You Have Been Judged

by Craig Martelle

  Inside, she found a cross between a weight room and a dojo. Grainger was sitting on a bench, sweat running down his head and a towel wrapped around his neck.

  “You just come flouncing in here like you own the place?”

  “I don’t flounce,” Rivka shot back, putting her hands on her hips in defiance. “Wait, how do you define flounce?”

  “Sashay with plenty of sass.”

  “If I could do that I would, but I can’t so I don’t—although I’m not above trying. Wait, how do you define sashay?”

  “So this is how it’s going to be, huh?”

  “Have to have shared definitions if any conversation is going to move forward.”

  Grainger smacked his lips slowly and pointed to a locker. “Get dressed. It’s workout time.”

  “I thought I was going into the Pod-doc...” His look silenced her. She headed for the locker to find that there was no privacy, only a shower behind them where they changed in the open.

  “What’s the problem, Magistrate?” Grainger asked, turning back to the weights and adding two plates to the stack.

  “Nothing,” she mumbled. She carefully hung her jacket, removed the rest of her clothes, and tossed them in. She put on her gi and wrapped the annoyingly white belt around her waist, cinching it tight. She turned back, expecting Grainger to be watching, but he wasn’t. He was breathing in rhythm with his repetitions, his muscles bulging with his efforts.

  He finished his set and cleared the bench, using his towel to wipe up the sweat.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “How long were you flouncing around the station?”

  “Probably as long as you’ve been here, but the world is out there. And I think we’ve already established that I don’t flounce.”

  “Says you. If we don’t train in here, we won’t be ready for what’s out there. You have to be smarter, faster, and stronger than any person or creature you come up against. And most of the time, criminals run in gangs. You don’t come up against just one. You get to fight the whole fucking mob of them.”

  Grainger pulled up his shirt to show a buff and tanned body with a rock hard six-pack. Rivka wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be looking at.

  “Here,” he said with a snort, pointing to a faded line across his chest. She leaned closer and saw a number of lines. Some wrapped under his arm to cross his back.

  “What happened?”

  “A gang that got the smart idea that we were vulnerable to silver, so they silver-plated all their shit.”

  “Silver? How is that possible? Are you a Were?” she asked in a rush.

  “Yes. Silver cuts through the nanocytes that course through my blood. Hurts like a motherfucker, and leaves one hell of a mark.” He pointed to the smooth skin around her neck and on her arms. “You’ll get your own scars. Pod-docs can’t fix everything. And anyone carrying a silver weapon? That’s cause for arrest and on-the-spot judgment. Those fuckers are out to hurt someone from the Federation.”

  He removed most of the plates from the bench-press machine and motioned for Rivka to lie down. She took her place, lifting her feet to the bench instead of straddling it. She tested the weight and then started the set. The first three weren’t too bad, but after that she ran out of power quickly. The seventh rep never happened. She pushed at the bar balanced across her chest, but nothing moved besides a single vein that started throbbing in her forehead.

  She hadn’t even broken a sweat.

  “You’ve got some work to do, Lightweight,” Grainger told her with a scowl.

  “How did you do on your first day?”

  “My first day doesn’t compare to yours. I was already Ares, God of War on mine. Your best day will not be as good as my first day.” He stared her down.

  “Holy shit!”

  He started to laugh. “Just kidding. On my first day I was a total lost cause, just like you are, Lightweight.”

  “Take your ‘Lightweight’ and shove it up your ass!”

  “I don’t want you up my ass.”

  “What!” She rolled off the bench and came to her feet, fists raised.

  “You don’t want to do that.”

  “I clearly don’t have your respect, so maybe a little girl slapping you right in your mouth will change your attitude.” She waited for him to blink before lashing out. Her hand barely left her side before a sledgehammer of a fist hit her in the forehead. Rivka went down like a jumble of bricks.

  “You have my respect. What you don’t have is my experience or training, dumbass.” He walked toward the lockers, his gi dropping on the deck before he reached the shower. He slung his towel onto a hook before ducking under the water.

  “You are a strange man,” Rivka mumbled. She closed her eyes and willed the pounding in her head to go away. “What have I gotten myself into?”

  “Would you look at those knuckle marks? Epic, my man, epic,” the technician said while studying Rivka’s forehead.

  “Sometimes training is hard.” Grainger leaned close, stifling a snort. “And realistic.”

  “Into the Pod-doc with you,” the technician ordered.

  Rivka undressed and climbed into the device. The case closed and the AI started to work its magic. It sampled her DNA and started to program the nanocytes to make Rivka’s body stronger and heal itself faster; help her do all the things she could do already, but orders of magnitude better.

  “Did she want to be taller?” the technician asked.

  “Sure. Plus her up a little,” Grainger replied. “Anything else?”

  “I’ve got it from here. It’ll take a few hours to grow her bones and add muscle mass without too much pain and anguish.”

  The Magistrate reached the door and stopped. He spoke over his shoulder. “Give her something fantastic to change how she sees herself. Maybe the eyes. Give her eyes like no one else’s.” Grainger chuckled as he walked away.

