by T J Mott
He pointed at Thaddeus and snarled. “Then this man nearly destroyed us. He infiltrated our organization, gained access to our schedules and manifests, and raided our freighters and couriers. Over the years we lost so much sensitive freight that our insurance refused to continue working with us, and we began losing customers. Now we only deal with standard bulk freight, the kind of mundane things that this man has no interest in. Our reputation has been stained, our stock price is a fraction of what it used to be, we continue to downsize our employee force, and our profit margins have suffered greatly. So on behalf of SSI, I will bid for Marcell’s life and guarantee that he never again interferes with us or our customers. Thank you.”
The microphone passed to the next group, a group of plainly-dressed men. One stood and spoke. “We are only observers, not bidders, but after hearing our story Captain Dontun was kind enough to give us a seat and the opportunity to address you, for free.
“We are refugees from Ailon. Three years ago, Ailon was a colony fighting for independence from our neighbors, the oppressive Avennia Federation. The war did not go well for us, since we are a small, rural colony planet and they are well-armed with two highly-populated star systems. As a last-ditch effort to save ourselves, we were able to purchase a large supply of weapons and other munitions on the black market. These were powerful and badly-needed weapons that would have turned the war to our favor.”
The man stepped around his desk into the center of the room and faced Thaddeus, addressing him directly instead of the crowd. “We sent out a convoy to pick up the weapons. They did so, at great expense. But they never made it home. On their way back to Ailon, this man—” he pointed a finger accusingly at Thaddeus “—intercepted them. Our men fought bravely but were no match for his forces. He boarded our vessels, killed many of our men, and left the rest for dead as he stole every last piece of ordnance. Our convoy was left disabled and drifting in space.”
The refugee glared at Thaddeus for several seconds, then returned to his desk. “We lost the war very quickly after that. Ailon has been subjugated, our people enslaved, forced to work long, hard days in the mines and farms to support the Avennians’ lifestyle. And none of the galaxy’s empires will help us, having ignored all our appeals because we are such a small, low-population world.”
The refugee sat down. “So though we have no money to bid, we wanted to share our story, and we hope that whoever wins will remember us and bring this man to justice.”
The statements continued for several hours. By the end, Adelia felt completely numbed from the endless barrage of accusations Thaddeus faced. They took many forms. A former Admiral in the Norma Empire who lost his rank and retirement, and spent years in prison because of manufactured evidence and false accusations of corruption brought upon him by Thaddeus. A prodigious and respected museum which was trashed in a nighttime raid, in which millions of credits worth of rare artifacts were destroyed and most of the security team killed while Thad haphazardly searched for some rumored items from Earth. A small empire from the other side of the galaxy which had lost a war, thousands of lives, and much territory after their enemies had hired Thad’s forces. A slaveship captain who had lost hundreds of slaves and dozens of crewmen after Thad had vented the atmosphere from his ship while escaping after an unprovoked boarding operation.
Quite a few accusers were themselves pirates, smugglers, and criminals who had crossed paths with Thaddeus and lost. They had been fined, their ships impounded, their gangs broken apart and imprisoned after Thaddeus captured them to collect a bounty. One such pirate had winked at Adelia and said he just wanted to throw Thaddeus out an airlock and take his woman, then commented that he wouldn’t go into further detail in mixed company.
And it continued. Everything from business partners upset at broken contracts and sudden double-crossings, to victims of such contracts, to representatives from governments around the galaxy looking for reparations after being raided, their starships stolen, high tech labs ransacked and destroyed, and their political leaders assassinated.
The strangest statement by far was from a queen of some distant world with very strange customs and virtues, who explained that adding a notorious man such as Thaddeus to her collection of husbands would bring her great honor and glory among her people, signaling to her subjects that she was a powerful queen capable of subjugating and controlling evil itself.
The microphone had nearly made its way completely around the room when it ended up in the hands of a short, gray-haired, heavily-wrinkled old woman in rough clothes. She did not stand, but spoke into the microphone while hunched over the desk in front of her.
