Chapter 5: Prisoners
The bailiff came much earlier than expected to collect Marina from her cell. It was a nice cell, all things considered. The battle-steel bars were a little unnecessary given the force cage built into the door frame, but the flaking white paint added a bit of lived-in feel to the cold anti-septic of the prison institution. As eager as she was to get out of her cell, going to hear the initial Supreme Court hearing was not exactly the out she had in mind. It was going to happen anyways, of course, but picking her up early? It was the principle of the thing, taking away some of the very few hours she had to herself. Weren't courts supposed to be anal about that kind of thing? They'd certainly shown keen attention to detail in the strip search that had confiscated all of her remaining possessions and in issuing her the biggest, baggiest drab-gray prison uniform.
The energy field died and the cell door clanged open at the bailiff's command. He was a gruff, thickly built man with a heavy layer of stubble that hadn't quite crossed over into a full beard. "Let's go."
Marina obeyed in silence. She'd offered no resistance, and so far the guards had been on good behavior. Mostly. She rolled her shoulder in yet another fruitless attempt to loosen up the bruised joint.
They marched to the prison entrance past the catcalls and jeers of the prisoners and, after yet another pat-down, stepped outside to the waiting vehicle. Marina looked around in surprise – there was nobody around. No more guards, no gawkers, nobody. Where were the paparazzi? The camera crews? And the prison skimmer, it looked more like an armored luxury vehicle than any prison transport she'd ever seen. What was going on?
The bailiff opened the door while looking left and right nervously. "Get in, quickly."
This felt all kinds of wrong, but she wasn't exactly able to do much to resist. She climbed in as best she could, thrown of balance as she was from having her arms locked in binders behind her back. The door slammed behind her and locked closed.
The skimmer rose off the ground and accelerated with the smooth power of a high-end sports engine, and once Marina got herself more or less situated, she saw that the interior only reinforced the notion. The paneling was of genuine wroshyr wood, and she settled herself as comfortably as she could into the bantha fur seats. This was the kind of luxury a down-and-out mechanic wouldn't even be able to rent, much less afford. Someone important, and probably official, had taken an interest in her, and that was bad news. This was exactly the kid of attention she'd been avoiding for nearly a decade. On the other hand, and this was definitely a big plus, she probably wasn't going to be executed immediately.
The trip lasted nearly twenty minutes, during which her instincts to get clear of official scrutiny had overcome her better sense and led her to confirm that the pilot's compartment was sealed and that all the doors were, in fact, locked. Not that jumping out of a moving aircar would have accomplished anything more than getting her killed, but old habits died hard. The car was well shielded and not even the sound of rushing air broke through to let her try to guess how fast they were moving. All that was left was to wait through the twenty minutes of absolutely silent luxury with a growing sense of dread.
At last she felt a dull thump as the hull flaps opened and the landing gear engaged. A few moments later and they'd set down. The door cracked open and Marina shivered as cold wind blew in. A man stood outside dressed in some sort of uniform Marina had never seen before, but she noted with both relief and trepidation that it looked nothing like the prison guard uniform she'd grown so familiar with. He reached in, took her by the elbow, and helped her avoid falling flat on her face as she stepped out of the vehicle. The aircar sealed itself behind her with a soft swoosh and her guard gently maneuvered her in front of him, giving Marina a chance to look around.
They were high. Really high. The landing pad was on the roof of some sort of huge building, which explained the brisk breeze. But the view . . . it was stunning. Off to her left was a proper metropolis, unlike the backwater planets they'd visited, or even the smaller city the Journey's End had set down in. This city sported massive towers hundreds of stories high, the tallest of them cracking into the quadruple digits. Air cars buzzed by the thousands in orderly traffic patterns through the early morning sky.
To her right lay the exact opposite. The land was utterly untouched, though calling it lad was a stretch. Kilometer after kilometer of massive stone slabs, some shattered into complex swirls and patterns from the massive pressure of earthquakes, others lying in massive solid chunks every bit as impressive in their wild way as the geometric, sculpted bulk of the skyscrapers that faced them, stretched out in an impressive display as the sun broke over the distant crags. Between the two sat the gargantuan structure beneath her feet, outstripping both in sheer size. This did not bode well.
Her guard maneuvered her to a cunningly concealed turbolift built into the wall itself. Marina stepped in and immediately her bare feet appreciated the difference. The stone outside had been freezing, but the turbolift sported a think, shaggy carpet from a species she didn't recognize. She dug her cold toes into the frilly fur and tried not to notice the big crest that was died into it. It looked like a a regional crest for a senatorial seat, which made this the political hub of the whole sector. There weren't many reasons someone this high up would spring a publicly known figure from terrorism charges, and none of them were good.
The turbolift glided to a stop and Marina's guard prompted her forward into a massive court room of some sort. The Planetary Supreme Court? Three figures, two men and a woman, stood waiting for her.
