You Have Been Judged
Page 1
You Have Been Judged
Judge, Jury, & Executioner Book One
Craig Martelle
Michael Anderle
You Have Been Judged (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2018 Craig Martelle and Michael Anderle
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
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First US edition, June 2018
The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2015-2018 by Michael T. Anderle and LMBPN Publishing.
Contents
Introduction
CHAPTER ZERO – MEET RIVKA ANOA
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Author Insight - Original Outline
Author Notes - Craig Martelle
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Books by Craig Martelle
Books By Michael Anderle
You Have Been Judged Team
Thanks to our Beta Readers
Maria Stanley
Leo Roars
Sherry Foster
Micky Cocker
James Caplan
Kelly O’Donnell
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Kim Boyer
James Caplan
John Ashmore
Daniel Weigert
Peter Manis
Kelly Bowerman
Erika Everest
Kelly O’Donnell
Paul Westman
Larry Omans
Micky Cocker
If I’ve missed anyone, please let me know!
Editor
Lynne Stiegler
We can’t write without those who support us
On the home front, we thank you for being there for us
We wouldn’t be able to do this for a living if it weren’t for our readers
We thank you for reading our books
Introduction
In the Etheric Federation, the terms “Barrister” and “Lawyer” are synonymous.
Judges preside over trials.
Magistrates are barristers/lawyers who also judge and mete out punishment. They are Judge, Jury and Executioner.
CHAPTER ZERO – MEET RIVKA ANOA
Onyx Station
“I hear that an All Guns Blazing franchise has just opened on Onyx Station,” Charumati said.
“Your appointment with Rivka is in ten minutes, so you had best be on your way.” Nathan Lowell, President of the Bad Company, stood to shake their hands.
“How much money did you lose?” Terry Henry Walton asked. He sat up straight and listened intently.
“More than I’m willing to admit. You have defeated me. I thought you were completely incapable of controlling yourself. You’re a Marine, for fuck’s sake! Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck. Can’t you hear those words forming in your mind, ready to explode with color and imagination from the mouth that has issued a million orders over the years? ‘Give it to them hard and dirty,’ Patton said. You are this generation’s Patton, TH. You know you want to fuck-bomb the unwashed shit-suckers out there.”
“I’m not Patton, and for the record I’ll take that in cash, but that’s not how things work in this Star Trek universe of yours. Post the credits to my account, my friend. Tips are always appreciated.”
“Tips? Don’t bet against Terry Henry Walton. That’s the best one I have.”
“Rivka?”
“She’s recently arrived as an intern.”
“An intern? You have got to be kidding me?” Terry replied.
“I know you wanted to say ‘shitting me,’ so let it out, Terry. Let the inner you blossom before us.”
“No can do, Nathan,” Char interjected, stepping between the two men. “His self-control in not swearing for months is what’s going to pay for the franchise. I don’t want to lose that now, so we’ll be off. But an intern? I hope she knows what she’s doing.”
“She’s more than meets the eye. I call her ‘The Queen’s Barrister,’ if that means anything.”
A young woman wearing a fashionable spacesuit approached. Terry wasn’t sure whether it was armored. He resigned himself to the fact that she was new, like her spacesuit. She approached, offering her hand.
“My name is Rivka Anoa, and I’ll be working with you on your franchise contract for All Guns Blazing. Do you have any questions before we start?”
“We’d like to see the All Guns Blazing before anything else. Are you old enough to go in there? You look pretty young,” Terry told her.
“So do you,” Rivka deftly replied. She was shorter than Char by half a head, with blonde hair, hazel eyes, and pale skin. “I’m twenty-five, I’ll have you know.”
“I’m not twenty-five, and I’d like to see what I’m going to spend Nathan’s money on,” Char said.
“What are you, thirty-five? That’s not that big a difference.”
“I think I’ll be...” Terry stopped and started counting, ticking off his fingers as he went. “Round it up to one ninety. You know what that means! Somebody is going to hit the big two-oh-oh this year.”
“Why?” Char rolled her eyes and groaned. “Why did you have to bring that up?”
“Because I need to throw you a surprise party,” Terry replied nonchalantly.
Char turned to Rivka. “Which way to the bar? I could use a drink.”
“Follow me, please.” She winked at Char before shielding her mouth from Terry Henry. “I can get a wheelchair for the old guy if you’d like. I know you’re not a year over twenty-nine. You look magnificent! I love your eyes.”
