Where there is no justice there can be no secure peace.
-Aung San Suu Kyi, In Quest of Democracy
Grimacing slightly, Hunter knocked at the door.
"Come in!" said a voice.
Hunter opened the door.
The office was much larger than most municipal offices he had seen, though he supposed that made sense for a psychologist. Wouldn't want the patients getting claustrophobic, after all. There was a desk with the back against the window- a very small desk. As he glanced around, his gaze fell on the only occupant of the room, a small squirrel-
"Squirrel!" he shouted and dove for cover behind the doorway, instinctively reaching for a gun that wasn't there.
After a moment, he sheepishly poked his head around the corner to see the squirrel he had spotted- dressed in comfortable-looking slacks and a conservatively-striped shirt- peering at him. "Are you all right, Mr. Hunter?"
Hunter smiled shakily. "Oh, yeah- it's just that I was attacked recently by a group of assassin squirrels, and so, um..." he trailed off. Good way to start off your psych eval, he thought to himself.
"Assassin squirrels," repeated the psychologist thoughtfully. He wrote something on the notebook he held in front of him. "Well, I'm Dr. Hudson. Would you like to have a seat?"
Gingerly, Hunter walked in and sat down on the couch opposite the squirrel. "Pleased to meet you, doc. Zach Hunter." He glanced down at the couch. "Um, am I supposed to lay down or something?"
"Whatever you feel most comfortable doing. The 'psychoanalyst and patient on couch' thing is more for cartoons these days, you know."
"Too bad, I could have used a nap." Hunter chuckled nervously. "Sorry, doc, I've never really been to see a psychologist before."
Dr. Hudson tilted his head. "Really? I've been reading over your file from Alpha Centauri and you've been involved in, let's see...forty-five deadly force incidents in your career."
"About average," said Hunter with a shrug.
Hudson blinked. "You're joking."
"Um, no. It's been kinda weird, realizing you guys seem to think that one in a career is something major." Hunter leaned back, remembering how different things had seemed when he first came to Zootopia. "We've got a lot more violent crime in First Landing."
"So I gather," said Hudson. "Why is that?"
"Hell if I know," said Hunter with a shrug. "It's not true of every human planet, if that's what you're thinking. I know there's quite a few places, especially on the frontier worlds, where the crime rate is a lot lower. Though they have their own problems."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Constant raids by various alien species." He shrugged again. "Seems like the whole galaxy is out to get us."
"I see." Hudson made another note on his clipboard. "And I imagine that takes a toll on someone."
The human raised an eyebrow at him. "Makes me more violent, right? That's where you're going with this?"
"Mr. Hunter, please rest assured my primary concern is your health," said Hudson, a bit stiffly. "No one is, as you put it, 'out to get you'." He hesitated. "At least not here."
Hunter winced as he realized his reaction was precisely the defensiveness he should have avoided. "Listen, Hudson. I've been a cop for over twenty years. This is what I do."
"What you do," repeated Hudson. "Mr. Hunter, in addition to your career in Alpha Centauri, since you've been here on Zootopia you've been involved in multiple shootings, including two multiple fatality ones. You were coerced into murdering an innocent hostage. You were forced to try and persuade your friends to kill you." The squirrel leaned forward. "Mr. Hunter, this is not something you can deal with on your own. We need to know you're okay. It's always an option to take a break for a while."
"A break." Hunter felt a sardonic grin come over his face. "You know I have to make a living, right?"
"I think, under the circumstances, you could take a fair amount of leave." Hudson shook his head. "You saved a lot of lives, and no one is going to let you starve on the street. Maybe it would be best to just, well, take some time for yourself."
"You mean the department would give me paid leave for- for how long?"
"As long as you need, I suspect." Hudson watched him carefully.
It was tempting. It was no secret that Hunter was not a hard-working man. That he was, in fact, rather on the lazy side. All he had to do was tell this shrink that he needed the time. He could relax, work on his models, watch TV, catch up on his reading.
And let Prometheus, whoever he was, run rampant.
