Four
32 Hours In
The cell door clanged as a guard sealed it behind Corregan. He squinted through harsh light, and brushed off the residue of fetid darkness that clung to his jacket. Ahead, Jumba was camped out along the wall, bouncing on the balls of his oblong feet, wracking his plump hands. The guards had stopped the doctor at the door, and despite his protracted huffing, they had stood their ground. A look of deep anguish had seized his face. "Ah, you're back! What took so long? Is Six-Two-Six alright?"
"He says he is. Cell is a little dingy, but it's passable."
Jumba's hands stopped their squeezing and went to work smoothing out the wrinkles of his Aloha shirt. "Good, glad to be hearing that. We must go down hall. His jailors want to talk." He pointed down the long corridor toward a distant door. Without hesitation, they double-timed, Corregan's oxfords clattering against the steel gratings underfoot.
As they walked down the bright but overbearing tubelike hallway, Corregan regaled Jumba with Stitch's revelation. "What do you think of it?"
"Pah, treason! This is all for show! I think they are holding Six-Two-Six for some other reason."
Corregan's head bobbed. "You're probably right, but, regardless…do they have a case?"
"They fear him. They will be finding case, whether true or not."
"But why are they so frightened of him? Looks fairly harmless to me."
"Well, of course! That is how I designed him. One minute, he is cute and fluffy critter. Next, he tears apart planet!" Jumba emoted through contorted fingers. "Federation was right at first to fear him—treasonous behavior engrained by nature, with some help from Jumba. But, after how much time he has spent on Earth, he would not easily revert to natural programming. Whether they believe it or not, there is nothing left for Federation to fear from him."
"So it's all for show?"
"Absolutely!"
They reached the door at the end of the hallway. Corregan drew a big breath and preened his jacket, picking the motes of dust from his lapel. Jumba set down the silver case and again tried to smooth the insolent wrinkles from his Aloha shirt. Corregan went to ask about the case, but instead decided to employ the few precious seconds toward corralling his mind's other rampaging thoughts.
"Ambassador," said Jumba, "I think it would be best if I would be letting you do all talking in there, yes?"
"Mighty gracious of you, Jumba,"the ambassador answered with a smirk.
"Yes, yes, I know, heh heh," he chuckled while depressing the button next to the door. The steel plate shot away, exposing a tiny office cluttered with an impressive assortment of detritus. Within a forest of metallic junk and scattered alien refuse, two beings rose from their chairs set behind a plain steel desk. At first glance, they both reminded Corregan of the hawks that would circle his family's property bordering an Indiana state park. The summer before heading to law school, Senior and he had sat on the back porch with two iced-down six-packs in a Styrofoam cooler and watched the raptors dive-bomb their prey rustling through the tall grasses. The breathtaking splaying of wings as they swooped elicited short cheers and long sips from the porch. It was the only time that Corregan could connect with Senior, whose distant gaze would return to his son with each cheer. They had set a date to repeat the event the next summer, where Corregan would bring the Styrofoam cooler and Senior would supply the drinks. The empty cooler had rested in a corner of the concrete porch until they sold the house.
The taller one spoke first in a confident tenor. Corregan estimated the being to stand at twelve or thirteen feet and weigh several hundred pounds more than himself. The creature's marbled maroon plumage, visible on his face and arms, seemed to consume the light in the room as feathers shifted fitfully. Gray eyes darted across Corregan's nascent wrinkles. A grayer suit, which looked exceedingly formal for any culture, covered the rest. His ivory beak clacked as he greeted the duo.
"Hello, Ambassador. Doctor. I am Undersecretary Thoom'bah Rhys'la. This here is the Chief-Elect of the Bureau of Internal Security on Turo, Falmah'ar Thyse'ant." Slightly shorter than Rhys'la, Thyse'ant straightened his posture and his navy blue suit when his name was spoken. Corregan was awestruck by the chief's expansive pavonine tail and his set of feathers that shifted iridescently through an astounding assortment of colors with the ease of an oil slick. Terrifying crimson irises stood vigil over Thyse'ant's aquiline gray beak, which sported a hairline fracture running crosswise.
After Corregan greeted the undersecretary, he went to shake the hand of the chief-elect, a move that elicited a surly crimson look. Corregan reaffirmed his maneuver, and gasped as impossibly sharp talons raked across his palm. The terrifying irises bored into Corregan as he retracted. "He is a sharp one," Rhys'la continued, "and I've asked him to sit in on this meeting to get a feel for how business is conducted in the…higher Turan echelons."
