Stone Blade (2 page)

Michaels and Karris moved to flank Micah and Jennifer, cutting them off from the station. A sharp intake of breath told Micah that Jennifer had smelled the drug too. With luck, thought Micah, he'd just take a beating and Jennifer could outrun the others while they thrashed him. He had no thought for the constables.

“Get ready to run,” whispered Micah softly.

“What?”

Jennifer paused and that cost her. Adamson darted forward and grabbed her arm roughly.

“Nice, nice, nice little sluttie,” said Adamson.

Micah thought to stop Adamson but Karris grabbed him from behind.

“Mighty nice for prollie meat,” continued Adamson.

Jennifer struggled but Adamson's grip, even without Turbo, was vise-strong. Chuckling, Adamson reached around her, got a handful of hair and pressed his face against hers. Micah tried to break away but Karris fisted him under the ribs.

Jennifer, though, had tricks of her own. Though Turbo masked pain, enough of it inflicted suddenly would still hurt. Opening her mouth slightly, she gave Adamson a brief instant to register the fact and react before biting down as hard as she could. Adamson backed away with an almost feminine shriek, blood pouring down his chin.

“Whoreslut!” Adamson slapped Jennifer as hard as he could.

Micah's vision blurred red and he lost awareness. Somehow, in the surely-brief time since Adamson struck Jennifer, Michaels had decided to sit on the ground and hold his knee. Karris sat on Micah's other side, trying feebly to rise. Micah kicked as hard as he could. Karris managed to get a hand between Micah's boot and his own face but something crunched and he flopped backwards.

Adamson, meanwhile, worked to straighten himself from having Jennifer's foot planted where it would do a lot of good. But it didn't. The Turbo finally took effect and Micah could see by Adamson's glazed stare that he'd feel no pain any time soon. Jennifer kicked again and Adamson slapped it away, chuckling.

Micah charged Adamson and slam-tackled him as hard as he could. The unexpected direction of Micah's attack caught Adamson unaware and his head bounced off the ground. Adamson shook his head, tried to rise and slid back.

***

“Micah. Micah!”

Micah looked dumbly at Jennifer. She'd taken his arm and was pulling him toward the darkness. Blood trickled out her nose and mouth but she was still incredibly...

“Come on you pucko! We have to leave. Now!”

They didn't make three good steps before light exploded down on them.

“FREEZE, ZILCHIES! DO NOT MOVE!”

Micah spread his feet and held out his visibly-empty hands. Beside him Jennifer did the same.

“You should have run,” whispered Micah.

“What?” Jennifer sounded shocked. “And leave you?”

“SHADDUP, zilchie!”

Constables and medics arrived in amazingly short order. They frisked Micah and Jennifer roughly, then shackled them. With the adrenaline gone Micah discovered several bruises and sore spots he didn't remember getting. Several constables interviewed Adamson and Michaels without bothering to separate them while another tried to rouse Karris. Micah felt a faint hope as one of the medics approached him only to have it vanish as the man merely took a blood sample. He didn't speak or even look at them.

After a time, two constables shoved Micah and Jennifer to the ground. Karris finally roused; both a constable and a medic took his statement.

“You should have run,” said Micah again.

“They'd have ripped you to pieces! Besides, if you think for one second...”

“I said QUIET, you zilchies. One more word and it's resisting arrest!”

“Sir, please,” said Jennifer softly, “We didn't do anything.”

“Tell your solicitor,” said the constable, “And that's resisting.”

After a few more minutes the constables shoved Micah and Jennifer into a hover. Jennifer somehow managed to work herself so she could take his hand. The constable driving might have said something but Micah ignored him completely.

***

Micah's trip to the Constabulary was a journey through hell. No one spoke to him save to order him to strip and then to hold still as they searched him. Thoroughly. Then they took more blood, his prints, his retinals and repeated the search. Finally, bereft of all dignity, he was thrust into a small, cold cell with a flimsy wraparound tossed in as an afterthought. The door slid shut and all sound vanished. The room had a rudimentary sink, no towels, a crude toilet and an unpadded shelf against the back wall. Micah washed his face and dried it on the robe. Then, too tired to sleep and aching from more than just the drubbing he'd taken, Micah sat on the shelf and pulled the damp wrap over himself as best he could.