Char loved the infectious exuberance of youth. “Lead on, Queen’s Barrister. Wherever you go, we shall follow—as long as you’re going to All Guns Blazing. If you’re not, we’ll find our own way.”
They took an elevator to the promenade level, where Rivka held the doors for them to exit.
“This looks the same,” Char said.
“All Guns Blazing is a brand new addition to Onyx Station. One of the signature elements is the seven by twenty-meter window looking into space. It is made using proprietary technology that will be part of the contract. The beer vats and brewing system must be purchased through The Bad Company. There is no proprietary technology there—it’s just beer—but the style of vats is unique and trademarked by AGB Enterprises.”
“Stop right there, barrister.” Terry crossed his arms, puffed up his chest, and pushed out his biceps. “It’s never just beer. There’s an AGB Enterprises?”
“Of course. That’s who owns the franchise rights, who you’ll have the honor of paying a straight twenty percent of your revenue—not profit—and who you’ll also have the pleasure of buying your stock materials from. It’s all in the contract.”
Terry deflated. “Is there any room for negotiation?”
“None, but I will remain your representative for as long as the contract remains in force.”
“What if you kill somebody and can’t be a lawyer anymore?”
“That is a most bizarre question. Although barristers often mete out Justice under the Yollin Accord, we don’t kill people. Should I be unable to continue my duties for whatever reason, you will be provided comparable counsel from the firm. It’s in the contract.”
“We mete out some Justice, too,” Terry started, “but I expect it’s a little different from what you do.”
“I’ve heard about what you do. I’m not sure I’d be bragging about it.”
“So what do you think we do?”
“Assassins. You come in the dark of night and remove people perceived to be a threat to the Federation’s power. I’ll tell you what, buddy, my door is locked and I can defend myself!” She pointed a finger at the two.
Terry and Char stepped back and looked at each other in confusion. “That’s not what we do. We’ve had exactly three missions so far. We ended a civil war on Poddern, we broke a blockade at Alchon Prime, and we closed an interdimensional rift and eliminated the Skrima, a race of demon-like aliens who had come through it.
“Oh, okay!” she replied happily.
“Aren’t lawyers supposed to take their clients without judging them? But more importantly, aren’t lawyers supposed to research stuff? You know, get to the truth?”
“I am still new at this, but there are rumors about you and your Direct Action Branch. They’re not pretty.”
“What the hell?” Terry turned to Char. She shrugged. “Is Nathan fu... messing with us?”
“I hope not,” Char declared, and her expression softened. “You look like you could use a beer.”
Terry’s ears perked up. “Could I ever! A nice dark one. Cold. Big. And then another one that looks just like it.”
“I think you’re going to like All Guns Blazing. It’s the most popular place on Onyx Station.” They turned a corner and Rivka waved her hands as if making the bar magically appear.
There was a fight going on at the entrance. Rivka held her hand up, signaling for them to stop.
“Wait a minute,” Char said. She and Terry pushed past the barrister and ran for the entrance. Half the Bad Company warriors who had arrived with Terry and Char were inside the bar playing a drinking game, and the other half were already drunk and trying to get in. The bouncers were having none of it.
“We’ve been here thirty minutes! How can they be drunk already? How can they be in a fight? How does crap like this happen?”
Terry grabbed the closest warrior and hauled him backward. The man tried to throw a haymaker as he swung around, but TH dodged it and slammed the man on his face. Char rabbit-punched the next man. Terry kicked the third in the back of the knee. When the man started to stumble, Terry punched him on the top of his head.
The fight ended quickly after that. The bouncers were unscathed and stood with their arms crossed, watching Terry and Char with wary eyes.
“Form up, you knotheads,” Terry growled at them. Six men and three women, all drunk and bruised, responded with alacrity. “You lasted a grand total of thirty minutes. That’s not a record, so, while you’re confined to the War Axe, be comfortable in the knowledge that there are people in this universe who are stupider than you. How in the hell did you get drunk in thirty minutes?”
“A killer drink in one of the sub-level bars. The Supernova Hellspawn something or other,” one of them mumbled.
“Get back to the War Axe. I will have Smedley track you, and if any of you geniuses get lost, you won’t be confined to the ship. You’ll be in the brig, don’t pass go, don’t collect two hundred dollars, and don’t ever enjoy one minute of liberty for the rest of your natural-born days.”
The group looked contrite until one of the women started puking. She remained at attention throughout the affair, leaving a splatter on the deck before her and a trail down the front of her shirt. The others started to giggle.
