Judge, Jury, & Executioner Boxed Set

by Craig Martelle

  “Don’t lose our stuff,” Red growled.

  “Now, you’re the king,” Grainger said in a low voice before motioning for the senior jurist to lead on.

  Chapter Three

  Before the elevator reached the top floor, Rivka handed Red her neutron pulse weapon. “Take care of this for me, will you?”

  He grinned. “Of course.” He tucked the small flashlight-looking weapon into his pocket. In his other pocket, he had an oversized folding knife.

  Lindy had one, too. They had no intention of giving up all their weapons and were pleased to see that Rivka hadn’t submitted either.

  One team. One fight. The bad guys were out there somewhere, watching for the opportunity to strike. Red could never be off his game.

  Or unarmed.

  And with Lindy, he had a second set of eyes. Two for the price of one. Keeping peace in the universe brought the attention of too many enemies of humanity. Red was happy that Rivka never hesitated to reduce the numbers of those who embraced evil.

  Maybe they were just psychotic, but in the end, those who confronted the Magistrates—any of them—ended up taking a dirt nap when all was said and done, because more was done than said.

  The tenth floor was painted off-white and had no decorations, being both sparsely furnished and austere. The doors and bars broached no question as to the purpose of this part of the building. Someone’s moans sounded down the corridor.

  Five Magistrates, two bodyguards, and the senior jurist waited as someone behind a heavy glass screen punched a button to open the main door. Beyond, there was a set of bars which wouldn’t open until the first door had closed. The small space wouldn’t fit eight people.

  Red shouldered past the Magistrates into the space, then Pass, Grainger, and Rivka squeezed in and shut the door. The bars slid to the side, and they proceeded to the other side. The process was repeated, and when the final four joined the first group, Pasifa led them down a corridor away from the cells. The first two doors were open, showing small interrogation chambers. Each contained a table with a single chair on each side.

  Rivka frowned and turned to the group. Jael was frowning, too. Chi and Buster didn’t look happy. Grainger folded his arms across his chest. Pass started to look uncomfortable.

  “For a peaceful planet, it seems like Opheramin treats its suspects harshly,” Grainger said what they were thinking.

  Pass pursed her lips before replying, “Maybe it’s because suspects and crime are so little of what we do. We find the idea distasteful, and the people in here aren’t just suspects. They don’t come here until we are nearly certain that they were the one who committed the transgression.”

  “’Nearly certain’ isn’t the same as ‘convicted,’ Senior Jurist,” Grainger replied. “Can we see the three suspects, please?”

  Pasifa nodded while looking down. “Wait here.” She shuffled away.

  “This is like an old-time nut house. If you weren’t crazy when you got here, you will be soon,” Chi suggested.

  “What we have to do is determine if one of these three is the original human, or if all three are clones and the human was one of the two who died. Then we have to adjudicate the existence of the clones. What happens to them, assuming that none of the three were responsible for the death of the other two?”

  “What a shit sandwich.” Jael tossed her head as she contemplated the case. She removed her datapad and started tapping.

  “This is training.” Grainger scowled. “There is nothing that’s cut and dried. We have to dig out the good from the bad and get to the truth. When Rivka joined our ranks, she showed us what real lawyering is all about. We need more of that, so here we are. She gets to help us work through this.”

  “When were you going to tell me that?” Rivka demanded.

  “How about now?”

  She closed her eyes and sighed, then removed her gloves from her pocket. “Let the show begin.”

  The sound of approaching footsteps drew their attention. Behind the senior jurist, three identical-looking men trundled along in shackles and chains with a single guard behind them. He didn’t appear to have a weapon. Rivka glanced at Red. He had the neutron pulse weapon concealed in his hand while trying to look casual. Lindy was tense. When the three arrived, she instructed one of them to remain in the hallway, while the other two went to separate interrogation rooms.

  “You can interview them one at a time,” Pass offered.

