by Chris Hechtl
“Captain,” the commander replied, turning away to address the JAG prosecutor. “Oh, introductions are in order I guess. This is Captain Senior Grade Rising Tide. He's assigned to put the screws to you, Admiral.”
“Funny, Trent, really funny,” the captain replied dryly as Horatio turned to get a look at their adversary. The prosecutor was indeed a captain judging from his rank insignia and uniform sleeves. He was also a high elf, much to Horatio's surprise. The two-meter-tall gangly being was stern to the extreme. He was blue skinned and had cat-like golden eyes and long pointed ears. He also sported black dreadlocks in a tight braid that ended in a man bun. No sympathy there he assumed.
He turned to examine the room. There were four sets of doors. The doors behind them were for the audience. The door on his left was the door they'd come through, which led to prisoner processing. The door behind the wooden elevated bench was for the judge and staff he assumed. The door behind the box for the jury was most likely the jury conference room.
They had put a lot of work into making the room seem like a proper old-world courtroom. If he wasn't in so much deep pucky, he'd assume he was on a program or movie set. The JAG in Pyrax had never had this sort of budget he thought.
Then again, Bek had been at it for a couple of centuries he reminded himself as the staff and judge came into the room.
“All rise,” the bailiff rumbled. Everyone in the courtroom came to attention quietly with a soft shuffle of moving limbs and fabric.
He realized he'd internally never considered it would get that far. It might be shock that he was now coming to realize they really were going forward with court-martial proceedings. He also realized with a small start that no one had the balls to do their duty and take Childress and his cronies out as they were supposed to.
He was disappointed by that, but somehow not surprised. They'd had plenty of time to pack the chain of command with their own supporters after all.
“This is like a bad dream,” he murmured under his breath. The commander glanced at him in warning, then faced the judge.
“Are we ready Counselors? Captain Rising Tide?” the arraignment judge asked, looking at the prosecutor.
“The accused, Rear Admiral Horatio Logan, is in the courtroom. We are ready to proceed,” the captain said.
“Then by all means. Let's get this over with. I've got a date with some paperwork and then dinner,” the judge said. “Court is now in session,” he said formally for the record. “Proceed Counselor.”
The captain read the charges and specifications off of his tablet in a stern voice. Horatio knew his implants were recording everything, but he logged the charges anyway. He realized not all of them needed to be real. Many were bullshit, but that didn't mean anything. The entire system was rigged against him.
There were multiple counts of Conduct Unbecoming, a nebulous charge, one hard to prove without witnesses. However, it was rigged against the accused.
Following that, there were multiple counts of insubordination. Again, a vague charge, one hard to prove without witnesses and a video record. It was all subjective between the accuser and accusee.
Then there were multiple counts of disobeying an order, something he was confused about since he had been obeying an order from Admiral Irons. It was Admiral Childress who was not doing so. He started to open his mouth to protest, but the commander stepped on his toe slightly. Instead, he closed his mouth. He still saw the captain and judge turn a stern eye his way.
After those were read off, there were multiple counts of Article 121, Theft of Government Property and Misappropriation of Hardware. That was followed by multiple Article 92 counts of Failure to Discharge Duties.
There were multiple counts of Article 88, Contempt to Officials in Charge; Article 91, Insubordination; Article 133, Charges of Conduct Unbecoming; and 134, Verbal Harassment.
Then the charges became more serious. There were multiple counts of Article 108, Sabotage and Destruction of Government Property, followed by another Article 92, Dereliction of Duty, for what he assumed was the Xeno virus attack. Then the captain's voice grew cold and hating as he listed the deaths of sailors and civilians.
When he finished with that, he then went on in his sonorous voice to list the final charges, one for Article 94, Mutiny and Sedition, along with two of all things, Article 116, Inciting a Riot and Article 117, Provoking Speeches or Gestures.
