Tales From the Terran Republic

Sheloran sat miserably on a padded cube firmly attached to the deck plate.

A uniformed human female smiled pleasantly at her from behind a desk…

And a very thick, clear panel.

"Hello," the human said cheerfully, "My name is Pam! Welcome to Tartarus!"

"Hi," Sheloran said meekly.

"Well, you certainly caused a stir!" Pam exclaimed cheerfully. "Quite the mess!"

"Do I get to talk to my lawyer?" Sheloran squeaked.

"Sure!" she said. "But first, I just wanted to check in with you, see how you are doing. So, you saw our orientation video," she said with a chuckle. "Do you have any questions?"

Sheloran just shook her head.

"Really?" Pam asked. "Most people do..." she said as she typed at her console. "I'm just going to look at your notes for a second… Huh!… Neat!… Interesting!" she said happily as she read.

"Ok, I think I got a handle on this!" Pam exclaimed. "Based on your profile, as best as we understand it (You're an odd one!), I should reassure you that you are safe! Nobody is planning on harming you!"

Pam leaned forward a bit.

"And you will have few problems with your fellow guests," she added in a conspiratorial tone. "If you are here, you are here for a reason, and your fellow guests know it! You won't need to prove yourself or establish your reputation. You're a violent killer!"

"But I'm not..."

"Right," Pam grinned. "You are ALLEGEDLY a hyper-violent, psychotic, stupidly dangerous killing machine who MIGHT have slaughtered nine armed Threen thugs each several times her body-weight leaving nothing but ragged, bloody chunks behind, and did it so fast and with such brutality that several jails were afraid even to let you in!"

"They weren't ragged!" Sheloran squeaked, suddenly quite offended. "They were- Eeeep!" Sheloran squeaked, clamping her hands over her mouth.

"Ha!" Pam exclaimed happily. "Right you are! I didn't mean to cast shade on your fine work! You MIGHT have left neatly sliced pieces behind!"

Sheloran just stared at her with wide eyes as she kept her hands firmly in place, afraid of what else might leak out.

"You'll fit in great around here!" Pam laughed. "Like I said, you have nothing to prove, just like everyone else here, and we run a pretty tight ship, so unsanctioned fights don't happen very often at all!"

"Un… unsanctioned?"

"Well, some of you ruffians just have to blow off some steam every now and then so we do have the fighting pits if you are into that sort of thing."

"I'm not!" Sheloran squeaked. "I'm really not!"

"Ok," Pam smiled. "Just let one of the guest concierge officers know if you change your mind!"

Sheloran just sat there, completely terrified as Pam continued.

"Diet… Looks good… Oh! You like apples! Let me check… Yep! Those are on the salad bar right now (we have really good food!)… Uniform… What do you like to wear?"

"D-dresses..."

"That won't be a problem… Dispensary… You on any drugs?"

"No..."

"Well, if you feel like some, just let us know," Pam smiled. "I know the normal system is against them, but they are actually trying to rehabilitate people. We don't bother with 'rehabilitation' here. You can't get Warcry or Berserker or Meth, but if you want some heroin, we will hook you right on up! But don't do heroin. Do weed! We grow some of the best buds in the galaxy! Do you like gardening?" ŕáℕȫＢЕs̩

Sheloran's eyes lit up, and she nodded. Pam smiled at her and typed something.

"Once you get settled in, we can get you into our hydroponic facility if you want… Back to the dispensary… Oh..." Pam said unhappily, "nothing for Plaths… Is there anything from your homeworld you want?"

"Oh Prophet, yes!" Sheloran gasped. "You can do that?"

"We put a very high priority on making our guests as 'comfortable' out of their minds as we can," she laughed. "What do you want?"

"Well!" Sheloran said as she inhaled deeply.

Pam was typing for quite some time.

***

In a surprisingly short time, Sheloran, wearing a comfy dress and some really cute little slippers, was led into a small room.

"We'll give you some privacy," an armored Kalesh said.