Prometheus was, at least indirectly, responsible for the deaths of his family.
He shook his head. "It's what I do," he repeated. "I'm a peace officer."
Hudson pointed at him. "That's what I'm talking about, Mr. Hunter. Peace. You've seen a lot of violence and more horrors than I can imagine in your life. Maybe it's time to try and find a measure of peace for yourself." Seeing Hunter hesitate, he added. "You deserve it."
"Deserve it?" said Hunter. He looked down at his hands. "You know what I've done, Doctor Hudson. You know that I killed an innocent mammal."
"You had no choice-"
Hunter's fist slammed down on the coffee table between them. "Yes, I did! I don't know what it was, but I could have found another way." He raised his eyes to meet Hudson's, and the squirrel flinched. "I am an officer of the law, a peace officer. I don't find peace, doc." He stood up.
"I make it for myself." With that, he turned towards the door. "We're done here."
"Mr. Hunter-"
"Pass me, fail me. I don't care. I'm a cop, dammit, and I've got work to do." He slammed the door behind him.
Hudson, left alone in the office, pursed his lips thoughtfully, then hopped off his chair and walked to his small desk. He picked up the phone and dialed.
"Mr. Mayor?" He turned to look out of the window onto the city below. "You asked me to call when I finished with my assessment of Zacharias Hunter.
"In my opinion, Mr. Hunter is not in any condition right now to act as a police officer in Zootopia- or anywhere else, for that matter. He's still extremely distraught and-"
He paused, listening as the voice on the other end of the line spoke. "Sir, at a minimum he's likely suffering from post-traumatic stress, and-"
The voice rose. "Mr. Mayor, I cannot in good conscience-"
Hudson cut off as the voice rose higher, and more volubly. After a moment, he sat down heavily at the desk. "Yes, sir, I understand. But- why is it so important that Hunter be put back on active duty- no, no, it's very clear, sir. No further questions." He blinked at the sound of the other phone being slammed down and set the phone back in the receiver carefully.
After a long moment, he reached for a form. "Zacharias Hunter is hereby approved for entry into the academy," he said under his breath as he wrote. He set down the pen. "And may I not regret it," he added, under his breath.
Jonathan Oakes sat stiffly, almost at attention, in his chair outside the small courtroom annex. Two of the other officers in the room- both of whom he outranked handily- kept up a low conversation amongst themselves. The third- highest ranking of all, a System Marshal- slouched disconsolately against the wall.
The walls were panelled in wood, gleaming with polish. The seats were remarkably comfortable, though lined with military precision against one wall of the rectangular annex room. There were only two exits to the room. One led to the courtroom itself. The other led to the hallway of the Alpha Centauri Military Justice building.
Both entrances were guarded by blank-faced Star Marines armed with assault rifles. The four men in the room were all prisoners awaiting court-martial.
The door to the court-room opened and the bailiff, a hard-faced sergeant, stepped through. "Marshal Glaucio Ortega," he announced. The System Marshal looked up, despair in his face, and stood. He hesitated long enough that one of the marines took a step forward. At that, he looked up and took a deep breath before following the sergeant into the courtroom.
The two officers who had been conversing watched him go. "Poor devil," said one. "It's the firing squad for him, no doubt."
The other nodded. "Wrapped up in that Terran business. XSO nonsense. Wouldn't catch me getting involved in that cloak and dagger bullshit."
Oakes heard them and his hands clenched the arms of his seat until they turned white, though the muscles of his face did not so much as twitch.
It was more or less standard operating procedure for an aspiring young officer. First, climb the ranks. From midshipman to commander was essentially guaranteed, so long as you checked the right boxes and kept your nose clean. It helped if you distinguished yourself a bit, of course. Oakes had ambushed two Karathis raiders in the Ophiuchi Expanse while a liuetenant in the old Trident. One small, underarmed patrol craft versus two top of the line destroyers. If he'd failed he'd have been called an idiot. He'd succeeded, so he was brilliant.
