Metal Boxes - At the Edge

by Alan Black

  Grayson pushed an assistant out of his chair and dragged the seat to the foot of the table where he could stare into Boot’s eyes. “All motions must be written in plain language per UEN regulations.”

  “This is as plain as we can make it, Lieutenant. I refuse to dumb down language just to meet a standard set by an undereducated trigger puller. You included.”

  The lieutenant took a deep breath, stared across the table, and said slowly, “Ask him, Mom.” He jabbed a finger at Stone.

  Stone laughed out loud when he heard the lieutenant address Boot as “Mom.”

  Mrs. Boot glared at Stone until he stopped laughing. “This is not funny, young man. Having my son assigned as co-counsel removes any possibility of using legal incompetence as a reason for appeal. He may be the most irritating lawyer in this region of space, but no one would say he is incompetent. If the UEN assigned some hack from a backwater legal school, we might claim that you were not adequately represented.”

  Grayson said, “You can’t use incompetent representation as a reason for appeal in the UEN. Anyone assigned is assumed qualified or they won’t be appointed.”

  Stone nodded. That much he knew.

  Grayson pointed at him. “Do you understand that document?”

  Stone shook his head, “Not really, but then I gave up reading about halfway through the first sentence.”

  Grayson said, “Exactly. Neither would anyone else outside of a law school. Every navy court document must be written so the lowliest spacer third class can read it and understand it should they be on trial. This report also calls a decorated EMIS agent a liar. Is that your intent?”

  Boot answered, “Of course not. We just need the opportunity to cross-examine her.”

  “No, you don’t. The facts are clearly and simply stated, otherwise, the report would not have been adjudicated and Ensign Stone would not have been arrested.” He jabbed another finger at Stone. “All clarifications must come from him—,” he waved an arm through the air in no particular direction, “—and any witnesses whose deposition or dataport recordings are not on file.”

  Boot shook her head. “We’ve received dozens of recordings from dozens of witnesses for each infraction.”

  Ryte added, “Mrs. Boot, we just received an added charge of attempted escape and resisting arrest with half a dozen military dataport recordings attached showing Blackmon Stone damaging military grade nanotech handcuffs to free his hands.”

  Boot glared at Stone. “Are you trying to get executed, young man?”

  All dataport recordings would show him verbally saying he was not trying to escape and would prove he had not made any attempt to resist.

  Grayson said, “We have no strategy in place for Ensign Stone to be found not guilty of any of these charges. I’ve spend the last month pouring over the files on this case. I’m good, Mom, you know that. I can’t see any way out for this client. He’s guilty and all we can do is try to keep him from being hung.”

  Chapter Seven

  Boot said, “Do we need to read through the charges one at a time? Maybe we can spot something you missed, Son.”

  Stone held up his hands. He knew the charges. They had played a constant loop in his brain ever since the LAD lieutenant read them to him.

  Holding up one finger, he said, “Giving text-to-speech (TTS) dataports to drascos, plus giving ovens to piglets and allowing them access to my combat suit. Yes, I did that. I didn’t consider them non-aligned. I guess they weren’t officially allies at that time.”

  Grayson shook his head. “Do you have any mitigating circumstances, Ensign? You’ve just admitted to doing what they claim you are guilty of doing.”

  Stone said, “No, sir. They were fighting the Hyrocanians alongside us. Communication with friendly combatants is essential to the lives of our military personnel. Being able to communicate saved human lives in the long run and helped us establish the intelligence level of both species.”

  Stone wondered why every lawyer around the table was writing furiously on some report or another. Everything he said was recorded by every dataport and personal assistant in the room.

  Stone held up a second finger, “I did lead civilian piglets and drascos against a Hyrocanian enemy installation. Destroying that facility was necessary to our mission’s success and our survival. We didn’t have enough human military to make the raid, so we accepted a piglet mercenary group’s offer to aid us in the attack.”

  Boot asked, “You believe the piglets to be a semi-military militia?”

  Stone nodded, “Sort of. I’m not an expert on piglet military structures, but the piglets with us had been authorized to participate by the piglet military high command.”

