Judge, Jury, & Executioner Boxed Set

by Craig Martelle

  “What?”

  Red’s head shook as he fought his laughter.

  Jael enunciated each syllable. “Plea-sure moon.”

  “Fine. As soon as I retire from the Magistrates, I’ll gallivant around the galaxy seeking personal gratification. Until then, Justice, bitches!”

  Grainger leaned back to stare at her. “And you have the gall to call me strange.”

  It took no time at the morgue to confirm that the teeth of the two on the slab were discolored. They hopped back into the bus and headed for a final meeting with the senior jurist.

  Red and Lindy handed over their gear without breaking stride on the way to the elevator. Two elevator trips found the five Magistrates and two bodyguards on the tenth floor, waiting for the senior jurist. She walked through a door beside the elevator.

  “My office is one floor down. Those are the stairs,” she said at Red’s harsh look. He wished he’d known that for contingency planning purposes.

  Everyone lies, he thought, even if they simply don’t tell the whole truth. What would it have hurt to tell me there were stairs? Red’s face worked through his frustration. Lindy noted her partner’s angst and brushed against him, fondling a buttock where the others couldn’t see. His upset faded and he winked at her.

  “Please bring the three perps to one place so we can talk to them together,” Rivka told her.

  She pointed with her chin at the guards behind the glass. One hurried out as the other picked up a comm link.

  “Where they did the brain scans. That will work. How did those turn out, by the way?” Pasifa asked.

  “Inconclusive,” Rivka replied, walking side by side with the senior jurist. “Everyone’s thoughts are unique. In this case, similar, but unique. Also, each had put himself into a different emotional state to mess with the scan. The exercise as a whole was illuminating because it threw the suspects off their game.”

  “Interesting.” When Rivka brushed her arm, she could feel that the older female was relieved by the impending resolution of the case. She wanted to return to her sedate life—the peaceful existence she embraced as the bedrock of her planet’s culture. Rivka wanted to believe that such a place existed as much as the senior jurist, but the full holding cells suggested that Pass might have been living in her own dream world one floor below where she didn’t have to see or hear the incarcerated.

  Rivka moved away, looking at the floor as they walked, refusing to make eye contact with anyone as they walked by the cells. An arm reached out from a cell, trying to grab Jael. She grabbed and twisted, snapping the forearm without breaking stride. The perp started screaming. Pass hurried ahead.

  “Keep your hands to yourself, asshole,” Grainger mumbled before speaking more clearly. “You have been judged.”

  The room had been cleared of equipment. A table now rested where the scan station had been. Six chairs kept the table company. None of the Magistrates sat down, but Rivka pulled one out for Pass to sit. She then put three chairs side by side against the back wall. It wasn’t long before the three suspects arrived, their shackles and chains rattling softly.

  Grainger pointed to the chairs. The three Gregars weaved amongst themselves to confuse those watching. No one tried to stop them. They took their seats, pleased with their deception.

  Rivka took center stage. “Let’s see your teeth.” None of them opened their mouths.

  “We can help,” Buster offered. He, Chi, and Jael approached, each grabbing a suspect’s face and peeling the lips back. The Gregars tried to bite the Magistrates, but that only earned them immediate punishment in the form of a knee to the chest or slap to the side of the head.

  Only one had white teeth.

  “Even a clone has a vain side. You were cloned from some long-gone original on a planet far away. You brought additional material here to create the others, but they weren’t doing what you wanted or something like that. The reason you did it is unimportant. You were eliminating them one by one so you could start over. Of course they complied, because that is what they do. You are all clones and do as you’re told. You have more free will, but that’s because it is what you were told.”

  The clones looked confused.

  “I have free will!” one stated. Rivka ignored him.

  “The judgment is this: you, Gregar the original clone, are guilty of murder. You will be sent to Jhiordaan to live out the rest of your days. You two. Being a clone isn’t illegal, but participating in a murder is. Your punishment as accomplices after the fact is that you will be surgically maimed so you can be told apart. You will then be exiled from Opheramin to separate corners of the galaxy where you will have no money, only low-paying manual labor positions. By the time you earn enough to leave your situation, you’ll be old men. If you commit another crime, you’ll expedite the meeting with your brother on Jhiordaan.”