"Of course, Undersecretary. It's our pleasure." Corregan wiped at the claw marks on his palm as Jumba and he nestled into their chairs. The undersecretary's desk rested on a raised platform, which had Corregan craning his neck beyond comfort.
"Would either you care for a refreshment?"
"Um, yes, a…water would be appreciated," Corregan managed over Jumba's refusal. He briefly considered the President's story of his first trip out-of-country, assisting a client for CitDef. He had drank a few cups of the local water, and then had fallen severely ill for the better part of a week. The inchoate worry did not stop Corregan from accepting the neat glass that was hastily delivered amid the opening salvos of diplomacy.
"Hmph, of all the concoctions in the galaxy at your disposal, you select something so simple. How…telling," thundered Thyse'ant. His booming voice ricocheted between the walls of the surprisingly cramped office of someone as auspiciously titled as Council Undersecretary.
"Come now, Falmah'ar. Be polite. These two have traveled far to talk with us."
Thyse'ant huffed as Rhys'la turned back to Corregan and Jumba. "I appreciate your speed in addressing this matter, Ambassador. Though it is a quickly developing situation, with you here, we should be able to expedite an agreeable solution."
After a few swigs from the glass, Corregan nodded and smiled. "Thank you for your hospitality, Undersecretary. I, too, hope we can reach an agreement swiftly. Is everyone here who should be?" he asked as he cautiously swiveled his head and scanned the room.
"Indeed, Ambassador," confirmed Rhys'la.
"I see…now, I was informed that the, ehm, Grand Councilwoman would be involved in these negotiations."
"Ah, that was our original plan, yes. But plans do change, Ambassador."
"Still, I think it would be best to find a way to have her take part in these negotiations."
"She is indisposed at present."
"Really? I had heard she thoroughly enjoys taking direct roles in these types of discussions," Corregan stated as his gaze sidled over to Jumba. A barely perceptible shrug from the doctor sent a small shiver racing down his spine. Jumba had seemed so sure.
"Normally, yes, she does. But she cannot with this one."
Corregan thumbed the edge of the manila folder tucked under his arm, whose grip had tightened when he rebuffed the guards eager to relieve him of the barely held together reams of information. He remembered her glossy headshot paper-clipped to the page, her azure skin that expertly sheened in the camera flash. Cerulean irises encased in hardened obsidian glared through the photograph with an intensity reserved for the most seasoned of starlets. Her attached biography told her many tales of political vaudeville, yet Corregan was most intrigued by the thought of how a being of her more gracile build would move about this cramped room, and if she would do so with greater fluidity than the two oafs seated aloft.
Sensing the ramparts rising around the issue, Corregan moved forward. "Very well then. Now, I've met with the accused, and he has given me authority to represent him in these matters. I have a document signed by the detainee attesting to this…" he faded while he flipped open the manila folder and began to rummage through its interior, looking for the page with the ink paw print stamped on the signature line.
"No need to produce it at this time, Ambassador. We'll take you on your word," Rhys'la conceded.
Awfully lax, Corregan noted as he shut his folder. "Okay, then let's get going. First off, the prisoner is under the impression that there was an offer for safe passage to the meeting concerning his transition from his position with the Armada, and that such courtesy had been extended for his transit home. Why was this courtesy denied?"
"Yes," the undersecretary answered in a measured tone, "the courtesy of our protection had been extended, however—"
"He violated a Federation mandate," boomed an impatient Thyse'ant.
"Is that why he's being charged with treason?" Corregan quickly interjected.
Rhys'la's beak dropped in what looked like a frown, and was perhaps gathering himself to respond, but the chief-elect plowed ahead. "After his creation, the Federation tried him—and the doctor," Thyse'ant hissed while crimson irises bored into Jumba. "Following some…confusion on the enactment of their sentences, they were both banished to your planet, a decision that left plenty in the Federation disquieted. Then the Experiment returned to Turo several times, which, even by invitation of the Council, is in direct defiance of the Federation's will. He even became the head of our military forces. The Council not only allowed it, but actively encouraged and enabled this to happen. It was too unbearable to let continue, and with the Council abetting the Experiment, a majority of the Federation's planetary delegation took matters upon itself to redress their grievance."
"By arresting him now? It took this long to get around to it?"
Thyse'ant's iridescent plumage shifted through ultramarines and fuchsias. "The measure previously had been…stalled."