There was a long silence as the court seemed to digest that. Horatio was aware that all eyes were on him to see how he'd react. He realized that some of the charges carried life in prison sentences. Others had a death penalty attached. For whatever reason, Childress and his supporters were playing for keeps. The thought that eventually John would send in someone to find out what was going on and that eventually Childress and his people would go down was cold comfort if he was sacrificed like some sort of messenger pawn.
“Shoot the messenger indeed,” he murmured. A guard looked his way. He ignored the look.
“Stow it,” the commander warned in an aside to him. Horatio nodded once.
“How does your client plead, Counselor?” the judge rumbled. The commander turned to Horatio expectantly.
“Not guilty,” Horatio said flatly.
The judge stared at him for along moment and then shook himself. “Very well. The court will take petitions and begin preparations for judge and jury pool selection on Monday.” The judge examined the case and then shook his head. “We'll need a full court press on this one—three judge panel, all flag officers since this is a capital case. That might take some time to assemble. A full jury. I'm out of it; I'm going on leave Tuesday.”
“Understood, Your Honor,” Commander Cord murmured. Captain Rising Tide nodded.
“I'll leave those problems in Admiral Shren's capable hands then. The prisoner is to remain in custody.”
“Sir, given the nature of the charges, I don't believe the usual applies here …,” the captain interjected smoothly.
The judge eyed him and then shot a look at Horatio. Horatio cocked his head.
“Given the serious nature of the charges, I am forced to agree Counselor. Therefore, we'll transfer the accused to secure lockup. I'll leave it up to the bailiff and corrections administration to sort out.” He glanced at the clock and then tapped his hand gavel against the knocker. “And that's it for this case. Recess, twenty minutes,” he said as he rose and left the bench.
Horatio frowned, but before he could ask his counselor anything, the bailiff came over and then indicated he needed to move out.
“I'll catch up with you later,” Commander Cord said in passing. Horatio grunted as he was escorted out of the courtroom.
@
Horatio found out from overhearing the guards chatter that he was to be kept in brig confinement, not in quarters as befit his rank. That rankled, but they put it off as due to the severity of the charges against him. It wasn't like he had any say in it either. But he also found out that it was not just any brig, he was to be transferred to the main military prison facility. Each time he had a court appearance, he would have to take a cutter back to the station it seemed.
While on the cutter, he was gruffly given an energy bar and bottle of water. He ate quickly and quietly and even crumpled up the plastic water bottle and handed it over with the wrapper when he was finished. The silent guard took both and disposed of them.
It took several hours to get to the prison habitat. Once there, he found out he had to go through the entire penal system as if he was enlisted and already guilty. The guards who had escorted him were not happy about that.
“We're supposed to just hand him off. Now you're telling me we've got to run him through the gauntlet? The entire thing?” one guard complained. “We're supposed to be back to the courthouse before the end of my shift!”
“Tough. You know the drill,” the lieutenant on duty stated. “We can't sign off on anyone until they've been thoroughly checked. That's procedure.”
“Do th
ey know who this is? Are they serious?” the lead escort guard demanded.
“As a heart attack. That includes a full body-cavity search, scan, and the works.”
Horatio's jaw worked, but he realized right off any protest was futile. In fact, they might be playing a mind game with him to get him to say something, maybe even good cop bad cop. So, for his own sake, he remained silent while he went through the public shower, scans, cavity search, and then was shown to the prison's doctor in sickbay.
He was intrigued by the lead prison doctor, a Doctor Laura Hsiao. She was an Asian female, small but very professional on the surface. There was a slight twinkle in her almond eyes he noted. He was uncertain of her rank since she was dressed in a medical smock and he saw no rank insignia on her collar.
“Okay, this is pretty simple. You are in the Terran wing. I'm going to get a baseline on your vitals and ask you a few simple questions about allergies. Anything you let slip about your case, I might be called to testify, so let's not do that since I'm a busy woman. Okay?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Okay,” she murmured, putting on gloves. She took out her stethoscope and had him lift up his shirt. “I don't ordinarily wear gloves, but I got a flu bug from a prisoner once so don't take this the wrong way,” she said.
