It was only a couple of divs until she was paged and ordered to report to the court as a witness. She rose achingly, dressed in her greens and grabbed her sword. She snapped the polymer combat fittings off, fitted the wooden ones for dress wear and caught a ride from the base taxi. There were a lot of people being called as witnesses.
She was still amazed at using her very expensive dress sword as a combat weapon. She'd protested loudly and Marta had replied almost in anguish, "You're going to take a soldier's weapon and
never use it
? That's insulting to the sword
and
to the maker."
The logic was inescapable, given the almost religious significance attached to weapons here. Or, in some cases, the blades
were
religious items. It was expected and Cardiff had promised to perform any repairs necessary due to combat damage.
Her reflection was interrupted as they arrived at the Council building. It was actually being used and several Citizens had set up court in various halls. She was shuffled around to be cross-examined on her existing statements and to add details. Her first testimony was a whipsaw between prosecution and defense. She reported in to Hernandez's court, identified herself, confirmed her testimony and video from her display and was attacked by the defense.
"Corporal, would you describe your relationship with the Citizen, please?" the man asked. He clearly didn't like his clients, but was doing a viciously professional job of defending them.
"He was my sponsor when I first immigrated, Counselor," she replied.
"Yes, and what else?" the man pushed.
"Uh . . . he's father of one of my housemates," she admitted.
" 'Housemate,' " the lawyer was pale and thin by local standards. He turned as if pondering and then swiveled back. "What type of housemate is this?" he asked.
"It's a sexual relationship. Do you have a point?" she snapped, exasperated.
"Order," Hernandez advised.
The defense said, "So, he advised and assisted you when you moved here, guided you through employment and is the father of your girlfriend, correct?" There were snickers from some of the Earth contingent, both defendants and witnesses. She blushed. Not at the question, but at their childish and rude reaction.
"Essentially correct, Counselor," she admitted.
"And you claim to be unbiased?" he asked.
"I don't remember saying that, but yes, I am. My video and report is correct and my answers have been truthful," she returned evenly.
He "hmphed" and turned her over to the prosecutor for cross-examination.
"Corporal Pacelli, where were you born?" the prosecutor asked.
"San Diego, California, North America, Earth," she replied.
"Where else have you lived?"
"Atlanta and Minneapolis areas, both on Earth, and Jefferson here."
"How did you wind up here?"
She turned and said, "Citizen, I can't answer that question." Please, no.
"Please summarize," he said.
Taking a breath, she said, "I left Earth under duress. I cannot give details for my personal safety."
"That's fine," the prosecutor replied. "Would it be correct to say that you have sympathies for Earth and it's residents?"
"It would be," she agreed. "I still love my home planet."
"Has that affected your testimony? Specifically, has it caused you to treat the defendants, most of whom are from Earth and Sol System, in a harsher manner than was proper?"
"Absolutely not, Counselor." There were laughs from the locals now.
Most of the defendants were convicted, although enough were acquitted due to conflicting evidence to convince her the system was fair. One such was a man who had been detained wearing shorts and a shirt, no shoes and nothing else. He claimed to have been dragged along by the mob when he went outside to investigate. He was reported to have thrown rocks and was positively identified by witnesses, but no video corroborated the accusations. He had no stolen property and no injuries commensurate with vandalism. He didn't sound particularly pleasant, but detention and trial could explain that. Hernandez ordered him released.
Virtually none of the convicts had any assets. They were quickly sentenced to indentured labor. Kendra was a bit piqued that there were still jobs for them. Hers had ended due to economic problems. On the other hand, she recalled that hers had been paid in full.
Some of them refused or tried to. They were led away in chains and implanted. Some few were challenged by plaintiffs to duels they were unlikely to survive. Those would have to be appealed to the Council, but if the plaintiff refused to budge, a duel it would be. The outcome of those was almost certain; the defendant would be outclassed and die.
