Day 7: Verdict
The rumour mill will turn, rain or shine, hell or high water. And when we woke up, there was one word circling around the firepower surrounding the courthouse.
He's guilty.
It was validating but intimidating at the same time. Even if Blackjack was guilty, would he finally pay the price for everything he'd done? Or, like he'd claimed from the start, would he be looking at house arrest with girls and drinks?
Overnight, the Marines had strung up three massive banners along the streets with their final messages to the court, to the Federation, and I suppose to me as well.
The first read Semper Fidelis. A simple phrase in Latin which translates to Always Faithful, a message to the Marines themselves, that they would never abandon their own, and they'd stand beside each other no matter what happened.
The second read You're a fucking dead man, Blackjack! I shouldn't need to tell you what this banner means, or who it was for.
But the third banner confused me. Blood Will Have Blood. I didn't understand what this was supposed to mean. A warning of vengeance? Poetry? And the phrase wasn't just on the banner. The Marines had sprayed it – in blood-red – with spray paint on the backs of their tactical vests. I asked around, but no one that day wanted to explain it further.
Voss quickly called us back into court. The Jury Foreman, that old retiree, held the simple white envelope in his hand that would change the entire Federation. Apart from myself, Colonel Jackson and T'Vok were at the prosecutor's table. Blackjack was at the defence table, feet up and smirk on. Voss was at the bench, and his law clerk was below him at the reporter's station. A Starfleet Security man carrying a phaser rifle stood below the bench. And finally, beside me in the empty press gallery, was President Greg Fowler.
"My presence is required at any potential capital sentence," Fowler explained to me.
Voss looked at the Foreman next. "Mister Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?"
"Yes we have, your honour," The Foreman replied.
"Is the verdict applicable to all charges, or are there differing verdicts for different charges?"
"All charges, your honour."
"And is the verdict unanimous, or are there dissenting opinions in the verdict?"
"The verdict is unanimous, your honour."
Voss took a deep breath. "Very well. Mister Foreman, you may render the verdict at your convenience."
The old man opened his envelope and took a deep breath. "On all charges as listed, we the jury, find the defendant, Admiral Thomas Ashcroft… guilty as charged."
I confess that me and Jackson both cheered, but Voss nearly smashed his gavel. "Order! There shall be order in this court! Remarks from spectators are not permitted at this time! Mister Foreman, as the jury has rendered a verdict of guilty of the charge of high treason, the law requires that you render a decision on imposing the penalty of death for this charge. Has the jury reached a decision on this penalty?"
"Yes, your honour," The Foreman replied.
"And is the decision unanimous?"
"It is, your honour."
"You may deliver your decision at your convenience."
The old man took another deep breath before he spoke again. "The Jury finds that the severity of the crime requires the ultimate punishment. As such, we the jury sentence the defendant to death."
Voss banged his gavel yet again. "The verdict has been rendered. The court will recess for one hour before we move to the particulars of the sentence, if—"
Blackjack lept to his feet. "What?! What the hell?! What the actual fuck?! You son of a bitch Voss! I paid you! You can't do this to me!"
Time slowed down. What happened next… I'd never have predicted this. But it happened. Blackjack, who wasn't wearing cuffs, jumped over the table, knocked out the security guard, stole his rifle, and turned around, taking aim directly at the President.
Before anyone could say anything else, Blackjack squeezed his trigger. A third of a second later, President Greg Fowler was thrown to the floor with a twelve-inch hole in his chest. Before I could scream, Jackson drew his own phaser and rushed to cover me, trading shots with Blackjack who ran out of the front door.
The Marines had been waiting for this moment since the start of this whole mess. There was so much hardware outside the courthouse, a Starship couldn't have broken through. When Blackjack made it outside, I wondered what would kill him first. The artillery? The 30mm cannons on one of the many Lynx IFVs? The Raptors?
None of the above. He burst through the huge doors and fired a dozen shots, sending the section nearest to the doors into cover. "Any of you try to stop me, and you're dead!" he shouted.
What the hell was his plan? Where was he going to go? Did he really think he could escape? It didn't matter. I finally convinced Jackson to get off of me and let me outside. Just as I made it out, a single phaser blast shot out from across the street, and a third of a second later, it hit Blackjack square in the face. His corpse hit the ground like a sack of wet meat.
And that was it. A third of a second. That's all it took. 'Blackjack' Thomas Ashcroft was dead. And it was all over. I don't know why, but I dropped to my knees and stared at his headless corpse, for the eternity of thirty seconds. Did we win? It didn't feel like we had. I felt… empty, looking at his body.
Across the street, Sera was shouting at her men. "Who the hell fired?! Get the fuck over here!"
A single man, wearing a tactical helmet that hid his face, stepped forward from the mass of firepower. As if Sera recognized who he was instantly, she backed down, and let the man walk to see his kill. When he stood over me, I asked him to let me see his face.
Mike Bagsley took his helmet off a second later. There was a sense of relief on his face, but his eyes were as blank as what he said to me to end this day. "It had to be me. You understand, right? I had to be the one to kill him. Someone else might have missed."
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