"Thank you, Seth," said the most ostentatiously dressed of the trio. He nodded to her guard and gestured towards the defendants box, who's little brother she'd been spending time in at the lower court. She stepped in, still with no idea what was going on, while the other woman ascended to take one of the supreme court judge spots on the stand.
Marina's guard, the one the Justice had called Seth, closed and locked the door behind to the defendant's box before stepping aside and picking up a full-on media vidcamera, which he leveled at her with the precision of a sniper lining up a kill shot.
"Marina Serla," said the Justice in a deep, formal tone that stood the hair on the back of Marina's neck on end, "you have been brought before the court charged with property damage, trespassing, disobeying instructions from peace officers, fleeing arrest, and many other charges, up to and including manslaughter of civil servants, manslaughter of hundreds of Republic citizens, and terrorism. After due deliberation the court has found you guilty of terrorism, for which the the penalty is life in prison or death. Due to the wanton destruction which resulted from your actions, the court has elected to impose the maximum penalty of death by lethal injection."
Marina paled and stood completely frozen in shock. She'd expected it, but to hear her own death sentence, especially under such bizarre circumstances . . . nothing could prepare her for it.
Only once before had she felt like this.
The judge turned towards her guard. "That's enough, Seth. Camera off." The guard dutifully complied, and the second man stepped forward to her box and, without looking at Marina, turned to face the judge. "The Defense motions to stay the sentence and offer new evidence."
Marina looked back and forth between the Judge's impassive face and the stern profile of her defense, unable to process everything. What in the world?
"Motion granted. Present the new evidence."
Now her defender hesitated for a half-beat, his eyes briefly shooting to Marina before returning to the judge. "The defense submits to the court that the defendant is a Jedi, and argues for reversal on the Jedi immunity clause of Article 42 of the Republic Charter."
Marina's jaw dropped, her eyes huge as she tried to form words, but no sound came out. What . . . who . . . how?
"The court accepts the new evidence and reverses, finding in favor of the defendant. The court is adjourned."
Marina finally found her voice. "Wait! No! You've got the wrong woman, I'm no Jedi!" Her words came out in a frantic rush.
The ostentatious one stepped up beside her defender and addressed the other two.
"Thank you John, Sarah."
"Of course, Mr. President."
The President turned to address Marina for the first time. "You have little choice, and neither do we. We don't have the public support in this tenuous situation to let someone guilty of slaughtering my citizens off on a technicality."
Marina winced at the venom in his voice. Whatever this was, it wasn't his idea.
"So, either you accept the defense, or you face execution. I understand you have reasons for not wanting to be associated with the Jedi, and we don't want it to get out that you're still alive, so our goals align. Unless you wish to stand on principle, of course, and face justice."
Marina didn't know what to say, and Sharif took her silence as her turning down his offer to stand on principal. "Surprise, surprise. Here's the deal. You agree not to speak to the press, allow anyone to become aware of your release, or this decision, and you will swear never to return to Kazarak, or you will face the punishment you sneaked out of today. You do this, and we'll put you on the first ship off-planet with all of your possessions and enough credits to buy passage to another system of your choosing. Make sure it's far, far away from here."
Marana swallowed hard, trying to think clearly after the bizarre emotional roller coaster of the past few minutes. "You won't tell anyone? No one will know it was me?"
President Sharif's face was pale from tension, but he nodded in confirmation.
Marina thought about it for about a second. Really, there was no choice at all.
"Alright you-" she swallowed hard before starting again, "you have a deal."
The President nodded again, and Marina noticed his hands straining against each other as he clasped them together. "It is done, then. See to it. I never want to hear of this, this travesty again." And with that, he stormed out.
Her defender unlocked the defendants box, produced a deactivation key, and removed Marina's binders.
"We have prepared a room for you here in the Palace where your belongings are waiting for you. Seth will show you the way. You may trust his discretion entirely." He paused for a moment and his mouth worked once or twice, looking for words. Finally he looked her straight in the eye. "Whoever you are, I hope this is worth the price each family on Kazarak has paid to give up justice and let you go free. I hope you're worth it."
Marina had no words. All she could do was awkwardly nod and hurry off in Seth's wake. Behind her the Vice President of Kazarak bowed formally to her back and, voice rich with irony, gave his last goodbyes. "Farewell, Master Jedi."
Marina shuddered and stepped through the doorway without looking back.
Several long moments of thoughtful silence passed as Chief Justice Brennan rejoined the Vice President on the floor. "Well, that could have gone worse."
John nodded. "True. At least she wanted to go, didn't want to proclaim herself to the world. I wonder what her problem with the Jedi was?"
"She's scared. You heard what happened to the other Jedi."
John looked skeptical. "Maybe, but that's if she even knows. I checked up on her, and from the few records I could find she's been out in the sticks as far as you can go, getting paid under the table and staying off the sensors."