  “Will do, boss.” The technician browsed the database, securing the door to the chamber before accessing restricted sites. Pornstars had a proclivity for the extreme. He pulled up a few—cat’s eyes, single-color eyes—and then there they were, simple yet exotic: a golden-blue hazel with oversized irises. He input the settings for those, and also added a greatly improved ability to see in the dark. “Pretty eyes that are functional, although they are like someone else’s. They’ll never find out about Midnight Sass.”

  Vered sat in the small coffee shop, his back to the flimsy partition that acted as a wall between the restaurant and a women’s accessory store. He watched people walking by, examining them quickly to determine whether they were a threat or not. Some saw it as a game. It had become so ingrained in his being that it simply was.

  Personal security for the rich and famous wasn’t something anyone could turn off, even if the current clientele were neither rich nor famous.

  The large man looked out of dark brown eyes from beneath a heavy brow. He had caramel-colored skin with jet black hair, all of which came from a melting pot of ethnic influence—exotic beauty in a seductive man-candy package. He was the hired muscle, assuming he could get hired. He had arrived early for his interview. This was just another client, but this time it was for long-term employment, not the usual one-off.

  He nursed his coffee as he waited for his potential employer.

  A man wearing the jacket of a Magistrate walked casually through the common area. His eyes bored into Vered’s, and they sized each other up as the distance between them closed. Vered stood, even though he didn’t want to. He was willing to be less dominant when looking for a job. Once he was hired, he’d take control to keep his client safe.

  He’d get paid because they would survive as they always did, but inevitably he’d piss off the wrong person and be casually let go.

  I need to up my game. Maybe having a Magistrate as a client would give me the culture chops. He laughed at the thought.

  Grainger stopped before him with a curious expression on his face, and Vered sobered as
the two men shook. Each gripped tightly, and the contest was on. Grainger smiled as he applied pressure, and Vered grimaced when the bones in his hand started to grind together. He bowed his head, and each released his grip.

  Vered rubbed the circulation back into his hand. “You don’t look like you have the guns, but I have to give it to you.”

  “Give what to me?” Grainger asked innocently.

  “That you’re stronger than me. But I have other skills, too.”

  “And that’s what we’re here to talk about, Vered. May I call you Red?” Grainger pulled the chair out and sat down.

  “That’s my preferred nickname, so sure—especially if it’ll give me bonus points to get me hired.”

  “I already know about you. I want to hire you, but you better be sure you want the job. You should be interviewing me, not vice versa.”

  “Vice? Are they here? I haven’t juiced in a long time, but I still don’t like answering questions from cops.”

  Grainger stared open-mouthed. He composed himself and explained, “I want to hire you as a bodyguard for a new Magistrate. She needs to be constantly training in hand-to-hand combat. You’ll find that she’s unnaturally strong.” Grainger stretched his fingers out and curled them back into fists. “She has a nice ship waiting for her that she has yet to learn about, and she’ll travel the galaxy to adjudicate various legal issues. It’ll probably be a month before she goes out on her own. Between now and then you’ll partake of all the physical training she does, and you’ll watch out for her while she’s on this station.”

  “Sounds too easy. You’re going to pay me to work out?”

  “I’m going to pay you to help her work out, but you’re going to need to get stronger…and probably faster, too. You will have nothing to do with her legal work, but you will need to watch her back while she is embroiled in the law.”

  “I have to babysit?”

  “Yesterday she killed a Yollin with her bare hands.” Grainger put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands.

  “A Yollin? It’s a start, but I’ll reserve judgment. I would like the job if you’ll have me. I can watch out for one of your legal people. Lawyers, the fungus that grows on the slime of the universe.” After the words had come out he slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late.

  Grainger thumped the big man on his bulky shoulder. “No sweat, I don’t like lawyers either. You’ll see that we’re a little bit different in what we do. There’s probably going to be a bit more hands-on than you would expect. As Magistrates we not only defend clients, we mete out Justice.”

  “Sounds like you’re the judge and executioner.”

  “We’d like to think we’re fairer than that. Judge, jury, and executioner.” Grainger removed a datapad from his coat. “Here’s our arrangement in writing. Please have your lawyer review any contract before you sign.”

  Red held out his thumb. Grainger scrolled to the end where the bodyguard affixed his thumbprint in lieu of a signature, having not read a single word.

  “Don’t fuck it up,” Grainger advised. “You don’t have to worry about getting sued for breach of contract. You’ll need to worry about getting killed. As of right now, you need to bring your ‘A’ game.”

  “That’s the only game I got, Mister.”

  7

  The lid on the Pod-doc raised, and Rivka blinked rapidly to clear her vision. The room had been darkened—she knew it had—but everything was in vivid focus. She sat up slowly and the technician handed her a robe, but she didn’t put it on.

  “It’ll take a little while to get used to the new you.”

  “How much changed?” she croaked, reaching for a jug of water nearby. She drank the whole thing.

  “You’re five centimeters taller, about fifteen kilos heavier, and your eyes are a different color,” the technician replied in a neutral voice.

  “Fifteen kilos?” Rivka stood up, growling as she fought to gain her balance. She looked at her new body. “Holy shit.”

  She ran her hands over her still-lean form. “I don’t see fifteen kilos.”