"Thanks!" Sheloran beamed. Everyone was so nice to her! It wasn't like the other jail at all!

The Kalesh shut the door, and Baxlon appeared on one of those armored two-dimensional displays.

He glared at her.

"One day," he said. "I asked you to hold off for just one fucking day… Just one!"

"I'm sorry, Baxlon," Sheloran squeaked. "But they-"

"You know who has called dibs, right?" Baxlon asked.

Sheloran just squeaked.

"Yep, and he is pissed off!" Baxlon continued. "It seems that he doesn't view slaughtering nine people with the same sense of humor we do, especially that one guy… Fucking hell, Sheloran! What did you do to him? I mean, I've seen some fucked up shit but, damn, kid!"

"I'm… I'm not sure..." Sheloran squeaked miserably.

"What the fuck do you mean, 'I'm not sure'? You were there!"

"One minute I was at the hospital with Uhrrbet and… and then… and then..."

Sheloran buried her face in her hands.

Baxlon just floated there, blowing a thin stream of bubbles.

"According to the police report," he replied, "And then you sauntered into the fucking Harkeen headquarters and fucking ripped them into pieces… literally. They know this because you, in your infinite wisdom, decided to film the whole fucking thing!!!"

"I did?!?" Sheloran squealed.

"Yep," Baxlon replied with a chuckle. "Still had the camera on you when they hauled you in. Thank the Lords of the Abyss themselves that you didn't resist when SWAT dropped by to say hello."

The vaguest recollection of black-clad warriors fluttered across Sheloran's mind. They were nice.

"You were just sitting there having fucking breakfast when they stormed the place."

"I what?" Sheloran squeaked.

Baxlon just laughed.

"Yeah, after you finished turning the Harkeen boss into prosciutto, you just sat down and summoned a waiter. They were too fucking terrified to say no. I gotta hand it to you, Sheloran. You have style! The SWAT helmet cam footage is already going viral!"

"Viral?!?" Sheloran just squeaked.

"Oh yeah," Baxlon chuckled. "But that's nothing compared to your cab ride. Your little concert already has over a hundred million views."

"Cab ride?"

"You don't remember?… of course you don't," Baxlon said. "You started singing the fucking Republic national anthem on the way to the fucking restaurant. Your cabbie has a fucking vlog, by the way. He taped everything! So, in addition to your little snuff flick, they have hours of very carefully premeditated preparations… Maybe, just maybe, you could have a chat with this 'other Sheloran' concerning little things like not recording, in exacting detail, nine counts of first-degree murder? It would make things MUCH more convenient in the future."

Nine counts of first-degree murder!!!

"Oh poop… OpoopOpoopOpoop….” Sheloran started to hyperventilate.

"Baxlon!!!" She squeaked, "Whatarewegoingtodo!!!!"

"I am going to do my job," Baxlon said with a strangely happy little bubble. "There is just ONE thing you have to do."

"What?"

"Nothing," Baxlon said firmly. "absolutely nothing! Do NOTHING. Say NOTHING. Just don't make this any worse!… I think I know how to play this, at least at first," Baxlon mused. "We are about to have our first hearing. We'll know a lot more after that. Just sit there and KEEP QUIET! No matter what, just keep that gigantic mouth of yours closed! Can you do that?"

Sheloran nodded.

"I need to hear you say it," Baxlon said urgently. "Last time, it was cute. This time it is serious. What are you going to do?"

"Keep my mouth shut?" Sheloran replied uncertainly.

"Again."

"I'm going to keep my mouth shut."

"And what are you going to say?"

"Nothing," Sheloran replied.

"Right," Baxlon said. "not a peep. Not a squeak… nothing. Just sit there and look… Yes! Look just like that!"

Sheloran just nodded, completely terrified.

"Sit tight," Baxlon said. "We will be talking to Mr. Roboto soon."

***

Gloria lounged in Harval's office, going over the latest information that Jessie sent as the door burst open and a thin wispy xeno barged in.

