A Tangled Road to Justice

by Olan Thorensen

  I did, too. Millen had confided to me what he planned for the meeting to accomplish. I didn’t know enough to judge.

  We spent the next four hours using the appropriated cycles to tour the outskirts of Justice. We rode out into the surrounding countryside about five kilometers, leaving the direction to Cherkoff’s ranch unexplored. After withdrawing from the edges of farm country, we were a kilometer from Justice when a short shower forced us to take shelter under a lollipop tree. A digital church bell from the center of Justice announced noon, and we returned to the marshal’s office. We got the cycles recharging—I’d found a recharging setup in the marshal’s garage—and made our way to Landa’s back door. We were the last to arrive, and Millen didn’t waste time on chitchat.

  “All right, you’ve had a chance to think and talk. If you re-initiate the Regional Council, are you willing to recognize Mr. Cole and me as the legitimate law enforcers? And what are you willing to commit yourselves to?”

  Felzoni spoke first. “I think I speak for all of us that we know we can’t simply sit and bemoan the situation. It’s a bitter pill, but you’re right that we bear a large part of the blame. Justice is in this situation because we didn’t act when it would have made a difference. The problem is, we don’t see a way forward. We’re not willing to go public against Cherkoff yet, but we want to do something. Give us some options. Something we can grab hold of.”

  “What about acknowledging us as the law?” asked Millen.

  “Yes, yes,” said Bossev impatiently, “as long as the authorization doesn’t go beyond this room.”

  Listening, I thought the condition was bullshit, but I kept quiet. Millen had his plan, and I knew what to expect next.

  “Giving us this authority is a good step, but more is needed,” said Millen. “You have to face facts. You’ll need to be involved in countering Cherkoff more than in the past. That’s if you truly want a return to justice.

  “I have a suggestion on how to start without exposing yourselves. What about a trial? Although I’ll concede it’s not ideal, the council could serve as a jury. Mr. Felzoni would be judge, prosecutor, and defense. There are precedents, in cases of remote locations and limited formal legal infrastructure, where a single person serves all roles in determining the facts of a case.”

  Millen looked around at the group. “Cherkoff has been here a long time. You must have seen clear evidence of what would normally be prosecuted as a crime. Think of one such case. One that sticks in everyone’s craw. A case crying out for justice that otherwise would never happen.”

  Millen had hardly finished when I noticed four people respond. Alda Nakasomi’s face flushed, and her jaw muscles tightened, as she turned to Landa. None of the other three had as intense a response, but everyone’s eyes flickered to the same man.

  “Mr. Landa,” I said, “perhaps you can think of such a case.”

  Turning pale, he didn’t say anything at first. I could see one of his hands trembling. I’d been around enough men in enough situations to gauge his emotions. It wasn’t fear or nerves, it was fury—raw, unadulterated anger deep in his bones.

  None of the others spoke up, and after those looks and glances, there was silence for almost a minute. Millen and I could see all seven were thinking of something. We just had to wait for them to share it with us.

  Finally, Alda spoke in a choked, soft voice. “I’m sorry, Alfredo. I know how hard this is. I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.”

  Landa walked away from the others. He stood at a window looking out at the night, his back to the rest of us. “I don’t think there’s another case that cries out for justice more than what Elena and I live with every day. Go ahead, Alda. Tell it. All of it.”

  Alda sighed. “Thanks, Landa. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait outside?”

  “No.”

  “And the others? Should I talk with Millen alone?”

  “Everyone knows, even if they tiptoe around Elena and me every time they’re near us. It’s past time to clear the air and quit pretending—as if not talking would make it go away.”

  Alda turned back to Millen and me. “It happened five months ago. Alfredo’s wife, Elena, was alone in their store just before closing. Two of Cherkoff’s men came in, drunk and boisterous. Elena tried to tell them the store was closed.”

