lindy smiled and wiggled her eyebrows. He secured it again and loosened the straps so it would fit around a bulky environmental suit.

  “Suit up! We got places to go and people to see.” Grainger pumped one fist, the military signal for hurry up.

  Rivka gripped her bodyguards’ arms and mouthed, “Thank you.”

  “Hang on,” Chi declared. He opened his datapad. “Lexi, if you would be so kind, please have twenty large pizzas with a variety of toppings delivered flash-frozen to the airlock on Level Four. Tell All Guns Blazing to charge them to Grainger’s account.”

  “I’ll need Grainger’s verbal confirmation. Certain Magistrates have been charging a great deal to his account without his authorization. Those charges have been removed from the appropriate people’s future pay.”

  “Go ahead, Lexi,” Grainger said, his gaze fixed on something inside his suit.

  “This is how you wanted us to find out that you docked our pay?”

  “You spent the money, you pay the piper,” Grainger retorted, looking from one scowling face to the next until he got to Red and Lindy. They both shrugged.

  “I charge things to her account,” Red admitted, pointing at Rivka with his thumb.

  “Do we want to argue about money? Are we so motivated by credits that common decency and self-discipline disappears? I’m embarrassed!” Grainger shook his finger at the Magistrates.

  “I have to agree with my learned colleague,” Buster added. “What are we if our words can’t be believed?”

  “Are you being audited or something?” Jael asked as Grainger stood sharply in the spotlight of the Magistrates’ withering stares.

  “Hang on!” Grainger held up his hands to create a physical barrier. “Yes. I’m being audited, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. Magistrates have to be aboveboard on everything. How can we mete out Justice if we are above the law? Keep your noses clean, and point well taken. I promised pizzas, and you know what? I’m prepared to eat my body weight in pies and beer. I like beer with my pie.”

  Rivka opened her mouth to deliver a witty retort and decided against it. He was still her boss, in an odd way, and she respected that. “I’m not going to be last,” Rivka said instead. She hurried to finish dressing. AGB’s efficiency meant that the pizzas were delivered minutes after the last person was ready.

  “Red, can you take these?” Grainger asked.

  Vered shook his head. “Sorry, Magistrate, but I’m on the clock. I have to have my hands free in case something needs killing. And so does she, before you ask.” Lindy nodded.

  Chi faced Buster, and they started pounding on each other’s shoulders. They hooted and cheered before reaching for the stack of pies. The delivery bot turned without a sound and flew away.

  “What the hell was that about?” Jael asked.

  “Sometimes, even though you know something is right, you still have to psych yourself up to do it,” Bustamove told her.

  “I don’t have anything to say to that. Status check?” Grainger called.

  The other six people in the airlock called green. “I’m green, too. Cycling the airlock.” He punched the button and the air was sucked into a storage tank, replaced by the near vacuum of space. The outer hatch popped and slowly opened. Grainger led the way into space, activating the pneumatic jets on his boots to propel him head-first.

  The others followed. Chi and Buster somersaulted and rolled, all the while maintaining a firm grip on the pizzas.

  Grainger headed toward the upper section of the space station. The loose group followed. Lindy and Red flanked Rivka. Each carried one of the rail guns, with the trigger guard released so their gloved fingers fit inside to pull the trigger. The Magistrate couldn’t tell if the others were uncomfortable with the armed escort, but Rivka felt more at ease.

  Whether for status or peace of mind, she had to admit that she liked having bodyguards.

  When Grainger reached an odd projection on Federation Border Station 7, he signaled for the group to gather around.

  He activated the comm system for the suits. “What do you think we have here?”

  Rivka expected some sort of trick, but turned to examine the outcropping. The metal was a different color from that of the main station, and the welds weren’t standard.

  Buster and Chi moved as close as they could, but the pizzas hindered a close-up inspection. Jael took the lead in classifying the projection. “Added on after initial construction. It’s not labeled for use and safety as it should be. What does it do?”

  Rivka finished her circumnavigation of the small attachment before consulting with Red. When she finished she slid across the surface, activating her magnetic boots to stop her so she could stand on it.

  The others turned their eyes to her. “You have something, Zombie?”

  “It’s a deactivated bomb with the explosives removed, I expect.”

  “What the hell are you playing at?” Chi exclaimed, backpedaling away from the projection. Buster was more deliberate in his departure, activating his jets to propel him past his fellow Magistrate.

  “Since we have to be all things, it’s about seeing what may be right in front of us, but with different eyes. When there’s a crime, we collect the evidence. Many times we can stop future crime by prosecuting those responsible for past illegal activities. The more times someone gets away with their crimes, the bolder they become.

  “Although a bomb on the outside of a station may be a military issue, this one came to us when it was determined that it was a commercial construct developed by an individual to further his empire. That individual has been judged and his empire dismantled.” Grainger simulated buffing his fingernails.

  “What’s this have to do with us?” Rivka asked.

  “Forensics is our friend. We have all sides to deal with: the personal, their intent, and then the physical evidence to cement the case. It was amazing how much this thing told us after we asked the scientists who examined it what traces the creators might have left behind. Type of weld, including weld material, fingerprints because they built it in a place with an atmosphere and then transported it here. Air pockets trapped between welds showed us what the creators breathed. It gave us enough to find the planet, then the transport vessel, and finally, the entity who ordered it.”

  “Why would he go to such troubl
e?” Rivka wondered.

  “One of the oldest rackets in the business. Protection. With the growth of Station 7, he wanted to establish a protection scheme; get paid to not rob them. He was trying to show them what he was capable of.”

  “Terrorism is a capital crime.” Jael smiled. She hated terrorists.

  “Yes. The individual saw the errors of his ways before his life’s spark was extinguished.” Grainger pointed to a ship holding position not far away. A Federation frigate.

  “How do you rate the bigger ship?” Rivka asked.

  Grainger pushed off the station before the jets came to life. “Rich parents left me money.”

  “Wait a minute!” Bustamove interrupted. “I never heard about a bomb outside the station.”

  “Of course not,” Grainger replied. “It also reinforces what we do. Sometimes it’s best to be high-profile, and then there are times where it is better to fly under the radar. When we board my ship, we’ll review a case that needs to be handled delicately.”

  The Magistrates followed Grainger across the short open space. Red and Lindy took positions outside the entire group instead of staying at Rivka’s elbows. When their duties expanded, they had to expand, too. Red was less than comfortable knowing that someone had been able to attach a bomb to the outside of the station he called home.

  “How was the bomb discovered?” Red asked.

  “Maintenance bots. They scour the surface multiple times daily. They noticed the installation as it was happening, and Lexi jammed the activation signal while technicians disarmed the bomb and removed the explosives. It was a threat for a very small window of time. Have no fear that the right people were on top of it from the start. They involved me later because it was outside of any other legal jurisdiction and the military didn’t want to heavy-hand it. Magistrates keep the peace. I think we’ll see our role in this area expanding away from cool palace murders to interplanetary concerns.”