Because she had been there to stall it, Corregan almost finished for him. Thyse'ant's cool and cocky crimson irises, however, had the ambassador hold his tongue and redirect the conversation. "Now, from the way you describe it, such an action by the accused on my planet would be akin to a violation of settlement terms, which can be dealt with severely—but, in this case, certainly not as treason, as a willful and malicious act against a state. This appears to be overreaching."
"With all due respect," Rhys'la wrestled the reins from Thyse'ant, "we are not on your planet. Our laws may be written a bit differently. For us, violating the judgment of a tribunal, one endorsed by the full delegation, can be considered a treasonous act. Such a blatant infringement does stand as anathema to the absolute rule of law in our Federation."
"I see. Then why was he allowed to parade about Turo until now?"
Rhys'la seemed ready to sigh, but continued anyway. "Drafting articles of treason is a…cumbersome process. We have many worlds and an incredible plurality of opinions within the Federation. Normally, our Council would curate all of these voices and guide us to a solution, but the delegation taking the matter upon itself requires much more time and energy. The culmination of these efforts coincided with the Experiment's arrival for the transition, and so—after some perfunctory resistance from the Experiment—the warrant was executed and Six-Two-Six was imprisoned."
Corregan shifted in his chair. The wheels of justice turn slowly everywhere in this galaxy. He tugged at one of the golden buttons on his jacket, thinking on his next line of questioning. He could hear Jumba rustling and clearing his throat. Under the desk, Corregan curtly waved off Jumba and, hoping the doctor had seen his motion, took a few moments more of pensiveness before beginning with, "Sir, I—".
Thyse'ant's grunt obtruded. "See, Undersecretary, you should have objected more ardently to them even being included in these proceedings. If this hu-man does not comprehend the fundamentals of our legal system, then surely he cannot comprehend what is at stake."
"And you should comprehend the benefits of staying quiet, Chief-Elect," Rhys'la admonished in an unsubtle aside. "My apologies, Ambassador. The training at Internal Security can inculcate some severe brashness in its agents."
Corregan grappled for his question as he accepted Rhys'la's apology. "Of course, it's fine. I was taking a moment to determine how our legal systems align. You see, under our code, the Experiment had been granted asylum, which affords him our government's protection from external agents and from a rendition like this."
"Doesn't your world still have nations?" Thyse'ant lambasted.
"Yes, however, we do have a body that represents the interests of all nations, who have vested in me the authority to carry out these proceedings," Corregan fibbed. Hopefully the President is taking care of that bit. "And this international body also upholds the sanctity of asylum. So," he turned back to Rhys'la, "I question the validity of this arrest, especially since our people were not consulted prior to his detainment."
"Of course, Ambassador. As I'm sure you're aware, our technological differences make it difficult to communicate on a regular basis. With this opportunity to detain the Experiment, Internal Security—under the Federation's direction—decided to proceed without a second party's approval. As we see it, the charges levied against him outweighed the need to seek…permission."
"And Internal Security is a planetary organization, not a Federation one, correct?"
"Yes," Rhys'la affirmed while his gray eyes drilled into Thyse'ant. "It is." Thyse'ant mumbled something unflattering under his breath.
"I believe I understand," Corregan equivocated, "but we may soon need to revisit the point concerning detainment. For now, though, can you explain the procedure for a trial on a charge of treason?"
Rhys'la emitted a tinny tittering sound from his ivory beak, which Corregan would discover to be some odd thrill the creature derived from the opportunity to enumerate galactic rules of order. "Delighted to, Ambassador. The accused is brought before the full Federation delegation. Charges are read. The Federation presents a case first. The accused has the opportunity to rebut. The delegates vote on guilt, and a three-quarters majority convicts."
"Simple enough. Who presides?"
"The Grand Councilwoman typically presides. And yes, that is a big part of why she is not here today."
"But not the whole reason," Corregan tried again.
"Argh, damned primate," grumbled Thyse'ant, just loud enough for Corregan to hear. Rhys'la's subsequent glare sent the chief-elect shrinking into his chair.
"I won't comment on that," Rhys'la strained through a beak clenching in obvious fury.
Corregan marked the hot-button issue for later in the dialogue, then soldiered on. "Fine. And if convicted, what is the usual punishment?"
The beak slackened. Rhys'la's gray eyes shuttered. He released the long-caged sigh. Corregan peered over at Jumba, whose mauve arms had paled. He thumbed the edge of the folder again, and thought of the hawks swooping into the tall grass and his cheers from the porch and sips from the perspiring can. Corregan pined for the summer day as Rhys'la spoke in a cold and stern tone, his ivory beak mouthing the word deliberately. "Death."
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Coming 6 June - Five
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