  Alda choked. “They grabbed her and pulled her into the back room. While they were . . . I can’t even say it . . . while those two animals were doing it to her, Willie Lefont came and found them. Willie was middle-aged and worked at various odd jobs around town. He wasn’t the brightest of God’s creations but a gentle man, always seemingly happy with the world. He saw what was happening and tried to stop it. One of the men stabbed him half a dozen times, and all the while, the other man never stopped with Elena. When they were finished with her, that wasn’t enough. They beat her so badly, she wasn’t able to walk by herself for almost a month.”

  Alfredo stayed facing the window, but his shoulders shook, and muffled sobs were audible.

  “By this time, Wilton was marshal, and Omar was no longer the community’s mediator and judge,” said Bossev. “Wilton had announced that the new judge was a man named Malstrom. We never did hear a first name. He’s just referred to as Judge Malstrom. He came by dirigible one day and was met by Wilton and half a dozen of Cherkoff’s men acting as deputies. Judge Felzoni was forced out of the office he used and hasn’t been back since.

  “Needless to say, any cases involving Cherkoff’s interests that come before Malstrom are always found in Cherkoff’s favor. Whenever possible, people take issues needing mediation to Omar—quietly, of course. In the case of Willie’s death and the attack on Elena, neither Wilton nor Malstrom would do anything. They said the two men claimed Elena was willing, and they had to defend themselves when Willie misunderstood the situation. When I tried to appeal to authorities in Trondheim and Oslo, they kept referring me back to the local authority! What a travesty!”

  “When it became clear nothing would be done, we felt helpless,” said Alda. “I know Alfredo wanted to do something himself, but Elena rightfully got him to realize he had to think of the family first. We talked about some kind of vigilante action, but nothing came of it.”

  Millen took on a pensive pose. “So, you have a murder, rape, and beating by two men. No local or planetary authority will make any serious attempt to investigate. I could argue that you should consider yourselves justified in taking whatever actions are necessary not to only seek justice in this case but to prevent future crimes.

  “Let me restate what I propose. Six prominent citizens to form a jury for a trial presided over by Judge Felzoni. Mayor Bossev should not directly participate because he has a higher community profile and is most likely to be under observation. However, the mayor can facilitate details of the trial. The judge would determine which witnesses will testify, then the jury will decide on innocence or guilt.”

  “This is just a charade,” said Aleyna Hamdan. “Everyone involved will start off assuming guilt.”

  “That’s why Mayor Bossev should pick the jury from people who can set aside preconceptions as much as possible. Let’s don’t pretend that any jury comes to a case with a totally open mind. That’s also the role of the judge—to assess what’s reliable testimony and what is not. I don’t know Mr. Felzoni, but I’ll assume the community believes him to be fair. And no, this isn’t the way you want it to work, but it’s better than nothing.”

  Hamdan shook her head. “No matter how you try to parse it, it’s still a sham trial. As much as I sympathize with wanting to get rid of Cherkoff, I don’t see how this helps. Also, I can’t commit to being involved without checking with the other farmers. They look to me as a leader, and anything I do might come back at them once Cherkoff finds out what’s happening. I wish you well and won’t pass on anything I’ve heard tonight.”

  No one attempted to persuade her, and she left by the back door.

  “Anyone else?” asked Bosse
v.

  People in the group looked at one another, unspeaking, and shook their heads.

  “All right,” said Bossev. “I take it to mean we’re all agreed to try Millen’s suggestion. I confess I don’t see exactly how this is going to help us, but I think there will be a degree of satisfaction in doing something, even if it doesn’t lead anywhere.”

  The mayor turned to Millen. “What about a setting a date for this?”

  “As soon as possible. I’d think it should only take a day to confirm the jury, pick a secure and unobtrusive site, and decide on witnesses. Mayor, the first two will be your responsibility. Judge Felzoni, if you determine a witness list by mid-morning tomorrow, Mayor Bossev can help get them to the trial site. Is there any reason why the trial couldn’t be held tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow!” exclaimed Ostell. “Isn’t that rushing it?”