  Grainger pointed at Rivka, Red, and Chi and then to the second door. “You take that one.” They headed in and closed it behind them. “With me.” The rest entered the second interrogation room. The senior jurist remained in the hallway with the lone guard and the remaining suspect.

  Rivka leaned against the wall, Red looming large next to her. They looked at the table where Chi faced an exact copy of the two other suspects.

  He set his datapad on the table and activated it. “What’s your name?”

  “My name is Gregar Deiston,” the suspect replied evenly.

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  “You think I killed my brother.”

  “I don’t think anything of the sort. Two people who look exactly like you have been murdered. We want to make sure you aren’t the next target.” Chi rolled the words smoothly off his tongue. “You have to admit that you are safe within this building.”

  “Then why the shackles?” the man asked.

  “So the other prisoners don’t think this has become a luxury hotel.” Chi smiled at the man. Rivka fought back a snort.

  “You think I did it?”

  “I think that you think you’re a criminal. It’s my job to determine how many crimes you’ve committed. Let’s start with cloning. The very existence of a human clone means that a crime has been committed. That’s one strike.”

  “Since when is existing a crime? I had no control over any of it. I was simply born. Being born is a crime in the vaunted Federation?”

  “You admit that you are a clone, then. That helps. Why did you kill your creator?”

  “I’m sorry, you’re not very good at this. Are you new? Is this your first day?” the suspect snarked, leaning back and rolling his eyes.

  “I was seeing if you were paying attention. Describe the events that happened ten days ago in the time leading up to the discovery of the two bodies that looked just like you.”

  “No,” the man replied before yawning. “I’m tired. Please return me to my luxury suite.”

  Chi lunged forward and pounded a fist on the table. Gregar flinched and then smiled.

  “Tell me what happened,” Chi ordered.

  Rivka was beginning to think the suspect was right. Chi wasn’t very good at this. He didn’t appear to have reviewed the file to check known facts first in order to gauge the suspect’s reactions, to better identify when he was lying.

  Everyone lies, Rivka remembered Jay’s words. Of course, they do. If they’re guilty, they have every incentive to lie, and even if they’re innocent, not all truth is good truth.

  Chi was still leaning across the table when she tapped him on the shoulder. He straightened up, looking surprised.

  “I’d like to take a seat, please.” Rivka pointed with her eyes at the chair. Chi stepped to the side and she sat down. “Let’s see where we were.”

  She handed Chi’s datapad to him and put hers in its place.

  “If you would be so kind, could you confirm a few details for me?” She fumbled with her screen for a few moments before declaring victory. “Aha! You live at 342 Bearplatz?”

  Rivka looked up when Gregar failed to answer.

  “342 Bearplatz?” she asked again. He only looked at her. “I’ll take that as a yes. You drive a...let me see. I thought I saw a vehicle registration here somewhere...” More fumbling with her datapad. She dropped it on the table, apologized, and picked it up again.

  “I don’t have a car. None of us do.”

  “Are you sure?” Rivka asked in surprise. “I’m sure
I saw a registration here somewhere.”

  “None of us do. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “I thought I saw one. I must have been mistaken.” Rivka leaned back before digging into her pad again. “For the five of you, only one identification card was issued. Which one of you has that?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Which one of you carries the card?”

  “We all do,” he answered. “And none of us do.”

  “Please clarify. I’m just a barrister, and not that smart. You might have to spell things out a little more simply.”

  He squinted at her.

  “Did you forget your glasses in your luxury suite? Maybe we can send the bellhop for them,” Rivka suggested.

  “I don’t wear glasses. None of us do.”

  “You don’t need to answer for the others. None of my questions are about them. They are all about you. Do you carry an ID card?”

  He held up empty hands, his chains rattling against the table.

  “Is that a no?”

  The suspect nodded. “Yes, it’s a no.”

  “Douchebag,” Chi mumbled.