  Rivka walked back and forth as she talked, never taking her eyes from the three clones. She stopped and faced them one last time.

  “This judgment is final.”

  Rivka turned to walk away and the first Gregar tried to leap from his seat, but his shackles caught when he raised his hands to get the chain around her neck. Buster caught the chain running down his back and using his enhanced strength, pulled the clone back and slammed him into the wall.

  Grainger tapped on his datapad. “Beau. You heard the judgment. Issue the orders.” He nodded politely to Pasifa. “Thank you for your hospitality. We’ll be leaving now.”

  Without further ado, Red led the way out, walking quickly since he’d had enough of Opheramin and clones.

  They all had.

  Grainger caught up with Rivka. “You weren’t going to zombie him? You know, just to be sure?”

  “I was one-hundred-percent sure. I didn’t need to see into a warped mind to confirm what I already knew.” Rivka slowed. “How are you ever certain enough to adjudicate a case?”

  Chapter Seven

  Collum Gate

  First Minister Mol Gat strolled the promenade, his mane shining with the colors of the rainbow. As a single male from Alma Nine, he showed his hair in the way that peacocks did on Earth and for the same reason. He was trolling for mates. He was good with interspecies, being open to the adventurous side.

  It never hurt one’s chances of being an ambassador, either. His head held high, he window shopped, having no reason to be there except for the exercise and the fresh air. There weren’t enough people around to make it a proper showing.

  The capital city’s shopping district was nearly a ghost town, but he wasn’t afraid. He wanted to believe that he was showing the courage of his people. A couple ambassadors had died recently, but he chalked it up to random chance. The style of murder was different for each. He didn’t think they were related.

  Any place worth living had a certain level of excitement. Like the time he met Jack Marber, a fine example of what fearless looked like.

  From a side alley, a beggar appeared. With nothing else to do, Mol Gat, feeling magnanimous, pulled a token credit chip from his pocket, a throwaway that he offered to the man. The female? Mol Gat couldn’t tell since the individual was covered like a leper.

  Which was probably for the best. The ambassador would have to take an anti-bacterial bath when he returned to his quarters, but for the moment, he would be kind and giving.

  When the beggar was close enough to reach out and take the chip, he took another step closer. A gleaming, thin blade appeared in his hand, and he thrust. Mol Gat’s eyes shot wide. The beggar twisted the blade, churning the ambassador’s insides. When the attacker drew his hand back, the knife disappeared under the coverings.

  With a casual turn, the beggar walked away.

  No one saw the ambassador drop to his knees, mouth agape, dying. His mind screamed in terror, but his body wouldn’t respond. He couldn’t call for help. The credit chip fell to the ground, and the body of Alma Nine’s ambassador followed.

  Federation Border Station 7

  After the frig
ate’s return, the Magistrates had one final meeting.

  “Thanks for parking in the hangar bay. I don’t look good in an environmental suit,” Jael said.

  “Does anyone?” Rivka asked.

  “I think Buzz Spacestar does, but I believe he’s not in space with his,” Chi claimed.

  “The actor?” Rivka rolled her eyes and then her whole head while sticking her tongue out.

  “Capture that image, Philko!” Buster stated. “Aha! Being named after an actor, I don’t appreciate your tone when it comes to my fellows, so you shall pay, Rivka Anoa. I don’t even have to manipulate this image.”

  “With friends like you...” Rivka left the remainder unsaid.

  “With friends like me, we get to welcome a special guest traveling through. Everyone, say hello to Barnabas.” Grainger looked at the door. He looked away, waited, and then pointed to the door.

  “Say hello to Barnabas!” he repeated. When no one stepped through, the Magistrates stopped watching the door.