  “The sooner, the better,” said Millen. “The longer before the trial, the better the chance Cherkoff gets alerted.”

  I agreed with Millen, but I was also sure he wanted the trial as soon as possible to give the participants less chance to back out.

  “I agree with Boril that I don’t see where this leads,” said Ostell. “But let’s say it goes on, and the jury finds the two men guilty. Then what? No place outside Justice will accept them as prisoners from such a jury decision. What do we do with them?”

  “That’s another reason for Mayor Bossev not to be directly involved in the trial. Traditionally, the judge passes sentence. However, in this constrained situation, we will have to carefully think about what to do with any guilty parties. Considerations will involve the safety of participants, establishing a deterrent precedent, and careful assessment of all the options. I propose that if there is a guilty verdict, Mayor Bossev and I will meet and decide on the sentence.”

  I watched as everyone, except Bossev, visibly relaxed. People felt relieved that the prospect would fall on anyone but themselves. The mayor seemed about to object, then changed his mind. A sour expression washed across his face before it turned stoic.

  He told the others he’d be in contact with them by mid-afternoon the next day and to be prepared for the trial that night. I was surprised at how little discussion followed. When we broke up, the mayor and Alda left by the front door and the rest of us by the back. Millen and I were the last to leave. When we got back to the marshal’s office, Millen seemed in a good mood.

  “That went easier than I thought. Things are moving along nicely.”

  “Nicely?” I said, incredulous. “We haven’t been here a week and have been in two gunfights, killed two men, and now you’ve pushed through this phony jury trial.”

  “What?” asked Millen. “The man you had to shoot bothers you?”

  “Why wouldn’t it? I hope I never get to a point where it wouldn’t bother me. I didn’t even know the man’s name. In fact, I could have passed him on the street this week, and I still wouldn’t have recognized him before the shotgun made him permanently unidentifiable.”

  I expected one of Millen’s Western anecdotes or sayings, and I wasn’t in the mood. He surprised me.

  “Everett, I’m not saying it shouldn’t bother you, but I’m sure you recognize you had no choice. He and the other two were out to kill us. We can also assume we wouldn’t have been the first people they killed, nor would we have been the last, if they had succeeded. I know it’s a squishy argument, but last night you probably saved lives in the future. Surely, you’ve had to kill before in the FSES? Did you regret those deaths the same way?”

  It was a good question and one whose answer I didn’t know. “That was different. It was war. Maybe not formally declared war, but there were clearly defined sides. They were trying to kill my men. You must know how it is. Most of the time we were fighting for one another and not for the government.”

  “The basics are the same here,” said Millen, “just the details are different. Your unit became your surrogate family. Here, not only am I a member of your ‘family,’ but all the people of Justice are. We have to protect them, whether they want us to or not.

  “Before, the people you fought were part of political or religious movements. Here, their motivation is venal or to satisfy sociopathic urges. Our job—duty, if you will—is to protect, although the methods might sometimes require things we wish we didn’t have to do.

  “Also, the trial has three purposes. One is to get some activity out of the more prominent citizens, those who we hope will convince others to help later on and who will likely be the leaders if we’re successful. Second is that once they make the step to take any action, the less likely it is that they’ll back out later. Even the trial might not preclude some of them getting cold feet, but it’s a start.

  “The third reason for the trial is for us. So far, we’ve only heard the outlines of what is believed to have happened to Elena Landa and Willie Lafont. When Felzoni questions witnesses, you and I will also be a jury, unbeknownst to the others. If a guilty verdict comes in, and we agree with it, it will come down to us to carry out a sentence. I said Mayor Bossev and I would do it together, but in reality, it will be you and me. We have to acknowledge that for a murder and rape, the sentence might be termination.”

