by Neal Jones
Sam looked up, smiling. "Hi."
A pair of tall candles winked and danced in the center of the table, their soft light flashing off the silver plates and dinnerware.
"Oh my gods!" Navarr sat, leaning closer to get a better look at the main course. "Meatloaf?"
"You said it's your favorite, right?"
"Well, the way my mom made it, yeah. I've never been sure about the food dispenser's method."
"How do you know I didn't make this myself?"
"Really? That would be a surprise."
"Oh, ha ha. You're a riot."
She sighed, shaking her head. "Thanks for this. It's been a long day."
"So you were saying when you walked in." He reached for her plate. "And now that you mention it, there have been quite a few cases in the ER lately of patients who have some kind of flu. We're just giving them the typical round of anti-virals and sending them home. They'll be fine in a couple days."
"Yeah, well, a couple days is too long. I can't run station security with a third of my staff out sick. Especially now that Zar and Morryn are here." She took a tentative bite of the meatloaf. "Not bad."
"Needs more seasoning. So…about this visit from my parents…"
"Oh, right. That's next Friday, isn't it?"
"Chris, I'm sorry. I know that I didn't give you much warning –"
"No, you didn't."
"Well, they didn't give me much notice either."
Navarr didn't respond, staring at her plate as she buttered her baked potato.
"I know you're mad at me," Sam continued. "I just wish I knew why."
Chris glanced up, the candlelight flashing in her dark eyes. "It's your parents, Sam. This is a big milestone in the relationship process, the kind that usually happens -"
"After several months, right?"
She fidgeted, chewing another bite meatloaf. "Well, yes."
"We've been dating for over six months. What is it about meeting my parents that you're uncomfortable with?"
Navarr sighed, swallowing. "I don't know. It's just…"
"Just what?"
"Sam, we aren't even living together yet! We haven't even really talked about where all this is going. We've just been dating, that's all."
"Isn't that supposed to be my line?"
Chris feigned a smile, and then sighed. "Look, I just think that this isn't the right time to meet your parents. I already told you how things went with Jeff. I just don't want to make that same mistake again."
"Oh. I see. The past few months haven't been serious for you then? All of this has just been casual dating?"
"That's not what I meant."
"No, no, I get it. This actually makes perfect sense. It explains why you've always kept me at arm's length for all this time." Sam tossed his napkin on the table and stood.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"This is why I didn't tell you until last week about my parents visiting. I wanted to see your reaction, Chris."
She stood and blocked his path. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means that I've been dating you for over six months, and the only personal detail that I know about you is that your favorite comfort food is meatloaf. You've never said anything about your parents, your family, never suggested that we move in together –"
"Oh, give me a break, Sam! Why are you being so trivial? You want to know what presents I got for my 7th birthday, or where I had my first kiss in high school?"
"Now who's being trivial?" He sighed, brushing past her. "Forget it. I don't want to talk to you when you're like this."
"Sam, wait." Chris sat and motioned to the other empty seat. "Let's start over, okay? I didn't mean to start a fight."
He hesitated and then reluctantly plopped into the chair.
"You're right," she began, absently stabbing her potato with her fork. "We have been dating for awhile, and I shouldn't be this panicked about meeting your parents." She glanced up, silencing him with an upraised hand. "Just wait. I need to explain something to you. When I married Jeff, I was twenty years old. We'd only been dating two months, and I thought were in love. We had a lot in common, we got along really well together, and when he proposed I didn't hesitate to say yes. I was sure we would grow old together, and serve all of our assignments together, and when we retired we would settle on a beach somewhere on some exotic planet and live out the rest of our days raising a family and being happy." She paused, chewing her lower lip and staring at the dancing flame. "And then, after the first year it all fell apart. It wrecked me, Sam. I was devastated. I couldn't believe how stupid and naïve I had been, and I swore to myself that I would never make that mistake again."