  “Your muscles are far denser now. You’ll have to get used to those so you don’t accidentally break stuff. Hold out your hand.”

  She showed her left hand, palm up. The technician dragged the point of a sharp blade across her palm.

  “What the hell, jagoff?” she exclaimed, cradling her hand. As she watched, the blood stopped flowing and the skin knitted back together. The technician waited until she’d internalized what she’d just seen.

  “The new you.” He showed her to a mirror. She twirled a finger at him so he’d turn around and looked at herself in the buff before noticing her eyes. She leaned in close.

  “What happened to my eyes?”

  “Computer selection as an optimal enhancement. Your night vision is far beyond any normal human’s capability. It rivals that of cats.”

  “Cats are optimal? Is that what I heard?”

  The man shrugged. “At least the knuckle marks are gone from your forehead.”

  “At the very least, and thanks for the reminder. I may never live that down.”

  She put her clothes on. Her Magistrate’s jacket was a touch tighter across the shoulders and her jeans were a little short, but everything would do. She tossed the robe across a chair and turned to leave.

  The door opened, and Grainger walked in. “It’s about time,” he griped by way of greeting.

  She threw up her hands and made a face at him.

  “Come on. You need to get used to those big muscles before you break your head.”

  He waved at her to follow. She casually walked up behind him and gave him a hard push, and he stumbled forward. “Not bad, lightweight.” He headed out the door and turned left.

  They walked in silence until they reached the unlabeled area she thought of as the Magistrates’ gym. There was a large man already there.

  “Say hi to Red, your personal bodyguard, then get dressed. Weights followed by sparring.”

  “I have a bodyguard? What the hell for?” She looked sharply at the man, who closed his eyes and started a new set on the military press machine.

  “Don’t ask me, I’m the hired muscle.”

  “Because you need to focus on the law. He’ll make sure no one sneaks up behind you.” Grainger faced his locker as he dressed. “Do you understand what you’re getting into? We don’t deal with white-collar crime or petty criminals. That Yollin yesterday? He’s on the weak-sister end of where we go. Get it into your head that the entire law-breaking universe is better off if you’re dead.”

  He faced her, jaw set.

  “You’re not kidding.”

  “About something like that? No, unfortunately not. At least I don’t have to see their evil like you do with your gift, if you can call it that. Maybe it’s your curse, but it has brought you to the ranks of the Magistrates. For that, I’m thankful.”

  “I don’t even know what we do,” Rivka admitted. She sat on a bench and frowned at the floor.

  “In due time, Lightweight. Hey, would you look at that?” Grainger pointed to the bench press.

  Rivka followed his finger and shook her head.

  “Those weights are not lifting themselves. Get dressed. Those weights need you to save them from a boring life of proving that gravity exists.”

  “You are a strange man,” Rivka reiterated as she put on her gi.

  Grainger smiled and nodded to the corner. “Changing room.”

  “Has that been here this whole time?”

  He shrugged and joined Red to throw some serious tonnage around. Rivka took the bench and started light. After nearly launching the bar through the ceiling, she added six plates, then four more. She giggled as she powered through weight she’d never imagined she could lift. She finally flipped the lever for the entire stack. She gritted her teeth and grunted. Gravity held it back, but her new power took over. It started slowly moving upward.

  “You might want to take it
easy...” Grainger cautioned.

  The tendon snapped with a sound like a balloon popping. The weight stack crashed to the bottom of the slots, and the bar slammed down hard centimeters from Rivka’s chest. She howled in agony.

  “Don’t think you’re getting out of sparring,” Grainger warned her.

  She looked at him through features contorted with pain. “How will that be possible?”

  “Give it five minutes. I expect your nanocytes are already racing to your injury and they’ll have you right as rain. You need to build your physical mass more through exercise before you try to lift the whole world. The nanocytes give you greater strength, but they also give you a greater belief in your ability. The Pod-doc gave you fifteen kilos of more dense muscle, but it isn’t ready to go all-out. You’ll spend the next month building up so you’ll be ready.”

  Rivka rubbed her elbow. The pain was lessening with each passing moment.

  Grainger stretched. “Since we have a little time before you get back to it, here’s your schedule. Five in the morning, chow. Then weights and sparring. By nine am, more chow. After that, back to school, Magistrate. Noon is lunch. After lunch, more sparring, this time using regular and improvised weapons. Then chow, then more class, dinner, and firing range. The evenings are yours to do whatever you want. That will start around eight.

  “I have nine hours to myself each night? Generous. And what’s with all the food? I’ll get fat.”

  “You’re on the crash course. One month to both get in shape and become self-sufficient as a Magistrate. You will not get fat. The nanos will draw most of their energy from your body, with alternate power coming from the Etheric dimension. You won’t get fat, even if you grow lazy—as lightweights are wont to do.”

  “Me, lazy? I’m pretty sure that won’t happen.” She flexed the bicep of her undamaged arm. “I like what I see.” She turned back to Grainger and fixed him with a serious expression. “I know what the alternative would have been for me—death or imprisonment on Jhiordaan. You’ve given me a new lease on life, so don’t think me ungrateful.”