"What you do to my ship! Why you fuck it?"

A faint smile flickered across Gloria's lips. She knew that stance, those tones. They were universal.

"Sorry, Chief," Gloria replied. "Needs of the Republic."

"Balance wrong! Structure wrong! Everything wrong!" the xeno exclaimed.

"It only has to hold together for a few hours," Gloria chuckled. "Don't tell me you are incapable of doing it."

"I can do! Of course I can do!" the xeno exclaimed. "I can mess up good ship! Fucking humans..."

"This hurts me as much as it hurts you."

"My mother said same thing but was my ass left stinging!" the xeno snapped and then stormed off.

Another smile briefly lit up Gloria's face. It was like the good old days.

O Fortuna… Velut Luna…

Gloria cocked her head. What was that?

Statu variabilis...

Gloria got up and followed the sound. It was beautiful.

semper crescis… aut decrescis

She walked down the corridor towards Harval, and a few others clustered around someone holding a tablet.

vita detestabilis… nunc obdurat… et tunc curat...

On the tablet, a… Plath?… was sitting in the back of a vehicle singing as she prepared two very strange-looking pistols. They had long, graceful curves, not unlike two ancient flint-locks but with very odd exposed circuitry where the hammers should have been. Strange shapes had been drawn with wiring and components along the sides of the weapons.

Gloria stood transfixed as she listened to the unearthly singing. It was without a doubt the single most beautiful rendition of the Republic anthem she had ever heard.

Gloria thought of Ensign Westbrook. She loved that song. She sang it every time they launched… and she even started to sing it during her final attack run. Gloria had always thought Westbrook's swan song was the most beautiful version…

Gloria had never sung that song after that day. It was one more thing she had lost.

Unconsciously, Gloria started to quietly sing along…

***

"You have to see this!" Gloria exclaimed, her eyes alive with excitement, as she transmitted a file to the Tiger.

Sheila looked at Gloria's image with surprise. Gloria looked… normal?…

That was definitely not a good sign. Gloria looking "normal" was never a good sign.

"Gloria," Sheila asked cautiously. "Have you done something we need to know about?"

"Just watch!" Gloria exclaimed. "God! I wish Westbrook could have seen this!"

"Who?"

"Tasha Westbrook!"

"Who?"

"Oh… I guess you never met her," Gloria replied. "She was someone I served with. She wound up ramming her Moray into the side of a Bug cruiser. Went down with all tubes firing! Took the fucker down with her, singing that fucking song the whole time!"

Ok, now Sheila was really concerned. Gloria never talked about her service sober and NEVER mentioned names. In fact, she claimed that she didn't even bother learning them.

"...and she LOVED that fucking song!" Gloria continued. "She used to sing in a church choir when she was a kid, and let me tell you, that bitch could sing! Every goddamn time we launched, all four of them, she sang the whole fucking thing. It drove me crazy!" Gloria actually laughed. "She was a volunteer, you know. Crazy little shit actually signed up for a Moray… Nobody who does that is right in the head!"

Sheila just sat there stunned as Gloria continued to talk about her former comrades. So many names... Sheila thought as Gloria continued to talk about people, who they were, little things about them… and how they died… so many names…

"...I tell you one thing," Gloria said, "Vic might have been a fucking prisoner, but I hope I go down with half the courage, the pure grace, that he did. His tubes were empty. He should have run, but he flew into right into those fighters trying to give us just half a second longer to line up our shots… moron..." She sighed with a wistful smile.

Sheila continued to just quietly sit there, amazed, as Gloria continued to name the dead.

It took a while.

***

After promising, repeatedly, to watch whatever Gloria had sent them, Sheila switched off the transmission.

She looked at the file on her monitor. Whatever that was, it had done something to Gloria.

She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to see anything that would do that.

"Fuck it," she muttered and pressed play…

"Well..." Sheila said a few moments after the chills subsided. "That was something..."