"Chris –"
"Just wait. I'm not finished. I've really enjoyed these last few months with you, and the reason I've enjoyed them is because you and I haven't been very serious. It's been nice. It's been casual. It's been fun." She leaned back, crossing her arms. Her gaze drifted to the tiny flame once more and then back to Sam. "You have no idea how nervous I was that night we had our first date. But you surprised me. You were different. You weren't exactly what I expected, and I thought everything was going pretty well. You seemed very willing to keep our relationship casual."
"And I still am. I've had fun too. But I noticed lately that we sleep over at my place more often than yours. And I wasn't being trivial when I said that you really haven't talked about your family that much. Not as much as I've talked about mine."
"But, Sam, that doesn't mean anything! Just because I haven't introduced you to my parents yet doesn't mean that I'm not invested in this relationship."
"But you're unwilling to meet mine, and ever since I mentioned their upcoming visit you've been scarce. This is the first dinner we've had together in a week."
"We haven't been together lately because you've been working a lot." Navarr sighed, pushing away her plate. "Fine. If it's such a big deal to you, I'll meet them."
"No. Forget it. You don't have to meet them." Sam started for the door. "Maybe it's better if we take a break from each other until after they leave."
"Sam, wait!"
But he ignored her, and Chris gave a frustrated sigh as she angrily cleared the table and blew out the candles.
( 4 )
Grax squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. He stood at the entrance of his cell, waiting for Sesrin and Ghyl to arrive. He'd been napping when the ship dropped out of stardrive, and the subtle shift in the spatial harmonics that thrummed inside every bulkhead and deck plating was enough to awaken him. He glanced down at his suit coat and brushed away a piece of fuzz. He had hoped that Ghyl would grant him a few minutes in a sonic shower cubicle, but his request was ignored. So he'd done the best he could to make himself presentable to the Chief of the Royal Guard.
The door to the outer room slid open with a great clatter to admit Draussen and Sesrin. The mob lord motioned to the guard to lower the forcefield of Grax's cell, and Sesrin locked the handcuffs onto Thalor's wrists as soon as he stepped out.
"Is this really necessary?" he asked. "I already gave you my word I wouldn't attempt an escape, and besides…where am I going to go?"
"You always have a backup plan, remember?" Sesrin replied. "The Sr'gg'nss would be very unhappy with us if we lost you between here and the planet's surface."
"Let's go," Ghyl rumbled irritably. A pair of thugs was waiting in the corridor, and they fell in step behind him as the party left the brig.
"Did you not sleep well last night, Draussen?" Grax cast a sideways glance at his sister.
But Ghyl ignored him, and Sesrin stared straight ahead as they continued the rest of the way in silence.
Beyond the threshold of the transfield was a large chamber with no windows and only one entrance. Thalor recognized it immediately, for it was the same room in which he'd been interrogated almost twenty years earlier. The Chief of the Royal Guard, however, was a younger, slimmer man than the one Grax had faced back then. His two upper arms were fo
lded menacingly across his narrow chest, while the lower pair were clasped behind his back. The Sr'gg'nss had large, narrow heads, and a pair of eyes on either side, one above the other. Those of the chief were narrowed in stern suspicion as he watched Grax step through the transfield. Behind him, guarding the room's only exit, were a pair of guards.
"Thalor Grax," the chief rumbled, his voice surprisingly deep for someone of such slim stature. "Welcome back to Mr'gss-Gl'nn."
"Thank you for your hospitality," the Orethian commented dryly, glancing around the austere room.
The lower pair of the chief's arms unclasped and he motioned to the table. "Sit." He looked at Ghyl and Sesrin. "You may leave. Your ship will be held in orbit until this matter is cleared up to our satisfaction."
Sesrin paused, frowning, but Ghyl nodded and bowed.
"Of course," Ghyl said, stepping back through the field.
Sesrin hesitated, glancing at Grax and then at the chief. "We've delivered the fugitive. We should be free to go."