The sound of Micah's cell door opening woke him from a fitful rest. He was cold and sore and he assumed it must be the next day.

“On your feet, prollie. Your solicitor's here.” The constable acted as though speaking to Micah soiled her.

The constable escorted Micah to a room bare of furnishings save a table and two chairs. A rumpled man with a professionally preoccupied expression sat in one of these, attention buried in his terminal.  Micah took the other chair uninvited.

“Oliver Crump,” said the man, not looking up, “Stine, is it?”

“Stone, sir. Micah Stone.”

Crump did look up at this and he did not look pleased.

“I don't suppose you want to confess?”

“What?”

Crump handed Micah a bundle of papers.

“This isn't right,” said Micah, after a brief perusal, “They assaulted us! Jenn and I tried to leave but they grabbed us. Adamson was...”

“Mister Adamson,” interrupted Crump, “Or Seigneur Adamson, if you wish to be polite.”

“Adamson,” continued Micah, “was going to force himself on Jenn.”

“They told you this, did they? No?” Crump sighed and entered something on his terminal. “Not guilty, then, but I advise against it. You're in enough trouble already, Stone.”

“But I'm not guilty of anything. I was defending myself! Besides, they were on turbo! They could have...”

Crump snapped shut his terminal.

“Stone, slandering your victims will not help your case. Keep that in mind!”

“But...” Micah felt his heart drop to his feet. He should have known. Did know, in fact, but allowed a stupid hope to cloud it.

Crump rose, his detritus gathered.

“Sir?”

Crump looked at him.

“Can I speak with my parents? Will you call them for me?”

Crump pondered this a moment. Finally he dug out a stylus and pad.

“Nothing to do with your crime, Stone, or I won't be able to pass it.”

Micah wrote a moment, paused to consider something, then wrote again. Crump took the pen and paper and summoned the guard to return Micah to his cell.

***

A time later another guard brought Micah from his cell. Micah shuffled into a line of others, most wearing bleak expressions, and the lot of them lock marched to a small open yard. Under the guards' watchful gaze the prisoners marched around the yard several times. Micah ventured a look up. Almost noon. He and his family should be having a picnic downriver of the billets. With Jennifer! That thought lasted Micah until a cloud smothered the sunlight.

After a few minutes of exercise the guards herded Micah and the rest into a cafeteria of sorts. Each received a small bowl of protein and vitamin paste, two slices of soyabread and a bulb of weak tea. The stuff had no flavor and Micah didn't linger over it. No one spoke.

Around early evening Micah repeated the walk-and-feed. After this meal, though, he and the others marched to a long hallway. The other prisoners removed their wraps. Micah copied them nervously. As the line of men started down the corridor, jets of water sprayed from the ceiling and walls. The streams were freezing cold and scalding hot by turns and alternated with some strong cleanser. After the first of these Micah thought to close and cover his eyes. An automated rack at the end of the hallway dispensed degradable towels. Micah discovered just how quickly they disintegrated. Another rack dispensed wraps.

Back in his cell again Micah tried to sleep. He tried to have some hope, some justice, but none came. What Adamson the father couldn't do Adamson the son had. Micah tried to take some solace in the production Adamson's division would lose but he couldn't. Small though it was, Micah's income helped his family. He supposed they'd survive without it but he'd saved as much as he could to send Deke to an upstatus school. Micah felt that hope fade too. He knew he'd be barred at the very least; never mind his talent, he'd be given a stipe somewhere. If Adamson had any say Micah's stipe would be nothing less than hellish.

The next day, after noon feeding, a scowling guard fetched Micah. Again without words the man escorted Micah to a small booth with a thick pane of glass and a small vox. His parents sat on the other side, both looking worried.

“Son! Micah. We were worried,” said his father. He tried to say more but couldn't.

“I'm all right, father. Bored, though. It's not really that bad.”

The lie curdled Micah's tongue but his parents looked relieved.

“What happened, son,” asked his father.

Micah told them. His mother dabbed her eyes and his father nodded sadly.

“I'm sorry, son. I tried to get you out. No solicitors over the holiday. Certainly none for us.”

“I have one,” said Micah, “I told him what happened.”

Micah's father nodded. “You know you've been charged.”

“Lawrence!”

“It's all right, mother. I know. Mr. Crump explained it to me.”