  “Who is Barnabas?” Rivka asked, hoping to get a rise out of Grainger. He ignored the jibe. Of course, she knew who Barnabas was. She’d gone to law school on the QBBS Meredith Reynolds.

  Grainger searched the Magistrate’s conference room with his eyes as if someone were hiding. Once he declared the room clear, he explained, “Barnabas is Ranger One. Or rather, he was. He did not become a Magistrate, but he’s on our side, scouring the universe with Shinigami.”

  “What’s a Shinigami?”

  “His AI, and his ship. All of it.”

  “I was supposed to intern with him when my training was completed, but we didn’t quite get there,” Buster lamented. “I’ve met him once, but that was right before the Rangers disbanded. I wanted to be him. He was the bomb!”

  “A real bomb? Wouldn’t he explode?” Jael taunted.

  The door popped open, and a man with a pleasant smile on his face walked through it. He was of medium height, with light brown hair and blue eyes, and he was dressed anachronistically in a brown three-piece suit, the jacket off and dangling from his fingertips.

  He closed the door carefully behind him. The Magistrates were already standing. Buster pushed past Grainger to pump the Ranger’s hand, and Barnabas laughed easily as he greeted the other man. He glanced around the room, resting his eyes briefly on one person before moving to another.

  “Please, take a seat and share some words of wisdom,” Grainger offered.

  He nodded but shook each person’s hand. When he shook Rivka’s hand, she didn’t want to see into his mind, but a couple of emotions flashed through. He was worried. She saw a strange image: what looked like a glass jar with a jellyfish inside, and someone in a long cloak. She frowned. What was Barnabas investigating?

  He winked at her. He could read minds, too, and could do it without having to touch the person. He knew that Rivka knew, but he didn’t let it bother him.

  Barnabas took a seat and kicked back, beaming a smile at the group. “Words of wisdom. Hmm.” He looked at the ceiling and considered. “Well, you’ll have an idea about the missions, but no one tells you the shit you’ll be putting up with from everyone else—bureaucrats, low-level station administrators, bankers. And during the past few missions, I’ve had a crew of gloriously incompetent pirates trying to steal my ship.”

  “Talk to us about your current mission. I sense it’s bothering you. Maybe we can help. We have some resources,” Rivka politely suggested. Grainger studied her, wondering what she had seen.

  Barnabas gave her an intrigued look before settling back in his seat. “Ah. I suppose I could do that. We responded to a distress call from a civilian ship. Now, this was far out—well out of Federation territory. They know of humans there, but not well, and there are a few species you might not know: Brakalons, Ubuara, Luvendi, Jotun.”

  The group all leaned forward to listen, eager to hear more.

  “A Jotun was murdered on the transport,” Barnabas explained. “Now, the Jotun are—well, they sort of look like jellyfish, so what they do is they make these mechanical suits that have a tank in the middle of them. They kind of float there and control the suit with their tentacles.”

  “That’s crazy,” Buster whispered.

  “No, what’s crazy is trying to tell them apart.” Barnabas flashed him a smile. “Anyway, the ship had to be brought to a halt because under Brakalon law, if a crime happens on a spaceship, you have to stop the whole thing and wait for authorities to arrive. Well…there was a complication.”

  “Isn’t there always,” Grainger muttered.

  Barnabas gave a low laugh. “Every single time, I swear. So, the first thing that happened was we showed up, and there was a spaceship a little ways away from the Srisa, trying to block the distress signal and shooting down any ship that tried to approach.”

  The group looked at each other, intrigued by this development.

  “It was an advanced craft, and probably would have taken down any other ship easily, but—well, the Shinigami was Bethany Anne’s personal ship.” Barnabas gave a small, self-satisfied smile. “It was easy to evade what this ship was throwing at us and tail them. We figured we’d be able to unravel the murder easily, except that the alien flying it used a self-destruct protocol rather than talk to us.”

  “Over a single murder?” Rivka demanded. “Who was this person?”