The chief shook his head. "You will wait for our authorization to leave orbit."
Thalor glanced over his shoulder to give his sister an I-told-you-so look.
Ghyl reached across the transfield threshold to grab Sesrin's arm and pull her back. "Of course," he said to the chief. "We will wait for as long as you like."
The field vanished, and Grax pulled out a chair. He folded his hands on the table and waited.
The chief gave his prisoner a wide, toothy smile. "You've caused quite a furor here in the palace these last few days, Mister Grax. I've been very anxious to meet you."
Thalor returned the smile. "I was surprised to see that Z'Mn'th isn't still Chief of the Guard. Has he retired?"
"Yes."
"Have you told him of my return? I'm sure he'd love one more opportunity to interrogate me."
"And from what I've heard about you, all of your answers would be lies."
"Well then, K'Lnn'tm, today is your fortunate day. The real crown has been here on Mr'gss-Gl'nn all this time. I will give you the key code to a public vault in An'nd'm City where you'll find it in perfect condition. And the testing to prove its authenticity will be – what? A full day, at least? In the meantime, I'd like some fried halk with a side of steamed merm. Draussen has fed me next to nothing on our way here, and I'm starving."
The Sr'gg'nss chief stared at the Orethian, bemused and surprised. "Really? It's that simple, eh?"
"You want the real crown back, right? That is why I'm here, isn't it?"
The chief's eyes narrowed, and his upper pair of arms uncrossed as he stepped closer to the table. "And then what? You think you're just going to walk back through that transfield and leave our sector as if you committed no crime?" He clipped his sentence with a shirt, barking laugh.
"Actually, yes," Grax replied evenly. "That's exactly what's going to happen. Do you have a compad so I can give you the code?"
K'Lnn'tm didn't immediately respond, his upper arms crossing themselves once more. He stared at Grax, his mouth drawn into a tight line. After a few moments, one of his lower hands dipped into a pants pocket, and he slid a pad across the table.
Grax typed in the information and slid it back. "Now, about that fried halk."
The chief motioned to the pair of guards on the other side of the room. "Please escort the prisoner to a holding cell. It's almost lunchtime, Thalor. You'll get the same bowl of soup that everyone else in here is served. You'll be lucky if it's even warm."
( 5 )
It was two hours after the soup was delivered that K'Lnn'tm stood in front of Grax's cell. The bowl had remained untouched. The color of the liquid was a murky gray, and Thalor was certain that something remained alive at the bottom because of the occasional wave that rippled across the surface. Thus far, however, nothing had crawled out.
"The crown was right where you said it would be," K'Lnn'tm commented as he waited for the guard to deactivate the forcefield. "But you were wrong about the testing. We'll have the results in about six hours. While we wait, the magistrate has asked to meet with you. We're going to decide the length of your incarceration. I am certain it will be more than two years this time." He cast a sideways glance at Thalor as they walked the length of the narrow corridor.
Grax ignored the smug tone. "Before we go into his chamber, I believe I am granted the right of one comm call. I'm also entitled to legal representation, am I not?"
"You're entitled only to what the magistrate allows," K'Lnn'tm growled. He entered his code into the door's panel and then stood aside, motioning for Grax to enter first.
The room beyond was larger and more evenly lit than the interrogation room, but just as empty and sparsely decorated. There were no windows, and only a pair of tables sat in front of a judge's bench. On the wall behind the bench was a viewscreen, with an antique painting hanging on either side of it. Both depicted robed magistrates of years past, looking down at the room with somber gazes.
K'Lnn'tm directed Grax to the nearest table, and the pair of soldiers that had been guarding his cell took up position on either side of the main door. After a moment or two, the door behind the bench slid aside and the magistrate ascended the steps to his chair. He leaned forward, peering down at the Orethian. His elaborate headdress – which made him appear more comical than severe, in Grax's opinion – rustled loudly in the large, silent chamber.