The two worst cases Kendra witnessed, while waiting to testify yet again, were a pair of rapists. They were positively identified on a store security file, by witnesses, by the plaintiff and by genetic evidence. The poor girl in question was nine local years old, fifteen Earth years, and barely able to speak her testimony. Chinratana was judging the case and was gently patient with her, as was the defense counselor. Judges had no power to clear a court of any except disruptive influences, but many spectators elected to leave from politeness and consideration. That left the relevant parties and anyone in official capacity for the day, including Kendra. The trial was in- depth, complete and seemed to Kendra to cover all details. At the conclusion and sentencing, the two were convicted and fined Cr2 million each.
The two were outraged and began yelling. "Man, this is boolshit!" one of them shouted. "A slottie walks out front, showing her punta, baring it
all
for us. You all know she was wanting it!"
Chinratana banged his gavel. "Prisoner, your case is closed. Your sentence has been set. You may pay it, work it off for the rest of your—in this court's opinion—worthless life, or you may appeal for a duel."
"Shit,
yeah
! I'll take a duel!" one of them replied. He pointed a suggestive finger at the young plaintiff, who quivered and began crying.
"Ms Ronson," Chinratana spoke, "your current circumstances make your fitness to duel questionable. Will you do me the honor of letting me serve on your behalf?"
"Y-yes, Citizen," she choked out.
"Thank you. Bailiff, arm the defendant."
The court guard drew her sidearm, cleared it, safed it and tossed it to the thug. As he fumbled with it, Chinratana whipped his own from its holster, cleared the bench and aimed in one effortless motion and shot him through the groin. The man screamed, thrashed to the ground and moaned briefly as he bled to death from massive hemorrhage.
"Citizen, on behalf of my client, I protest most strongly! I demand charges against you!"
Chinratana replied, "The duel was not handled according to protocol. If you have a power of attorney, you may charge me or his next of kin are free to. In the meantime, the court will recess for ten segs. Bailiff, detail a work party to remove this . . .
filth
from my floor and toss it in the nearest sewer."
"Does the surviving defendant wish to dispute the sentence?" he finished.
"No!" the kid snapped, his head shaking vigorously back and forth.
Kendra felt Chinratana had overstepped his bounds, but the case was rather grisly. She was glad to be released shortly and was drained almost to illness by the last two days. She had a nagging fear that it was not over yet.
"An Ambassadore is a man of virtue sent to lie abroad for his country, a news writer is a man of no virtue who lies at home for himself."
—Sir Henry Wotton
The press, particularly that from Earth, had a field day with the events. Chinratana's shooting made the headlines, as did the video of the military "brutally beating and murdering" the "peaceful" protesters. No mention was made of the fact that unarmed protesters, not blocking traffic, had been completely ignored or that the actual number of casualties among the rioters was about three percent. All focus was on a few replayed scenes of rioters being subdued or shot by soldiers, with their provocative assaults edited out, and on protesters who were professionals at sobbing for the camera eye.
The damage was done, however. The Freehold government was portrayed as a fascist, plutocratic junta. No mention was made of the superior standard of living, literacy rate and unparalleled individual freedom. Instead, focus was made on the "lack" of franchise and the "denial of basic rights" of state-sponsored medical care, public education and free access to entertainment.
There was nothing that could be done at the government level, although the issue was discussed at length. Chinratana was criticized for his outburst. "Morally right or not," Hernandez commented, "you were over the line and it's going to bite us badly. Even if I win the case for you, we lose."
"I know," he agreed. "The unrepentant little sod just made me want to flush him. I would have considered it a fair trade to be indentured for life to remove him from the gene pool."
Hernandez replied, "Which is exactly the purpose of the system we have, as we were taught in school. We as Citizens, however, have to be held to a higher standard.
"Anyway, it's done. The 'Lawful Citizen's Committee for Justice,' as his friends call themselves, has asked Uddin to be your judge. I'm sure he morally opposes your actions, but he'll try it fairly. I'll claim that the duel was requested and accepted and that the defendant's ignorance of the procedures was an intentional lack on his part, since he decided to accept without counsel. I think we're solid."