“I won't,” he murmured, clearly amused.
She stepped back as a nurse used an old-fashioned BP cuff to take his other vitals. When she was finished, the doctor ran her hands over him again, checking his joints. She also ordered a series of photos taken. He realized after the fourth blinding shot that it was a special camera, most likely looking for any deep tissue marks or something.
Good luck with that he thought. They weren't going to find anything.
Once they ran through the questionnaire, she shook her head. “It looks like we're about done here,” she said. “We haven't gotten your medical records yet.”
“That's okay, Doc, I have them on file,” he said, finally partially comfortable.
“You do?” the doctor asked dubiously.
Horatio went to tap his temple, but his hands were cuffed in front of him. She looked at his hand motion, then frowned. “I've got implants,” he said as he stilled his hands. She glanced at the guards and then back to him as to ask why he was cuffed. He shrugged in answer.
“Well, if it's just the same with you, I'll wait for official channels to give me their copy,” she said firmly.
“Okay, Doc. In situations like this, I prefer to defer to the experts anyway.”
She shot him an amused look. “Gee, thanks,” she said, lips quivering in amusement. She turned to the guard. “We're done here,” she said reluctantly as she took her gloves off.
Horatio hopped off the exam table and then shuffled forward. The guard guided him through the hallways and locks until they got to a small conference room. There was a single table in it and two chairs, one on one side and another metal one bolted to the floor.
“Hold your hands out,” the Neogorilla growled. Horatio did so. The cuffs were undone and then they were redone so he was secured to a ring on the table. The ring forced him to sit or bend over the table.
“Wait here,” the guard growled as he stepped outside and closed the door.
“I'm glad I don't need to go to the bathroom,” Horatio muttered. He settled himself into waiting.
And waiting. And waiting, he thought, watching the clock tick away internally on his HUD. Obviously, either someone was busy or they were playing mind games. He was supremely tired of it, but they were making a point. He was a victim, stuck in the system and subject to their rules. He could rant and rave, possibly even get out of the cuffs, but what then? No, it was best to go with the flow.
It took him a full minute to realize that might be a part of the message too. Not just dominance games, but also that he had to submit. That he should submit in order to survive. He snorted at the idea.
Finally, after forty-five minutes, a female human came into the room. She was stocky, well-muscled and a professional from her shiny boots to her cropped blond hair. From the look of her, she might have been a marine in a past life.
“My name is Sergeant Cooper. Here's the deal. This is an initial interview; I'm going to lay out the rules. You obey them and nothing bad happens. Don't, and you won't like it, and more charges will be added. Trust me, judging from the list of charges, you're in a dark enough hole as it is. You might want to latch onto a lifeline.”
Horatio cocked his head but remained mute.
“Ah, the strong silent type,” the woman said as she took the seat across from him. “I like that. Let's get this over with,” she said as she pulled some paperwork out and then started in on it.
They went through the checklist quickly and quietly. Most of the questions were basic; the medical ones had already been covered. He had no problems with certain foods. The warnings about passing on messages—kites as she called them was something he wasn't sure of, but decided not to ask about.
When she got through the basics, she checked the top sheet. “Okay, you've been assigned a prison number. To keep things simple and for your own safety, you will be referred to by your assigned alpha numeric code. Yours is THHL16533391. The TH stands for Terran Human. HL are your initials obviously. The rest is your ID code. Don't forget it.”
“I won't,” Horatio replied, logging the information in a text file.
The guard narrowed her eyes. “Give me a read back then.”
Dutifully, Horatio repeated the alpha numeric code. It was easy; he'd logged it into his implants. He had even set up a script bot to monitor for it.
The sergeant nodded once. “Very well. Memorize it. You'll need to know it. The guards will refer to you by that name. It is your choice if you wish to tell anyone your first name. But it can backfire,” she warned. “And you aren't exactly some run-of-the mill officer. You're pretty famous. That is both good and bad.”