  “Interesting question. I assume you mean the murdered Jotun, yes?” Barnabas waited for her nod. “Yes, he was a ship captain in the Jotun Navy. Now, something you probably won’t know—I worked with the Jotun Navy on my last mission, and that was against the direct orders of their Senate. Long story short, we were going up against a corporation that had bribed some of the senators to look the other way, and the Navy wasn’t willing to. One of our best theories is that the murdered captain helped in the battle, and the Senate had him killed. But there are some issues with that theory.”

  “They’d have publicized it if they did, wouldn’t they?” Rivka pointed out. “Because they’d want it to be a warning, right? Or a very public punishment, at least.”

  “That’s a good point.” Barnabas frowned. “Also strange is the fact that the other ship waited by the Srisa. They didn’t take the actual assassin and leave, and the assassin didn’t shut down the Srisa’s distress signal. It’s as if the two weren’t working together—but both of them wanted what they were doing to be kept quiet.”

  Grainger sat back and rubbed his chin in thought.

  “Well, he was involved in something shady,” Buster said finally. He shrugged and looked around at the others. “Right? He had to be. He screwed someone over hard, probably with someone else. The assassin killed him quietly—”

  “Why, though?” Rivka interrupted.

  “I don’t know, but let me finish. So they killed him quietly, and the other ship was there because his accomplices suspected that was why he was killed, and they didn’t want anyone to find out about it. They were going to try to hush it up, you know?”

  Barnabas was staring at him, frowning slightly. An idea was clearly coming to him. “They sent a message to the Jotun government,” he said slowly. “The captain of the Srisa said he had sent a message. I assumed it was to the Navy—but what if he sent it to the Senate?”

  Buster gave him a deer-in-the-headlights look. “I’m not sure I quite—”

  “We all thought he was assassinated by the Senate for helping the Navy,” Barnabas explained. “But what if he was assassinated by the Navy for helping the Senate?” He slapped his leg. “That’s it. That’s absolutely it. They sent that ship to keep anyone from investigating until their own people could get to it. Oh, Jeltor is not going to be happy.” He rubbed his face and stood. “I…have to go right now, I’m afraid. There are some people I need to talk to before any more assassins get hired. Thank you all.” He ran for the doorway and pelted through it, only to stick his head back around the doorframe a moment later. “It was very nice to meet all of you. I hope we’ll meet again, and if
you’re ever in need of aid, do call on the Shinigami.”

  He left, footsteps receding at high speed.

  “He’s a lot more old-fashioned than I expected,” Buster said finally.

  “He was a monk on Earth,” Grainger said.

  The others stared at him, mouths hanging open.

  “You’re kidding,” Buster said.

  “Nuh-uh.” Grainger shook his head. “His manners were kind of an inside joke amongst the rest of the Rangers. They all said he had a stick up his ass, but he’d do anything for his allies.”

  Grainger scrolled through a number of screens. “We are in an enviable position in that there are more cases than we can adjudicate. So, for the first time ever, you have some say in which missions you’ll go on.”

  “I like the new Grainger!” Rivka declared.

  “New feathers on our shiny bird. Well done, Magistrate!” Jael added.

  “First up, Buster, I’ll need you to investigate spaceships crashing on Parkilo Prime. We’ve had two Federation vessels and one private ship crash on their final approach. Something is going on, and it’s a Federation issue.”

  “Whoa! What happened to choosing our missions?” Buster complained.

  “As soon as I heard the words out loud, the whole thing sounded wrong, so I changed my mind.”

  Jael raised one hand, and with the other, she cranked as if using a fishing pole. Her middle finger slowly raised until it was the sole upright digit.

  Rivka revised her position. “I don’t like the new Grainger.”

  “Moving on!” He smiled at the Magistrates. “Chi and Jael—”

  “Wait a minute,” Buster interrupted, looking at his datapad. “Parkilo Prime is populated by sentient plants?”

  “Yes. Sentient plants with a big problem. They need you, Bustamove. They need you to work your Magistrate magic and resolve their issue. I picked you because there’s probably a cyber component to the crime. It doesn’t answer the question of why, but may lead you to who. So there you are.”