  Grayson asked, “What about the drascos on your team?”

  Stone smiled. “Sir, at that time, the drascos were considered my pets. Their status wasn’t changed until after the successful raid. The drascos were then inducted into the marines by Major Numos.”

  Grayson shook his head, “I’m afraid Marine Command has invalidated the induction of drascos, Jay and Peebee. I don’t have any information on the other drascos that participated. Still, as you say, they were considered pets at the time. A non-intelligent species can’t be classified as combatants any more than the UEN’s own canine corps.”

  Stone’s third finger went up. “I didn’t turn over the piglet Shorty to piglet authorities after I discovered he was a wanted criminal. I was responsible for all the piglets aboard the Rusty Hinges. I wasn’t responsible for the ship itself and didn’t have any authority to order a rendezvous with a piglet ship to affect a personnel transfer. However, they didn’t seem all that interested in arresting him. They never actually asked us to give him up, not even after we attended a dinner party together.”

  A fourth finger. “I allowed looting and plundering to happen under my command. The piglets were mercenaries and the agreement for their aid stated they would be allowed to appropriate materials from the military installation as payment for their services. The drascos were my pets. Pets can’t loot or plunder.”

  He was starting to get the hang of coming up with mitigating circumstances when he raised the fifth finger. “I did make a trade with the piglets for military equipment…” Sixth finger. “…and I did give that material to the UEN for their use without going through the appropriate purchasing systems. However, both times the land I traded was my own and I didn’t forward the necessary purchasing data because we were behind enemy lines with no way to contact the appropriate authorities.”

  He raised a seventh finger. “I did not murder non-combatants. I never met a Hyrocanian who wasn’t trying to kill me. I never met a Hyrocanian who was trying to surrender. I killed them before they could kill me.”

  With an eighth finger, he sighed. “I did not try to escape. The handcuffs must have been faulty or improperly applied.”

  Boot smiled. “We can work with this.”

  Grayson snorted. “No, we can’t. Those are excuses, not valid reasons for breaking regulations. It doesn’t matter why he committed these offenses, just that he did.”

  The room erupted into a babble of lawyer talk and Stone quit listening.

  Boot pointed at Stone. “Get him out of here. Go rest or something, young man. Whole Source PR has need of you.”

  Stone nodded. He was not excited about participating in a public relations press event centered around him, but he did not want to listen to lawyers argue about what he had already done. He did what he had to do in each situation. Those he loved or considered friends would have died if he had not acted. Allie was alive because of what he did and that was enough. He did not want to be executed, banished, or spend time in jail, but he would accept the punishment he was given and be glad of it.

  Chapter Eight

  He had barely stood up before the tall brunette swept him up. The Whole Source PR woman brushed a hand on his suit making sure there were no wrinkles or boogers on his sleeve.

  She shouted orders sending assist
ants scurrying off in a dozen directions. Pointing at this person or that, a flick of her finger would send someone running away. Some came back, only to be sent somewhere else. Others never returned.

  She grabbed his elbow in a claw-like grip and dragged him from the room. He did not know where she was leading him, but she obviously knew where she was going.

  “Um…we wouldn’t happen to be heading near a chow hall, would we?”

  “Nothing so crass, Signore Stone. We have one introduction to make, then dinner is next on your agenda.”

  Turning a corner, she threw open a set of doors leading him into a huge room. A dozen people surrounded a pleasant looking teenager. She was tall and looked to be about sixteen. Her blonde hair looked natural, but Stone doubted it, as her eyebrows were two different colors.

  Pushing her attendants out of the way, the girl rushed up to him. Throwing her arms around him, she squeezed him tight and gushed loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, “Cousin Trey, thank the powers that be you’re all right, like joy, right? Thrills!”

  Stone took a deep breath and smiled. Calling him Cousin Trey meant she was a relative of some sort. He did not recognize her, but there was a lot of Stone family members he had not met face-to-face. He decided not to run her face through his personal assistant facial recognition app and embarrass her. He would wait until he was alone…although he was beginning to wonder when that would happen. Hopefully soon, since his bladder was now complaining along with his empty stomach.