“My name does not matter here,” she started. Her voice was crackled with age and she spoke very slowly. “I’m just a widow trying to survive and support my only son. My husband died forty years ago and my wonderful son did everything for me. He was a cargo loader on an interstellar freighter. But Mr. Marcell boarded his ship, and during the fight my son was hurt badly. He is now disabled and unable to work, paralyzed from the chest down. Times have been hard since then and we barely survive.”
She stopped to cough and unfolded a thin sheet of paper on the desk in front of her. “I have no money to bid. All I want is for him to be punished according to the laws of my world.” She held up the sheet of paper in twisted, arthritic fingers. “I have the law here. The penalty for a thief who causes severe disability and hardship is amputation of one hand.” She set the microphone down and slid the paper to the front edge of the desk for Dontun’s inspection.
“Oh, you poor woman!” Captain Dontun cooed, with his face twisted into a dramatic mask of feigned sympathy. “He has hurt you far more than I will ever understand. I don’t think your law’s penalty will interfere with our auction, but let’s hold a vote and see, shall we?” He turned and walked back towards the center of the room, now grinning broadly. “All who are in favor of carrying out immediate punishment on this poor widow’s behalf, raise your hand!”
Hands shot up around the circle and a loud chorus of “Ayes” and other affirmative words filled the air. When the noise died down Dontun then said, “All who are opposed, raise your hand!” The room was completely silent. Nobody made a motion or noise of any kind. He looked back at the old woman. “Very well, it is decided. The penalty according to your world’s laws will be carried out, and justice will be served.”
A man dressed like royalty stood and stepped into the circle. “It would honor me greatly if you allow this Blessed Saber of Itania to be the instrument of punishment. Any blood drawn by this blade in the name of justice is a sacrifice very pleasing to our gods.”
“Thank you very much, Your Majesty,” the elderly auctioneer said. The man then unsheathed his ceremonial sword, carefully grabbed it by the blade, and offered the hilt to one of Dontun’s men.
Three others from Dontun’s crew stepped up to Thaddeus. They removed the shackle from his left wrist. One man held Thad secure while another pulled his left arm tautly in front of him. He squirmed and tried to pull his arm back, but he had almost no strength left in him.
The man now armed with the Blessed Saber of Itania stepped up to Thaddeus. He stopped short and looked to his captain before continuing.
“Go ahead, carry out the punishment, Mr. Rouge.”
The man nodded to Dontun and turned his attention back to Thaddeus. He held the sword out in front of him, parallel to the ground, tapping the blade to a spot just below Thad’s elbow, lining up his strike. He raised the sword over his head and paused.
Adelia sat frozen in her seat and watched with surreal horror at the events unfolding before her. Her stomach began to turn violently, but she was unable to look away.
Someone in the crowd began clapping. The clapping grew as more joined in, becoming a loud, synchronized beat that filled the room. It was soon joined by the sounds of cheers and chants as the auctiongoers gave into bloodthirst.
Adelia felt sick. Each round of claps resonated with the waves of nausea
building up within her.
Then the clapping stopped at Dontun’s motion. Mr. Rouge suddenly swung the sword downwards. But he abruptly stopped the swing, yet the crowd exploded into applause. It quickly died down in muted confusion. Mr. Rouge offered the crowd a sly smile, and sudden laughter erupted when everyone realized he was toying with them.
He lined the sword up a second time, and held it there for several seconds. Then he pulled it up and swung back down in one smooth motion. This time he followed through. The exquisite blade sliced cleanly and silently through Thad’s arm. The man holding his now-severed hand and forearm dropped it on the carpet near Thaddeus’ feet. A few spurts of blood squirted from it as it landed.
Thaddeus arched his back and neck, and titled his face up towards the ceiling with his mouth wide open as if to scream. But all Adelia heard was a staccato squeak, barely audible through the cheers and shouts and applause. He then collapsed, his face contorted as he fought back the agonizing pain. He hung even lower now, with his body weight supported only by the remaining shackle on his right wrist.
A fourth man, who until now had just watched in silence a couple meters away, drew a length of rope from a cargo pocket and quickly tied it around the bleeding stump, stopping most of the flow within seconds.