Sarah gave him a penetrating look.
"What? You think I was going to let an unknown on trial for terrorism spend time alone with us three? Seth would have shot me on the spot, as would have any other guard if we ever dared let them find out about it."
"Regardless of her reasons, it's a major break for us. Could you imagine the headlines? The riots? All you'd have to say is Jedi and the public would want her hanged on the spot. A lot of people remember the Jedi marching on through and winning the Battle of Elom, but a lot more remember the Mandalorian retribution after they got decimated at Jaga's Cluster They'd be out for blood when she got off, and we can't get rid of the Republic's bylaws without actually withdrawing altogether, and even if we wanted to, the Slaver Syndicate and Slavers Cooperative would eat us alive without Republic military aid."
They each reflected on that ugly possibility for a moment, before John broke the silence. "Well, barring disaster, that's that. We'll stick her on a republic ship our mutual friend has provided and she's their problem. On to the next potential disaster on the list." He waved over the protocal droid waiting unobtrusively in the corner. "HK-50, what's next on the schedule?"
Marina was on edge. Her bad luck, which regularly landed her in hot water, was on a real up and down streak. She'd had her whole crew kidnapped and been blackmailed, but she'd also somehow not been killed by the rebels or the government in her one-woman rescue effort. She'd been caught, arrested, and sentenced to death, but miraculously set free at the last moment. It was time for some bad luck again, and she was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She clutched her bag closer to her and felt a little comforted that they'd returned her possessions and given her her blaster back. She'd even checked the secret compartment and found it secure, though she quickly put it away without looking at its last remaining item. It was nice, but it was small comfort in the face of her situation. Judging by what she'd heard, she was probably one of the most recognizable faces on the planet.
Now, arriving in a sleek, unmarked skimmer at the spaceport like some sort of celebrity, she had doubts about how well this plan was going to work. In her experience, shuttles like this that tried hard to be inconspicuous drew every eye like a magnet, which risked her getting recognized and mobbed, or worse. Fortunately, the government vehicle got them past customs and security without trouble,which was something. The car glided easily down to the ferrocrete landing pad and set down next to a standard light shuttle with a barely perceptible bump.
Marina glanced down at the boarding pass she'd been given. She was to arrive at terminal nine, gate two, and board shuttle TK421, which would shuttle her up to a ship named, ominously, the Harbinger. She wasn't sure what kind of passenger line could get away naming their barges like that, but after one flight she was home free, able to pick her next destination and put as much space between her and this corner of the galaxy as she possibly could.
She stepped out of the shuttle and slid her bag over her shoulder. Okay. She set her shoulders and started off, forcing herself to walk at a brisk but normal pace with as much of an air of purpose as she could muster. She crossed the intervening space and stepped up the gangway without making eye contact with anyone.
She handed off her boarding pass and new identification to the check-in people and found her seat without event, but she couldn't help the feeling that she had a big target on her back. She focused on keeping her breathing steady as the shuttle finished its pre-flight checklist and went through the trouble of explaining how a handful of safety steps would save her if the shuttle decided to fall out of the sky. Then it was time. The stewards strapped in and the shuttle rumbled down the runway until they reached the lading pad proper. The repulsorlifts activated with a wobble that felt suspiciously like a grav stabilizer was in need of tuning, but it was enough to ease the ungainly shuttle into the sky. Once clear of the pad and the stomach-lurching wind at several hundred meters up the landing gear retracted with a hydraulic whine and the main engine lit up with a roar, rocketing them into space.
Marina felt the tension ease out of her as the kilometers swept by. They were on their way. And their, out the window, was the cruise ship that would carry her away. Wait . . . that was awful small for a passenger liner . . . and were those weapon pylons? No. No no no no no!
She whipped her head around to look at the other passengers she'd studiously ignored in her efforts not to be noticed, and her eyes widened in horror. They were overwhelmingly human, male, and young, and they were wearing uniforms, Republic Military uniforms!
Still, there was a chance. The President had said the first ship. Maybe this was the first ship, that was all, just a coincidence. She valiantly ignored Meric's voice in the back of her head, noting as they approached the planet on the Journey's End just how long it had been since a Republic patrol had made it out this far.
The rest of the trip somehow seemed made of endless moments, the final approach, the preparations for boarding, but then all the time between these moments slid by without her noticing, until she stood, bag in hand, in the hangar of the first Republic warship she'd set foot on in ten years.
She was in a daze, memories threatening to break loose at the sight of the crews servicing shuttles and snubfighters, the distinct smell of high-grade fighter fuel, the sound of shouted orders, power tools, and the test-firing of engines. She stood there, overwhelmed, until a droid finally took notice of her.