Once he made captain, the next step was Force Marshal, leading a flotilla rather than a single ship. To reach that rank, however, you had to either have influence or a really astonishing victory, though both were preferable. Not willing to wait for a chance at a major victory, Oakes had decided to seek out influence.
Politics was not his strong suit. He paid little attention to the doings of the Chamber, the elected body of the Human Stars. But he needed friends, and the Expansionist Party was always looking for handsome young war heroes to stand next to their candidates and smile benignly.
It was there he had met a party functionary- and a Contact Ministry Secretary- named Horne.
Horne was now serving a life sentence breaking icy rocks in the Delta Pavonis mines. His associates were swept up with the usual efficiency of the Security Directorate and now the trials were ending.
"Glad I'm only here for a false muster," said one of the chatty officers. "Slap on the wrist and I'll be free to go."
"Don't be so sure," warned his friend. "They're cracking down. Not saying you'll be dismissed from the service or anything, but you might be docked in pay. That Horne business- and the XSO op that went bad on Terra- has everyone screaming for heads."
Oakes had thought he couldn't have possibly tightened his grip any further, but those words did it.
The first officer waved such concerns aside. "I can afford it." His gaze focused on Oakes. "Hey, captain. What are you up for?"
Oakes glared at him. "Mind your own business, commander," he snarled.
The Fleet officer blinked. "Sorry, captain," he said emolliently, holding up his hands as if to ward off Oakes's anger. "Just trying to be friendly."
Before Oakes could speak again, the door opened again, and both the two young officers were called into the courtroom. Leaving Oakes alone with his thoughts, his fears, and his shattered career.
Until the other door, the one leading out to the main hallway, opened. Oakes, who had been scowling at his boots, snapped his eyes up.
A woman walked in. Short, but walking with a smooth, lithe gait that put him in mind of a panther. Her short sleeve shirt and black pants were loose, easy to move in, but did little to hide a curvaceous figure and toned muscles. She looked around the room, pushing her black hair away from her pale face, before her eyes fell on Oakes. She smiled slightly. "Captain Oakes?"
Oakes instinctively stood up. "Yes? Who are you?"
She pulled an identification card from her pants pocket and held it out negligently. "Ranger Amna Khabat."
A ranger. He sighed. "I've already been interviewed extensively by the Rangers. I have nothing more to add to my previous statements."
"No, I imagine not." She walked over to the door leading to the courtroom and looked it over before turning her gaze back to him. "Which is why I'm not here to listen to another statement from you. Rather, I would like you to listen to me."
He frowned. "Why?"
"Have a seat, Captain." She herself sat down, sinking appreciatively into a chair. "At least the seating is comfortable. Tell me, captain, do you know what awaits you behind that door?" She nodded to the courtroom door.
"I am certain that Fleet justice will be fair and equitable," he said stiffly.
"Are you really? What optimists the Fleet Academy turns out." She crossed her legs and studied him intently. "This Terran mess is ending a lot of careers, you know."
"I did nothing wrong. I met with Mr. Horne a few times, and the only thing we discussed was my assistance with the EP's political campaigns."
"Of course. But the EP apparently managed to suborn an entire Ministry- the Ministry of First Contacts, in fact- and essentially ruined relations with the Terrans." She tilted her head. "Do you know what the average citizen thinks of Terra?"
"I doubt they think of it much at all," said Oakes. "There are far more important matters-"
She chuckled. "As if importance had anything to do with popular concerns. An entire planet of fluffy, adorable talking animals, Oakes. People are enthralled. And our government goes and screws it all up."
For a long moment, Oakes gaped. "The people actually care what a bunch of- what the Terrans think of us? Don't they know the Drex have been stepping up raids? That the Larrats have issued another one of their inexplicable 'challenges'? Not to mention the on-going war with the Karathi."
"Most of which rarely have an impact on the average Centaurian," she pointed out. "The last major raid was twenty years ago. People have short memories."
Oakes turned that over in his mind. He'd been in the military since high school, and before that he'd been in the career military track of school anyway. "I suppose I've never really thought about how civilians think," he said, finally. He studied Khabat closely. "What is this all about?"