Thad whimpered and collapsed further. The remaining shackle pulled his right arm, holding it painfully taut over his head. The crowd continued to applaud and cheer raucously while Mr. Rouge returned the borrowed sword to its owner, who bowed graciously, wiped the blade off with a handkerchief, and returned it to its sheath.
“And now,” said Captain Dontun, his face beaming with amusement, “we have our final statement of the evening. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for.”
The last man at the circle of desks stood and walked to the middle of the room. He was very tall and handsome, lean and muscular, wearing an exceptionally adorned and spotless white outfit complete with jeweled studs and a gold-trimmed cape. His head bore a silver crown with many precious gemstones and his chin bore a stomach-length beard dyed deep black. In his hand he carried an expensive, beautiful ivory cane, with extensive fluting hand-carved into the shaft. The bottom third was trimmed with gold leaf, and the knob which functioned as a handle appeared to be one giant diamond that glittered in the light as he moved.
Chapter 24
The man was by far the most well-dressed individual in the room. He reached the center, stopped a few meters short of Thaddeus, and refused the microphone which Captain Dontun offered him, instead addressing the room in a loud, booming bass voice. “As you all know, I am High Prince Saar, ruler of the Tor Regency. I have six glorious star systems under my control and my people live in peace and great prosperity. I have pursued this man for seven years now, and placed very large bounties on him, to no success.
“Seven years ago we were attacked without provocation by our neighbors, the Dravon System. We had almost no defenses. Why should we keep a big battle fleet on hand when we had no enemies? And so I had to hire mercenaries to protect us.”
He turned towards the center of the room and dramatically took a few slow steps forward. “One of the flotillas which arrived to protect us was commanded by then-Captain Thaddeus Marcell. He came highly recommended by his superiors and they assured me he was the very best they had. I took them at their word and assigned him to defend Tor itself.”
He stopped and turned to face Captain Dontun. “But he failed!” the prince shouted. His voice and expression were suddenly consumed by anger. “Tor was attacked and the enemy overwhelmed Marcell’s fleet. Then they attacked my fleet! The enemy ships continued attacking, and they crippled my flagship, the battleship Tor’s Glory. My battleship began to lose altitude. We could do nothing to change its course, and soon it broke up in Tor’s atmosphere.”
He paused for dramatic effect. The room was intensely silent; everyone’s attention was riveted to the High Prince so securely that the rest of the universe no longer existed to them.
His voice dropped back down from a shout. “The Glory was the biggest, most powerful, most expensive starship ever built by my people. It was powered by the best antimatter reactor in the galaxy. But as it broke up, the antimatter reacted with our atmosphere. It became a giant meteor of death, and as it fell, it blasted an entire continent with terrible gamma radiation. Then it crashed into the ground and the explosion left a crater fifty kilometers wide. The mushroom cloud grew so tall it left our atmosphere.”
His voice dropped even further, nearly down to a whisper. Yet the room was so quiet that even his whisper carried, and everyone could hear him clearly. “Twenty million people died of radiation poisoning over the next months,” he said. “Twenty million. Including my beloved wife. My soulmate. She was the only one like her in the entire galaxy, a beautiful, perfect being matched perfectly to me by the gods.”
The prince turned to Thaddeus and stepped right up to him. Tears suddenly welled up in the corner of his eyes, but his face remained twisted in an expression of extreme rage. “Her skin melted. It was so painful our best drugs could not help her. I brought in the best physicians in the galaxy and they could not help her. They fought with drugs, with transfusions, with transplants, but the damage was too great.” He stepped even closer to Thaddeus and grabbed him by the chin with one of his ringed hands, twisting his head up to face the prince. Saar brought his own face in close, so close their noses nearly touched.
“IT TOOK HER FOUR WEEKS TO DIE!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. Thaddeus startled. “She was in agony the entire time and I could do nothing to relieve her suffering! They pumped her full of opiates and she still would not stop screaming!” The prince released Thaddeus’s face. His chin dropped back down to rest on his chest.