"If I could have done it again . . ." Chinratana began.
"Yes?" Hernandez prompted.
"I'd have shot him so he died slower."
"I agree."
Chinratana was acquitted of murder, the incident held to be a legal duel and it was mentioned once and ignored by the local press.
The UN press, on Earth especially, hailed it as state-supported murder and demanded sanctions. Since sanctions were already in place and hurting the UN more than the Freehold, the shouts were meaningless. Behind the scenes, however, political gears were moving.
" . . . the most expensive thing in the world is a second-best military establishment, good but not good enough to win."
—Robert A. Heinlein,
"The Happy Days Ahead"
in
Expanded Universe
Operation Swift was a total failure.
For simplicity, one small, well-stealthed carrier, the
Lyndon B. Johnson
, had been chosen. It spent several Earth weeks on a circuitous route to Freehold's Jump Point Four. The troops aboard pulled maintenance and exercise shifts until they were bored with them; the crew was bored from the onset. The crew knew the destination, but had no idea what the mission was to be. The troops knew what, but had no idea where. The enforced segregation between them kept the operation a secret. Very few on Earth, even, knew what was to happen.
Secrecy was not the stumbling point.
Contrary to entertainment vids, there are no pyrotechnics associated with interstellar jumps. "The Big Johnson," as she was affectionately and illegally called by her crew, slipped out of the jump point and drifted in free orbit past Faeroe Station. She had been deliberately lightened, emitted virtually no radiation, and so went unnoticed among the heavy, noisy traffic between Freehold and Novaja Rossia. She decelerated on a long, slow curve, plotted to direct her well away from any sensor platforms. Shortly, she was in an approach to Grainne.
The large vessel settled into a precisely planned orbit past the planet and back out of the system. Her mass was still masked and her dark hull went unseen. The ten assault boats she spewed out were encased in black, fuzzy clouds of polymer and used ultracompressed hydrogen to fall into a vector for entry. It would hide them until they entered the atmosphere.
That was when the battle plan made contact with the enemy. It didn't survive.
Ground Defense Station A-3:
"Warrant, I'm reading multiple craft on atmospheric approach. Orbital confirms my readings," the corporal on watch reported. The UN planners had relied on a few moments' confusion to get the boats lower. The Freehold military conducted regular exercises and had occasional smugglers who were considered fair game. Either way, standard operating procedure was to assume a hostile craft and prepare to launch. There were bonuses for effective response, whether during exercises or actual events. The corporal slapped the button that sent her data into missiles, intercept craft and Orbital Defense Command's parallel system, while her warrant attempted to communicate with the approaching craft.
"Unidentified vessels on approach to Jefferson Starport, vector four point seven five, this is Freehold Military Forces Ground Defense. Imperative you respond immediately or be destroyed. If unable to communicate, roll your craft or use flare. Say again . . ."
There was of course no answer and the multiple blips reinforced the probable military nature. The ground crew still did not know if it was a real attack or an exercise. It made no difference. They proceeded on a long-practiced routine.
"Corporal, there is no response on any frequency. Do you have visual evidence of maneuver or flare from any craft?"
"Negative."
"Orbital has not restricted launch."
"Do you restrict launch on your order, sir?"
"Negative. Launch on firing solution. Prepare to abort if necessary."
"Launching."
Tens of small missiles ripped out of their launchers and headed into the stratosphere with a suicidal scream. Six of the incoming craft were below safe engagement altitude, but the last four were high up in steep approaches, surrounded by nimbuses of incandescence from atmospheric friction. The missiles' circuitry calculated the probable location of the vehicles behind the glowing beacons and swarmed in in an orgy of death. All four craft were obliterated.
The first craft touched down hard and the pilot used thrust, wheel braking and multiple drogue chutes to achieve a quick stop near the military terminal. He punched the button that dropped the tail and the troops in back shed their harnesses and hit the ground. Behind him, the second boat prepared to land.