“You had best get back to the ship. Right. Now.” Terry waved at them angrily. They started to run, but they had turned in different directions. Two fell, but all avoided the spew. They helped each other up, decided on the way to go, and dashed away.
“Isn’t the hangar deck the other way?” Char asked.
“Yup.”
Rivka stood to the side, covering her nose with her hand to avoid the smell. Terry grinned at her. “Not our finest moment, counselor. If you wondered about any night-sneaking by steely-eyed ghosts, what you saw here today should put those rumors to rest. And you’re probably thinking we can’t fight our way out of a wet paper bag. To the untrained eye it may seem that way, but these people have been in combat for a long time. They’re blowing off steam, that’s all.”
Continuing to cover her nose while turning so she didn’t have to look at the mess, Rivka asked, “Maybe you can teach me a move or two? That was pretty good, how you disarmed three of them in three seconds.”
“They weren’t armed,” Terry countered.
“You know what I mean,” she huffed. She nodded to the bouncers, who waved them in. “After you.”
Terry opted for seats at the bar, with his back to the window. He would look at space later. He needed to observe the bar and understand the potential.
Rivka waited patiently as he inspected everything in sight, methodically looking from one feature to the next.
“He’s memorizing all of it.”
“I’ll transmit a complete portfolio of pictures. They come with the franchise license.”
“Sure, but he already has the whole bar committed to his eidetic memory. After one hundred and ninety years you’d think his brain would be full, but it’s not. Maybe when he gets to be my age...”
“I heard that,” Terry interjected. “Nothing you can say will get a rise out of me, not while I’m here in this beautiful thing.”
The bartender handed over a perfectly-pulled pint, so dark that no light passed through the glass. Terry looked at it as if he were in love. He closed his eyes as he sipped it, keeping the glass close as he licked his lips and took another long, slow drink.
“I may never swear again,” Terry suggested after he had finished the beer and called for a second.
“Bullshit!” Char declared. “Once the bar is up and running, you’ll be your old self. If you’re going to drink the profits, I’ll cut you off!”
“What?”
“Our bar. It’s our bar, not Terry Henry Walton’s private watering hole.”
“Ooh.” Rivka pursed her lips and brought up the contract on her pad. “I’ll need to make some changes.”
“Charumati Walton, co-owner. Equally, if you please,” Char specified. Terry took a big gulp and coughed before smiling.
“It’s every man’s dream. I get to own a bar with my woman!” Terry declared loudly.
“For fuck’s sake! What kind of barbarian is this turning you into?” Char leaned back on her barstool to glare at Terry.
“There’s the woman I love. Co-owners of a wildly-successful business enterprise, bringing entertainment, food, and drink to those who want to enjoy themselves for a brief period of time.
“You two are weird,” Rivka remarked without looking up.
Char stood and motioned for Terry to finish his beer, which he dutifully accomplished with little fanfare. “We’re going shopping. Buzz us when you have the documents ready. I think All Guns Blazing is exactly what we need. And a new pair of shoes. Maybe an outfit to go with them. A purse, too. I almost never carry one, but who knows? Especially if it’s a good match for the outfit.”
“By all that’s holy in this
bald monkey-ass world, don’t make me sign any more papers!”
“I assure you that no one is making you do anything. That premise alone could void this packet of contracts. Are you making that accusation?”
“No,” Terry admitted sheepishly. “I meant to ask if we will we ever be fucking done signing our fucking lives away?”
“You are an angry man,” Rivka told him. She climbed down from the barstool and stood to her full height, and she was still shorter than a sitting TH. “I have a job to do, and I don’t think you respect it! Nathan asked me to do this as a personal favor. Yes. I’m an intern. Yes. I’m a woman. Get over that and do your job, and I’ll do mine!”
“He doesn’t have anything against you being an intern or a woman,” Char clarified, pointing at the sheaf of papers. “He despises bureaucrats who embrace paperwork as the epitome of productivity.”
“You think I like this?”
“How could you not?” Terry declared.
“Okay, maybe I do, but it’s in the sense of putting a puzzle together so that there are no holes. You will be able to defend your bar before the Queen and the universe! No one can take it away from you, except for AGB Enterprises if you violate the branding or fail to make your purchases from them or fail to pay them, although you’ve made that payment automatic by agreeing to use AGB Enterprises’ Accounting and Banking system as declared on this form.” Rivka dug halfway through the stack and pointed to a page.