  “I don’t like him,” Gregar stated as he glared at Cheese Blintz.

  “I don’t care who you do or don’t like. That’s none of my business. I do care that you are being evasive. As a Magistrate, I take that as a sign that you are a criminal, and are poorly hiding that fact.” She stood to look down her nose at him. “That’s all the questions we have for now.”

  She left the room without looking back, expecting Red and Chi to follow her. Red was close on her heels, but Chi shut the door, remaining with the suspect.

  It wasn’t long before Grainger and the others came out of their room. “Want to give this one a try?” the Magistrate asked before noticing the absence. “Where’s Chi?”

  Rivka pointed with her chin.

  Grainger pushed past and yanked the door open. Inside, a werewolf loomed over the table snapping at the suspect’s face. Gregar was against the wall and had nowhere to go. His jaws were clenched, and his chained hands held up as if they alone could fend off the beast.

  “Holy shit!” Rivka exclaimed. Red’s eyes shot wide and he raised the neutron pulse weapon. Rivka put a hand on his arm.

  “Stop that and get out here!” Grainger ordered, and closed the door before Pass could see.

  Grainger was not amused, but he shook off the scene and smiled. “Let me guess. That guy said his name was Gregar something or other, and referred to his brothers. You think he’s a clone, but you’re not sure.”

  “I think this one’s a clone because he slipped and said that he didn’t have ID. Only one of them does, and that’s the sample donor. Would the real Gregar Deiston please stand up?” Rivka offered. “Now, let’s talk about what the fuck I just saw.”

  Grainger held a finger to his lips. Pasifa wasn’t far away.

  “Soon,” he replied with a wink. She wanted to choke the soon out of him.

  Chi, too. Words were going to be had, and it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

  Chapter Four

  “Can you secure these two? Make sure they can’t talk to each other or the third ‘brother,’ as they call themselves? We’ll get to the last one shortly, but we need to share our notes and impressions from the first two conversations,” Grainger told Pass.

  “What was going on in the interrogation room? If you were torturing the suspect, I will have you hauled out of here!” Pasifa declared.

  “We don’t believe in torture any more than you do. We believe in intimidation, mind you, but not torture. The information is too sketchy when people speak while in pain. Under threat, they have a tendency to lie more poorly, from what we’ve found.” Grainger smiled. He knew she had no power to expel the Magistrates, but she could make it hard for them to do their jobs.

  In this instance it was only training, but there was a real case that needed to be resolved. Grainger considered his interaction with the senior jurist as a training opportunity every bit as important as interrogating the intransigent suspects. Even as old as he was, there was always more to learn.

  He was also learning about herding cats. Grainger had never had all the Magistrates on one mission before. He had expected that their strengths would complement each other and show the power of the team approach as an option for exceptionally difficult cases. He was still kicking himself for sending Rivka alone on her RICO case. Twenty planets with a wealthy godfather, one with his own fleet of warships as the prize at the end. Grainger would never admit the mistake, but Rivka’s performance had shown him that her approach might trump what the Magistrates had been doing before.

  Lawyering first. And that was why he had brought them on this case. Training to be better lawyers.

  “You’re the best of us,” he said, looking at Rivka and mistakenly speaking out loud.

  She looked at him from under raised brows.

  The door opened and a disheveled Chi appeared. “Sorry. What did I miss?”

  “We were about to ask you that same question,” Grainger said, turning away from the penetrating gaze of Rivka’s golden-blue hazel eyes.

  “Giving something different a shot,” Chi replied sheepishly. “I didn’t get anything else.”

  He smiled reluctantly, only to find Rivka glaring at him.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “I can’t believe none of you sandy little buttholes told me about that. Who else? Come on.” Rivka reached toward Grainger.

  “Oh, no you don’t, Zombie!” He backpedaled, bouncing off the wall and running into Lindy.

  “Take your medicine,” the bodyguard told him.