"Lots of careers ending over this fiasco," she repeated. "Lots of careers- and more than just careers. You know they've already shot fourteen functionaries at the Ministry? That's rare- generally even the most crooked politician can at least count on some help from his friends to avoid the worst."
"Again, what does that-" Oakes suddenly stopped, the blood draining from his face. "I've done nothing wrong," he protested.
"Tell that to Marshal Ortega," she said. "All he did was transport the XSO team to Triton, in the Sol system. Following orders like a good soldier." She glanced at her watch. "Though if you do want to tell him, you'd better hurry. The firing squad should be lining up right about now."
The Fleet captain swallowed. "So, what, are you here to gloat?" he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. It wasn't so much the thought of death that bothered him- it was the shame of it. To be shot down by his own side-
"There's one name that keeps coming up in the investigation," said Khabat. "One name that, so far, we haven't been able to connect to anyone directly."
"Prometheus," said Oakes, without thinking.
Khabat's gaze, which had been idly scanning the room, suddenly snapped to him. "How do you know that name?" she demanded.
Taken aback at her sudden interest, he shook his head in denial- denial of what, he didn't know. "I was asked about it during the interrogation, that's all." He looked away. "I hadn't heard it before then. It stuck with me because, well, it's an odd name."
"Not so odd, actually. Prometheus took fire from the gods."
"The what now?"
She clucked her tongue impatiently. "In mythology, captain. Ancient Terran mythology, in fact. The story survived across the light years when humans expanded their domain. Stole fire from the gods, hiding it in a reed. For doing so, he was punished by the gods, chained to a mountain where every day an eagle would eat his liver, and overnight he would regenerate again."
Oakes winced. "Ouch."
"It must be a code name," said Khabat. She suddenly leaned forward and fixed an intense gaze on Oakes. "And whoever he is, he managed to suborn one of the largest political parties in the Human Stars, and through it our government."
"Okay," said Oakes slowly, a bit unnerved. "So why come to me?"
"We need someone who will be working for us. Someone who, to be quite honest, we will have leverage over." Her eyes remained on his. "Someone who will know better than to ask questions."
"Someone to command a ship," said Oakes wryly. "I assume that's where this is going?"
She smiled. "Glad to see you're smart enough to pick up on a hint if it's dropped on you from a great enough height."
"So I'd be, what, working for the Security Directorate?"
She shook her head. "You'd still be Fleet."
He frowned. "You're asking me to work behind my superiors' back. To be your man in the Fleet."
"That's right."
Oakes's frown deepened and he stood up. "Do you really expect me to be your spy, ranger? I've dedicated my life to the Fleet."
She stood as well. "You know what will happen if you refuse?"
"The same thing that will happen if you hadn't shown up at all," he said.
Khabat studied him for a long moment. "When I leave," she said softly, "the bailiff will be calling your name. You have a choice, then. You can walk through that door-" she pointed to the door leading to the courtroom, "-and you will be tried, convicted, blindfolded, and then shot down like a dog in the square behind the Alephus Military Prison. Another sacrifice to save the careers of a bunch of politicians frightened of losing a few votes." She pointed to the other door.
"Or, you can leave by that door. And I'll give you a chance to find out who those corrupt officials are. Who Prometheus is. And what you can do to stop him."
With that, she walked out.
Oakes stared after her. He looked down at his Academy ring, rubbed it with his hand.
A few minutes later, the courtroom door opened. "Captain Jonathan Oakes," said the sergeant, then blinked as he realized the room was empty.
Author's Note: So I know it has been a really long time, and I apologize. Suffice to say things have been hectic of late, including a no-shit real-live hurricane. I'm finally starting to settle back into a normal routine, though, and getting back to writing. This chapter was a bit dry, I know- I'm hoping to get back to more humor as soon as possible. There's going to be a lot of serious parts in here, of course, but I intend to lighten the mood where possible.
Expect this to go a bit slow, then pick up steam as I get back into the groove. I mean, hopefully.
Sorry again for the long wait. Hopefully this will end up being worth it.