"Thalor Grax," he intoned somberly, "you are brought before this court to answer for the crime of theft and forgery, committed seventeen years ago against the ruling family of Th'Nm'Znn. The charge of theft pertains to the breaking and entering of the Vault of Fl'nnd for the purpose of stealing the Crown of Az'Nn'rkk. You pled guilty to this charge at the time of your arrest seventeen years ago, for which you served two years incarceration. However, because of the recent testimony of Sesrin Grax, this charge has been brought against you a second time. The royal family has chosen to exercise their right of second judgment in this matter and, therefore, the charge is legal. In addition to this first charge, you must now also answer to the charge of forgery. You knowingly and willfully handed over a false crown to the arresting authorities seventeen years ago. The royal family is now pressing for the maximum penalties for both of these charges. How do you plead in this matter?"
"Before I answer, honored magistrate, I'm curious about one thing."
The judge's expression turned even more dower as his eyes narrowed. "And what would that be?"
"If I am indeed on trial here, where are the witnesses? Or, for that matter, the holo-recorders? And why so quickly? I've only just arrived a few hours ago. Surely you had other, more important cases in your busy schedule that couldn't be postponed on such short notice."
"None of that is your concern," the magistrate barked. "You are here to answer the charges against you. I will say again, how do you plead?"
"My legal council is not here to represent me, nor have I been allowed a comm-call. Those are my rights, are they not?"
"In a matter such as this, it is at the court's discretion whether or not to honor your rights."
"Very well then. I plead guilty."
The magistrate blinked, as if startled by the response. He leaned back, and one of his lower hands pressed a button on his computer terminal. A loud chime rang in the chamber. "Let the record show the criminal has pled guilty to all charges." He peered at his notes on the terminal screen, and then turned his stern gaze upon Grax once more. "The royal family is pressing for maximum penalties on both charges. For the crime of theft, seven years. For the crime of forgery, seven years. Both are to be served consecutively. Before I pronounce sentence, you are granted one final statement for the record, Mister Grax."
"Oh really? So there is going to be an official record of this trial?"
The judge leaned forward, his wide mouth curling into a snarl. "You will not mock the proceedings of this court, Mister Grax! Is that clear?"
"My apologies, honored magistrate. I was simply trying to clarify whethe
r or not this trial would be a matter of public record."
"Obviously it is not."
"And why is that?" Thalor pressed.
"Are you going to give a final statement or not?"
"Yes, I am. I find it very interesting that all of this being kept quiet, but I don't blame the royal family for wanting it that way. I'd be very embarrassed if I was Kk'Nm'Znn. I wouldn't want my people knowing that the Vault of Fl'nnd could so easily be broken into. Nor would I want it known that, for the last seventeen years, the Crown of Az'Nn'rkk that has been worn in the annual Parade of Snn'Lm'rr has been a fake. That would be even worse than the humiliation of the theft of the original crown."
"Is there some point to this confession?" the judge interrupted.
"Oh, this isn't a confession. Yes, I plead guilty to stealing the original crown, and I have returned it to you safe and sound. However, I won't be serving any more time in one of your solitary holographic confinement cells. Two years was more than enough time to spend all by myself. Instead, you're going to escort me from this courtroom to the nearest shuttle station. I will book myself passage off Mr'gss-Gl'nn, and I will never return. Furthermore, I will agree to never set foot inside the borders of the Nevala Sector ever again. In return for the commuting of my sentence, I will not disclose the details of either of my crimes. You have the original Crown of Az'Nn'rkk back in your possession, and no one outside the royal family will be the wiser. Do we have an agreement?"
The magistrate stared, open-mouthed, and then his eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. "I pronounce sentence upon the prisoner, Thalor Grax, who shall serve two consecutive sentences of fourteen years for the charges of theft and forgery. This trial is concluded." One of his lower hands reached out to press the chime, but the sound of the main door sliding open diverted his attention. "Who dares to interrupt the proceedings in my chamber –"