  The girl said, “Really! I know you don’t remember me. It’s been like almost ten years since we last met, bliss. I’m Marybeth Butler Stone. Your third cousin, Denise Stone is my stepmother, joy joy.” Her use of the word joy sounded sarcastic rather than a sincere exclamation of pleasure. “She married my father, Charles Butler, then adopted me. I’m actually number 619, thrills.”

  Thrills sounded honest, but Stone noted by the odor of her emotions that she was not as pleased as she appeared. Whether she was unhappy about having such a high number or having a number at all, he did not know. She sounded ditzy and feather-headed. He was not used to people acting this way around him.

  Stone tried to remember her with some younger version of himself. Then it hit him, “Beffie-pie?”

  Her eyes rolled and she wrapped warm hands around his elbow. “I hate that nickname, my chill younger brother couldn’t pronounce Bethy.” She leaned her head on his shoulder, “The way you trill it, it sounds good to me, like thrills.” She tightened her grip on his arm.

  “Um…okay, Beffie-pie. What are you doing here?”

  “It’s family, bliss? We stand together, whatever the reason. Like thrills and joy?”

  Stone nodded. He would rather have Mom or Dad here and he wanted to talk to Grandpa. He thought, “How had he known to hire a team of expensive lawyers before possibly knowing he needed them? For that matter, how did Beffie-pie know to meet him here. Was she already on Lazzaroni?” The planet had a large military contingent, but it also had one of the larger civilian populations in this sector. It had a storied nightlife and enough natural beauty to attract immigrants and tourists.

  Around them, the room was buzzing with public relations flacks and Beffie-pie’s gaggle of attendants. Cameras were recording everything, though one cameraman seemed focused on his cousin to the exclusion of everyone else.

  Stone needed to relieve his bladder, wanted something to eat, and longed to send a message to Allie. He did not want to be wrapped up in a conversation with a distant cousin who added “thrills,” “joy”, and “bliss” to every sentence. He remembered Beffie-pie from their last meeting. She acted a lot smarter as a child. Though younger, she beat him and his cousin, Jim, at Iron Commander. Stone believed she was the one who taught Jim how to cheat at the game by turning his own mines against him.

  Today she sounded like an airhead, vacuum-spaced streeter. She was family, so he would not call her on it and embarrass her. If he could not get rid of her, he would ask privately why she was acting so strange. He could not imagine Denise Stone, Beffie-pie’s stepmother, allowing her teenage daughter to run around acting like she did not have a brain in her head.

  Beffie-pie giggled. Letting go of his arm she danced to some music blaring from an assistant’s personal recorder. Some of her entourage joined her, forming a line. They danced a few dozen choreographed steps, laughing until the music stopped. Jay and Peebee’s daughters would have loved it and joined the dance line.

  He needed to check on Jay and Peebee soon. They had matured quite a bit emotionally, but he was worried about them being confined and alone, not that the confinement was a problem. He doubted either would be caged longer than they wanted to be—they were strong enough to tear apart most cages.

  “Beffie-pie, where are your parents? Are you here alone?”

  Beffie-pie giggled, “Thrill, cousin. They recognize that, like, young people today are, for sure, pure forces of nature and the oldies can’t hold us down. Joy.” She nodded to a man staring at her. He held up five fingers and started a non-verbal countdown. At zero, she turned back to Stone. “Listen, Trey. Try not to talk about parents, please. The whole subject depresses our viewers. Mom and Dad are doing great. Last year, I became legally emancipated from them. They thought my vidcast was—how did they put it—gauche and unsophisticated. Not worthy of a Stone.”

  “Vidcast?”

  Beffie-pie pointed at the people and cameras all focused in their direction. “What do you think all the hustle and bustle is about? We have about one hundred fifty million viewers each week as I gallivant around acting like I don’t know up from down.” She waved a hand before Stone could ask. “Gonzo will edit out this section of film for a commercial. Considering the music we just played, the sponsor for our next segment is probably an alcoholic beverage that makes everyone look sexy and smart and is most likely restricted from viewers as young as our average demographic. Before you ask, Grandfather Stone is more than pleased with what I’m doing.”