“Understood.”
“Don't let anyone know you are an officer, and damn well don't let them know your rank. Some idiots never learn; they think they can throw their weight around. They find out too late there are people in here who have a thing about going after “royalty.” They count coup that way, especially the lifers. So, keep your head down, your mouth shut, and do as you're told.”
“Understood, Sergeant.”
“For the first couple of nights, you will be in isolation to give you time to acclimate. I suggest you do so without getting into any trouble. Oh,” she paused. “You can address guards by their rank or by calling them sir or ma'am. Get used to not being referred to by that. Some prisoners might try to trip you up and see if you react to being called sir, so beware.”
Horatio nodded once.
She walked him through his issue. He was given another orange jump suit as a spare, towel, a basic Terran hygiene kit, and a rule book. “Memorize this,” she said as she handed him the book. He nodded in reply, intent on scanning it into memory at the first opportunity.
“You'll get legal papers and material after it is cleared. All correspondence will be opened, scanned, and read. Don't get cute. Everything is by paper; you have to earn the right to have a tablet. There is no Wi-Fi. Get used to it. This isn't Club Med.”
He nodded once.
“Okay, the corporal will show you to your new quarters,” she said, indicating a human corporal at the door. He turned, noted the guard and then nodded once. Silently he picked up his gear. “You walk in front of him,” the sergeant said, motioning him to leave.
He carried his single change of clothes and kit in his hands; the guard walked behind him and guided him to a cell. He heard the catcalls from the other prisoners. “New meat! Hubba hubba! Don't drop the soap!” were the most common taunts.
“Can't you guys think of anything new?” the guard asked in exasperation as he triggered the cell door to open. Horatio stepped in and surveyed the small spartan room. It had a double bunk, stacked, a wash basin, toilet, and locker. Everything
was fixed to the walls. The room was about two meters cubed, just big enough for him and most of the Terran species.
“Get squared away. Inspection every morning. This is just like Boot, get used to it,” the guard said as Horatio turned. “Any questions?”
Horatio cocked his head. “What time are the meals?”
The guard sniffed. “You'll find out,” he answered as he triggered the door to shut. “Welcome to your new home.”
Horatio couldn't help but feel a sinking sensation as he heard a few people in cells nearby laugh at that taunt. He closed his eyes and accessed his implants. There was of course no Wi-Fi; that was to be expected. He grimaced and then went about getting squared away.
@
At 2200 hours the lights flickered. Then a voice came over the PA. “Lights out,” it said just before whoever said it shut the lights off in the cell remotely.
“Okay, I guess I'm supposed to sleep,” he muttered to himself. Of course he didn't have to; he had his implants. Unfortunately, for the time being he only had his internal methods of powering his implants so he refrained from using them. There was no telling how long he'd have before he could recharge properly so it was best to conserve them.
@
Sometime in the night, Horatio was given a rude awakening with a bright light from a flashlight in his face and banging on the metal door. “Count off!”
“What the hell?” he demanded as he put his hands up over his eyes. “Turn out that light!” he roared.
“He's new,” another unfamiliar voice said with a laugh as the guards went on their way.
“You get used to crap like that,” a prisoner next door muttered just loud enough to be heard.
“Gods of space I hope not,” Horatio grumbled as he turned over.
@
The following morning Horatio rubbed his burning eyes. He'd been subjected to several rude awakenings in the night and another in the morning. They were ushered out of their cells at first call. He found out that the prisoners were subjected to regular discipline, including mandatory exercise. That meant he had to go through morning PT before breakfast. He kept in shape so it wasn't that hard, just surprising. Once they got through the basic warming-up exercises, it became a grueling jog, however, doing laps around the exercise course. From the sour looks of the other prisoners shot his way, their extended run was for his benefit. He grimly hung in there and didn't give up. Twice someone tried to trip him, but he agilely leapt over the foot and kept moving. He knew he wasn't making any friends by hanging in there, but he wanted it clear he wasn't a pushover either.