“Time,” said the guard.

“Mother, Father, I love you. Tell Deke too.”

“We will, son.”

“Come on, prollie. I don't have all day!”

Micah's last glimpse was of his mother holding back tears. And his father.

***

Micah saw Crump again the next morning. He missed early feed but that didn't bother him. Crump had a largish parcel that turned into a coverall and a pair of scuff shoes.

“You're being arraigned today. Hurry up and change. The ombudsman doesn't like to be kept waiting.”

The ombudsman might not like to wait, thought Micah, but he didn't mind if his cases did. Some long time after noon found Micah still in the waiting cell. Finally a bailiff came for him.

Micah hoped to see his family but the gallery held only a few disinterested folks. The bailiff sat Micah none too gently next to Crump to await the ombudsman's attention.

“40435-16,” called the clerk, “Commonwealth vs. Stone. Assault, multiple counts. Armed assault, multiple counts. Battery, multiple counts. What say ye?”

Crump stood and motioned Micah to do likewise.

“Honorable and esteemed sir, Mister Stone wishes to place himself at the mercy of the Commonwealth. He is remorseful for his actions and he wishes...”

“No!” said Micah, “I'm not guilty! I...”

Rough hands grabbed Micah and he felt a hypo against his neck. His arms went flaccid and suddenly it took all of his concentration not to fall to the floor. He made his chair. Barely.

“Honorable and esteemed sir,” said Crump, “Mister Stone spoke with the regrets of his actions clouding his judgment. I implore you toward lenience.”

The ombudsman looked at his terminal and then the prosecution.

“Honorable prosecution?”

One of the men rose.

“Most honorable and esteemed sir, we, the humble representatives of the persons and aggrieved families of Francis Adamson, Lom Michaels and Fred Karris do wish to see justice done. These victims were maliciously used by this common hoodlum and we beseech you to confer upon him a punishment equal to the pain and suffering he so wrongly inflicted. We urge the maximum sentence, sir, and request that it be on the equatorial band.”

Micah wanted to weep. Detoxifying the equatorial regions wasn't strictly necessary but the Commonwealth kept the program active for capital crimes and as stipes worthy of such.

Micah waited for the ombudsman to pronounce sentence. He'd receive equatorial, of course. Micah had no idea what maximum sentence would be; but whether one year or ten it would be for life. Modern medicine could cure most of the equatorial toxins but they required lengthy and expensive treatment. Treatment Micah had no delusions of affording.

“Hear then our sentence,” said the ombudsman, “Having reviewed the pertinent facts and taking cognizance of the perpetrator's plea we are inclined toward mercy. The perpetrator is hereby sentenced to three years' equatorial labor per offense. Half of the perpetrator's earnings shall be garnished to recompense our honorable citizens who were harmed by his actions. Upon completion of his sentence the perpetrator is barred from service for a period of not less than ten years.” The ombudsman seemed bored. “In addition, for untimely and unwarranted disruption of our court the perpetrator is fined one thousand credits. So let the record show.”

Numbness suffused Micah as the bailiff escorted him away. Equatorial. Micah knew he'd die there but for the ombudsman to fine him most of his savings... No doubt his life geld would go to Adamson and Deke would never afford a better school.

Crump glared coldly at Micah until the sedative wore off.

“You didn't help, Stone. I could have gotten you off with ten plus ten, max, but you had to disrupt the court. Ombudsmen don't like their courts disrupted.”

“But I'm not...”

“Be quiet, Stone. None of you are guilty. None of you are ever guilty. I've tried to arrange a meeting with your family but I doubt that will happen now.”

Crump fiddled with his terminal.

“Sir,” said Micah, quieter now, “Is there anything else to do?”

Crump looked disgruntled at this.

“If his honorable and esteemed sir is free at the end of the day and if he is still inclined toward mercy I may be able to sway your sentence to enlistment.”

That comforted Micah very little. He'd toyed with the idea of enlisting after he graduated school. Military service elevated Status and had other benefits. But Mister Carruthers stopped him. Rather, his stories had. Carruthers himself volunteered early and lived most of his life in service to the Commonwealth. And, being of low Status, had given most of his life to the Commonwealth. Both legs, an arm, both eyes and most of his skin were artificial. Still, thought Micah, better than slow poisoning. He nodded.