  “Cats and dogs. No wonder my damn skin is crawling,” Red muttered.

  Pass couldn’t follow what they were saying. She shook her head and snapped her fingers. Two guards appeared to remove the suspects and take them to separate detention cells. The third was placed in a holding area not far away.

  Gregar jangled his chains as he walked past Chi. “Am I the one going crazy or are you?” he asked, before the guard nudged him to keep walking. The Magistrate didn’t answer.

  “We could use a debriefing room if you have one available,” Grainger suggested hopefully. Pass pointed to the interrogation rooms and walked away, still shaking her head as if the Magistrates were speaking in tongues.

  Red held the door to the small room with the single table and two plain chairs open. “We’ll wait out here. That should give you enough space.”

  The Magistrates entered, and Red dutifully closed the door behind them. He stepped to the side so he couldn’t hear what they were saying, unless they started to shout—which he expected.

  Collum Gate

  The delegation from Y’eaton had decided to go upscale to celebrate their negotiations with the Yollins. They’d found that trying to deal with Yollins on Yoll was problematic and fruitless. The only way to negotiate a border issue was through an embassy on an alien planet. Collum Gate served that purpose nicely.

  The Y’eaton had four legs, a shell, and antennae sticking out of their heads. They also seemed more comfortable in the presence of the upper-class Yollins, who also had four legs. Their mandibles were unique and intimidating, but not as intimidating as the Shrillexians. Their spikes projected from their bodies somewhat like those of a porcupine, but were hard and metal-like.

  The delegation discovered two other groups eating at the establishment, which served a variety of dishes to tantalize almost any palate.

  “Well done, Zaria. Your skill at discovering what the Yollins wanted has helped us move this treaty farther forward today than in the past year. In one day! I can’t even express how pleased I am with the progress,” an older Y’eaton said.

  “It makes my heart soar with joy to hear your appreciation, Mister Ambassador. Everything we do is for a better Y’eaton.”

  The ambassador smiled pleasantly at the syrupy words, secretly wishing that the meals would arrive so they could get down to meaningle
ss small talk.

  “Ah! It looks like our lunch has passed the chef’s watchful eye and is on its way.” A server approached slowly, balancing the tray with five separate platters loaded with a variety of fare. The shock wave hit the server from behind. Riding the front of the wave was a curtain of metal shards that turned him into a spray that splattered across the delegation.

  A spray laced with razor-sharp metal. The delegation from Y’eaton was turned into mash, their shells providing no protection. They were thrown through the front entrance of the restaurant, and into the street beyond.

  The tables on either side were untouched, as if a giant shotgun had been fired from within the kitchen. A hole in the counter suggested the device had been secreted behind it, as if someone had known the delegation would sit at that table.

  In a restaurant that catered to alien diplomats, the chance that someone important who wasn’t from Collum Gate would sit at that particular table approached one hundred percent.

  Who were the targets—the delegation from Y’eaton or just any aliens?

  Rivka crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. Grainger offered her a seat, but she shook her head. Jael stood next to her as if they were getting ready to play a game of boys against the girls. Grainger pulled out a chair and spun it around to sit with his forearms resting on the back.

  “Would all the werewolves in here raise your hands, please?” Grainger was the first to put his in the air, and the others followed one by one.

  “You have got to be shitting me. What a triple-decker ass-blast!” Rivka exclaimed, stabbing a finger at Grainger to blame him for not telling her sooner.

  “We were all products of a time long past. We had the gene. We were injured and saved by the blood of a werewolf, a Ranger, who dug our sorry asses out of an ambush gone bad. And then we were further healed and upgraded by the Pod-doc,” Grainger explained. “We joined them in their missions to mete out Justice, going out on our own. But since they disbanded shortly afterward, we didn’t quite get the full training. In our previous lives, the werewolf came in handy, but as Magistrates there’s no need, unless you’re Cheese Blintz and believe that the beast within will convince perps to come clean.”