"Miss Brittlin?" It took a moment for Marina to recall the name her new papers had given her. "Yes, yes that's me." She nodded an assent to the durasteel gray protocal droid. "This way please ma'am. I'll show you to your quarters, then guide you to the medical bay. It appears we do not have your file on hand and, as per Republic Regulations section 10485L section 29, you must receive the standard immunization package before leaving the system."
Marina mechanically followed in the droid's wake, lost in the sea of half-remembered times, until they arrived in the medical bay.
The droid readied a syringe, carefully measure the dose, and injected it with a tinge of pain as the needle broke through the skin.
The stress of the day was catching up to her. Marina's eyes grew heavy as the droid methodically cleaned and returned the medical equipment to its proper place. Maybe she could just lie down for a minute.
The droid, done with its duties, turned back to her.
"Statement: You appear tired, master. Perhaps you should lie here. I will ensure you are properly taken care of. Reassurance: Don't worry, master, you are in capable hands.
Smug Assertion: Oh yes, master, the best."
Marina's last thought was that the droid seemed vaguely familiar before the darkness closed in around her.
"Uh oh." That about summed up Atton Rand's situation. An alarm blared noisily as the airlock slammed shut behind him, cutting him off from the ship. "Alright, hands up. Come on, raise 'em high."
Atton sighed, released the guidance panel on the anti-grav pallet that trailed behind him, and raised his arms as two security grunts pointed stun guns at him.
One of the guards pried open the crate while the other covered him.
"Well well well, what do we have here?" Bozo number one pulled out a small blaster pistol from beneath the pile of rations and spare parts.
Atton cursed under his breath. There was no way these incompetents had discovered the scan shielded portion of the pallet on their own. He'd been sold out by someone on the trading ship . . . but who? His hands started drifting down towards the blaster pistol he'd concealed in his heavy jacket while security got distracted by the goods. If he was quick he could take out these two clowns and make for a the ship before . . .
The asteroid station rumbled and Atton instinctively turned to see the ship detach from the airlock, fire up the main engines, and boost away through the asteroid field.
Betrayed again.
Atton cursed more loudly this time. He'd had such a good feeling about this flight, too, and where had it left him?
Stupid, Atton, stupid! Every time you have a good feeling about a flight you wind up even further out in the middle of nowhere, dumped and broke. So here he was, stranded in the back end of nowhere, the last major fueling station before the real boonies of the far outer rim.
"No honor among smugglers, scum. And now, we've got a nice little force cage with your name on it."
…
Force cages, Atton decided, were not particularly humane. But they did have the distinct advantage of being far cheaper than traditional prisons. Take this fine specimen he found himself more closely examining than he'd have liked. Most normal cells let you move around a little bit, maybe do some exercises to try to pass the time, but force cages, they just closed you in. Still, thought Atton, this one isn't that bad. At least not compared to some of the others he'd had the displeasure of inhabiting. It was just large enough to lie down in if he curled up in the fetal position. Staying curled up while asleep was a habit he'd quickly, if painfully, acquired. Waking up a half-dozen times a night with electrical burns from touching the cage walls was definitely a powerful motivator.
Someone was coming; he could hear their footsteps over the hum of the cage. He sat up straighter.
"I'm telling you, Clarissa, I've got a bad feeling about this. Ever since that ship drifted in, things have been going wrong all over the station."
Things were going wrong? He'd noticed, of course (it was rather hard to miss heating going out for nearly an hour on a rock in space), but he'd chalked it up to the same incompetence the guards had shown. Was something happening?
Two people rounded the corner, and Atton's stomach gave a distinct gurgle as he smelled the plate of food the woman carried. She ignored her male companion and tapped at the command console for his cage. A slit near the bottom opened up and she slid the plate through to him. The slit closed and his contact with the outside world ended. Back to his own little world, his own recycled air, all by himself. He sighed and picked up the plate.
"Seriously, Clarissa, you're sure that Jedi isn't doing any of this with her freaky powers?"
"Yes, Jerem, for the last time, she's been unconscious since she arrived, now stop bothering me about it. And no, I don't want to go see a vid with you this weekend. Now just let me get back to my dinner at my station and—"
The station shuddered as something exploded. It was far away enough that Atton couldn't hear it, but he knew the rumble of a big explosion when he felt it, and this was bad enough that it sent the two miners stumbling for support, and knocked him into the cage wall with a crackle of power and a curse.
::Warning. Warning. There has been an explosion in the mining tunnels. Please evacuate immediately to the Dormitory level.::
Jerem and Clarissa turned to each other with looks of horror, then bolted for the turbolift.
Atton surged to his feet. "Hey, wait! Let me out! Come on, I can help! You can't leave me trapped in here!"
They were gone. Another rumble shook the station, and the lights flickered briefly before stabilizing again. He could hear screams in the distance, people running, blaster fire, but it was getting further away, quieter, and then there was only silence.