  “Grandpa hates reality vidcasts.”

  She smiled, “Yes, he does. But each viewer pays two credits per view. Our six weekly broadcast sponsors pony up a few hundred thousand credits for each thirty-second spot. I know you’re bad at math, but do the numbers and you’ll see why Grandfather Stone doesn’t put the kibosh on me.”

  The brunette from Whole Source PR slithered up to them. “As long as we’re on a commercial pause, I need to tell you about a change of plans. We couldn’t get a reservation at La Rancid, so I booked you two at The Taco Shed.”

  Beffie-pie rolled her eyes skyward. “Gonzo. Cameras, in three-two-one. “Oh chill my butt cheeks. What do you mean you got me reservations at The Taco Shed? It’s joy, sure, but it isn’t joy joy. It’s so last millennium. I mean, like, really? I’m here with my famous cousin, Trey Stone. It has got to be La Rancid or nothing, thrill me?”

  She started looking around, instead of using her personal assistant clasped to her blouse. “Someone get me Armantian at La Rancid, like, right now.” An assistant, apparently anticipating her request, threw a data screen at her. She caught it, stumbled slightly, and accidently set the screen spinning.

  Stone caught her in mid-falter, his swift reaction enabled by his enhanced muscles generated by his mixed up nanite-drasco DNA cocktail.

  “Wheeee!” Beffie-pie said. “Oh, there you are, Armie.”

  The data screen had stopped spinning but was upside down. Stone wondered how that was possible. Personal assistants automatically rotated data screens to their user’s orientation. Data screens were light enhanced optics not affected by air friction that would stop a spinning display.

  Beffie-pie said, “Oh, joy, Armie. This is Beffie-pie Stone—” She glared at Stone. “Oh chill. I mean, this is Bethy Stone.” Rather than re-orient the display, she bent at the waist to orient her head to the screen.

  Stone grabbed the edge of the digital display, turned it around, and nodded politely to the man on the screen.

  Armanti
an, wearing an old-style tuxedo, smiled broadly. “Signorina Bethy, it is so wonderful to see you again. You are on Lazzaroni?”

  Beffie-pie giggled, “Of course, Armie. This is the place to be.” She possessively grabbed Stone’s arm. “This is the empire’s greatest hero, my cousin and close, close, clooooose friend, Trey Stone. Thrills.”

  The man bowed at the waist. “It is an honor, Signore Stone. We are all shocked—literally shocked—by the news of your arrest. I must express my personal concern. You and your most honored cousin, Signorina Stone, must be my guests tonight at La Rancid.”

  Beffie-pie giggled, “Why, joy! I certainly wouldn’t have expected such generosity on your part, but I wouldn’t think of, like, going anywhere else. La Rancid on Lazzaroni is the place to be, thrills for sure. Kisses Armie. We’ll be there before you know it.”

  Not waiting for the connection to end, Beffie-pie spun around to face Stone. “Oh, like, where are your drascos, Trey? I really want to meet them.”

  Stone shook his head, “I wish I knew, Beffie-pie. Only Jay and Peebee came with me. They were detained and caged when I was arrested. I need to find them.”

  “Oh, gasp! Chilled to the bone. Your drascos are like almost as famous as you are. Who would dare cage such magnificent creatures?” She turned away from all camera angles.

  Stone was amazed by Beffie-pie’s situational awareness. A dozen cameras were flashing around the room, but she knew how to duck all camera shots without taking any cameras offline.

  Beffie-pie shot a cold glance at the PR flack. That look spoke volumes.

  Turning back to the cameras she shouted, “Oh gasp and gag! Someone find out where Jay and Peebee are. Call my lawyers if you have to.”

  Stone realized he should have set his own legal team on the task of finding the girls. Initially he was not worried about them because they were so self-sufficient but maybe he should be. Without a valid scientific community consensus concerning their intelligence level, they might be treated as animals or pets. He smiled.