  I felt uneasy with the direction of Millen’s plans, though I wasn’t sure what to suggest in their place. “I’ll admit some of what you say strikes a chord. But it still sounds like you’re circling around the end point of shooting the two men if the trial finds them guilty. You’ve got our mission in mind, but what if the murder and rape weren’t related to our mission? Would you think about shooting them then?”

  “Nope. Wouldn’t be my business.”

  “And you don’t see it’s the same in both cases, but you choose to act different?”

  “If you think you have to act every time there’s some injustice, you’ll have no life of your own—not that you’ll be around all that long. I try to focus on what’s my business and what’s possible.”

  I definitely wasn’t satisfied.

  “Any thoughts you want to share?” asked Millen.

  “Not right now. I’ll have to mull it over a lot more.”

  “There you go, partner. You’ll be back in the saddle by tomorrow morning.”

  Philosopher Millen was gone, and the Westerner was back.

  After we locked up the marshal’s office, a fitful night’s sleep followed. I’d asked Millen again whether he was worried about Cherkoff’s men coming to either retrieve his men from the cells or find us at the hotel.

  “I doubt it,” he’d said. “If he’d left more men in town, they would have been at the ambush. He probably hasn’t gotten word of what happened after he left. If I had to guess, I’d say he’ll try to find out anything more about us. He’s got to wonder if we’re part of some Astrild faction looking to push him out of Justice—either for its own purposes or as part of an actual attempt to restore a traditional legal system. When he can’t find out anything, he’ll come back at us.”

  I hadn’t been convinced, and Millen, despite his assurances, joined me in checking the security monitors and the alert system we’d installed in our wing of the hotel. He also didn’t undress but instead fell asleep still wearing his boots and with his pistol on the bedside table. I’d come to understand that Millen might be a little too confident in his judgment of situations, but that didn’t prevent him from taking precautions in case he was wrong. I appreciated that trait in a leader or a colleague.

  CHAPTER 12

  I awoke the next morning, dressed, and checked the security system Millen had set up in the hotel and feeds from the two office cameras. They didn’t show anything suspicious overnight. As I finished, Millen woke up and jumped to his feet immediately. He went from sleep to action as if a switch had been thrown.

  “Ready for breakfast at Alda’s Place? We’ll see if she can rustle up some flapjacks, bacon, and coffee. Gotta keep our strength up in case there’s more dogies to rope and brand today.”

  A
grunt was all I deigned to reply.

  The previous day’s clouds had given way to blue skies and north winds.

  “We planning on traveling today?” I asked. “If so, I’ll check the cycles are recharged.”

  “No, we should be available, in case Bossev or any of the others need us for anything. If it all works out, we’ll have a busy evening.”

  Alda’s was full of customers, but the owner saw us come in and moved out two men who were finished eating but still talking. She cleared the table, wiped it, and motioned us to sit. As we passed her, she mumbled, “Everything is moving along.”

  We’d seen the morning menu written outside before we entered. No flapjacks. A choice of cereal or scrambled Astrilian eggs. She sure believed in a minimalist menu. Both of us ordered the eggs. When the meal came, it was a scramble of three to four eggs, pieces of cured meat of unknown origin, mushrooms (I think), and chopped bell pepper. Three thick toast slices were slathered with butter (or some kind of congealed fat that was yellowish and melted when warm). Humans liked to take the familiar with them as much as possible as they spread from Earth.

  The ersatz coffee was close enough to the real thing to clear any remaining morning cobwebs, and the meal was better than I’d expected and definitely filling. Alda came by with a coffee pot to give refills.

  “Glad to see coffee made it to Astrild,” I said, as she filled my cup.

  “Fools lots of people,” she said. “So far, no one’s been able to grow coffee plants to yield beans that make a tolerable coffee. No one seems to know why. What you’re drinking is called coffee here, but it’s made from big nodules on a bush that grows all over the planet, though the coffee-like product is better from some locales. This batch happens to be from a region not far from here—maybe three hundred kilometers—which is why we get it cheaper than you could in Oslo.”