Saar took a step back and examined the man. He switched his diamond-tipped cane to his left hand, and then suddenly threw it to the side. It rolled for a few meters and came to a stop up against the ring of desks. He looked down towards Thad’s feet, and a twisted smirk slowly formed on his face.
The High Prince stooped down and picked up Thad’s severed hand. He stood back up and glared viciously at Thad for a few seconds, with his face twisted into an expression of all-consuming rage and bitter disgust.
He then examined the severed limb he now held, and made a show of unclenching it and straightening its fingers out. The room somehow became even more silent as the crowd hushed even further, wondering what was about to happen. Adelia’s heart pounded in her chest and neck and ears, and she fought back sobs. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, and fervently hoped that somehow everyone would forget she was even there. But now her fate was linked to Thaddeus’s. Whoever bought him would buy her, too.
Saar looked like an angry, rabid predator about to lose all self-control, and she half-expected him to start foaming at the mouth at any moment. He then wielded the hand, gripping it near the stump and holding it as if it was a club. He stepped back up to Thaddeus. “Look at me,” he growled.
Thad did not move at all.
“LOOK AT ME!” he screamed. Slowly, with great effort, as if it took all his concentration and energy to push through the pain and make any movement at all, Thad managed to raise his head up and looked at his accuser. His face was red and wet, his eyes and mouth warped with indescribable agony.
High Prince Saar, the Regent of Tor, then slapped Thaddeus across the face with his own severed hand. He dropped it at his feet.
Not a single person in the crowd moved a muscle.
“I had plans for you,” Saar continued. “I’ve had years to consider my vengeance, on how to repay you for what you’ve done to me, how to best make you suffer. But all my plans changed this morning.” He laughed, sounding off a cruel, demonic bass chuckle that hung in the air and echoed through the silent room for several seconds. “I came up with something worse, and I’ve actually decided to let you live.”
Saar stepped away. He walked to his cane and retrieved it. Then, slowly, dramatically,
he approached Adelia. His eyes were ablaze with madness. His lips were curled up in a cruel, predatory snarl which revealed his chemically-brightened teeth. The tip of his cane clicked forcefully with each and every step, even through the carpeted floor. He stopped in front of Adelia, put one hand on the table, and leaned over her menacingly.
“I’m going to kill her instead.” The words were startling in their presentation, so soft and gentle in demeanor, so completely unreconcilable with the maniacal, hate-filled expression on his face, that at first she wasn’t sure that Saar had actually said them. Was he starting to have a schizophrenic breakdown? She shuddered violently, and might have fallen out of her chair if she hadn’t been shackled to it. She looked away from the tall prince looming over her, and shrank down as best as she could, as if she could retreat through her seat. The prince laughed again. It was an unsettling, unpleasant sound that seemed to carry the force of a jackhammer, and his overbearing presence and the focused attention of hundreds of onlookers made Adelia wish she had died aboard the Caracal.
“And I’m going to kill her very…slowly,” he said, dragging out the final word in a melodramatic fashion that was either a demonstration of excellent showmanship, or evidence of extreme psychopathy. But his next words made her decide on the latter. “I will burn and melt her flesh in various ways. Not all at once, just small, painful areas at a time. I will peel off parts of her skin, little by little. I will rub salt, and acid, and radiation, and other things into her wounds. But don’t worry; I won’t touch that pretty face of hers.”
She was stiff and frozen in place with fear. Her gut and arms and legs felt like they were packed with ice, and her lips trembled uncontrollably. She dared not look up at his face.
He stepped away and turned around, facing Thaddeus again. She let out her breath in relief and hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it. “And I will make you watch it all,” he told Thaddeus. “From beginning to end. I will strap you into a chair with your head locked in place so you can’t look away. I will cut your eyelids off so you can’t blink, and you can’t close them, and you can’t miss any of the agony she will experience. I will keep her alive through all this, but eventually she will die. It could take weeks, hopefully months, but she will die. And when she finally dies, I will cut off that pretty little head of hers! I will put it on a spike, and encase it in resin so that it lasts for eternity! And I will broadcast that image to the galaxy as a warning to anyone who would dare to make an enemy of High Prince Saar of the Tor Regency!”