"Something is right!" Bunny laughed. "You will NEVER guess who that fucking was!… And… Holy shit!… Sheila..." Bunny said over the bridge speakers, "You are NOT going to believe this!"

File after file started to open up on the holo-screens of the bridge.

"Well, fuck..." Sheila grinned.

***

Judge Thaddeus Carter sat in his office and frowned as he reviewed the case. He had many cases today…

But there was only one that really mattered to him.

"Goddammit," he muttered as he watched her sing again. It was so beautiful.

It was. If he still had the physical capacity, he would be moved to tears. But, unfortunately, there was only one conclusion to make, the same one made by everyone who watched this…

She went there to kill. Her intent was… incontrovertible. It was calm, and it was clear, and it was one-hundred percent premeditated.

Those Threen were dead the second she got out of that cab.

He pulled up the notes from a cultural expert. Her words and actions were perfect. There wasn't a good human analogy for what she did. It was a "biological" trigger. She clearly used in-depth knowledge of the Threen psyche to engineer the situation so that violence was assured.

That Harkeen boss had absolutely no choice…

And Sheloran knew it.

This was murder, carefully planned, perfectly executed murder…

And the weapons? Clearly class-four destructive devices, not that it really mattered. The whole building had to be cordoned off. It would take days to make that place safe to enter. Slivers of monomolecular wire were everywhere.

Unable to stop himself, he played the song again.

Upholding the law was his sacred privilege, a duty that he performed with every fiber of his being, a task that defined him, strengthened him, gave him a purpose in this insane world…

But some days, he really hated his job. Sheloran was a good person, at least she was, and it was his job to put her in Tartarus for the rest of her life. No. That wasn't his job. His job was to safeguard and oversee the process that would put her in Tartarus for the rest of her life.

He reviewed the notes again. Perhaps there was something he missed, some detail that would change things. He pulled up the precedents again. That shit-loach would definitely try to use self-defense to justify the slaughter, and yes, slaughter was exactly the right word to use.

It wouldn't fly. Sheloran wasn't the first person to do something like this and then try to claim it was self-defense. The precedents were clear. Just like shouting "fire" in a crowded theater wasn't free speech, walking into a crimelord's den and challenging them wasn't self-defense…

No matter how badly someone wanted it to be…

The shit-loach was good, but the prosecution would be pulling out the stops on this one. Gang wars needed to be stopped before they started. If Sheloran were allowed to walk, it would only be a matter of time before this happened again… and again…

If the entire world consisted only of Sheloran and the Harkeen… and whoever it will be the next time… then he would be all for it, but there are always innocents turned into "examples" or some kid who steps in front of a bullet or whatever the hell Sheloran was using.

He had seen it too many times before. Once someone starts taking care of their competition like this…

He thought of Sheloran's little face and frowned. No matter how innocent they look or how good they claim their intentions to be, once they start killing…

It just gets worse… and worse… Unfortunately, it only ends in the grave, and they usually take far too many people with them, not all of them "guilty".

"What happened to you, frog-girl?" He muttered. He knew this would happen. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. The fact that she was the killer and not the victim wasn't even that much of a surprise.

He hated being right. Just once, he would like to be wrong about this shit… just once...

He checked the docket again and chuckled grimly.

The prosecution was taking this seriously.

They sent crayon-boy. After getting some sense kicked into him, "The Crayola" was quickly becoming quite the effective and feared prosecutor. He wouldn't miss a trick.

"Shit-loach vs. Crayon-Boy..." Judge Dredd muttered. Usually, he would be looking forward to this, a good legal duel for all of the marbles, but not this time, not this case.

They would stretch this out, battling tirelessly to "win", and he just wanted this whole mess to be over.

He thought of Sheloran again and fought back a wave of grief. She was special. He didn't know why. Some people just were, and that little frog-girl was so innocent, so filled with spark, with potential.

She could have been anything…

So why did she choose to become… this…

Why?

He knew there would never be an answer good enough, an excuse strong enough, to justify it. There never was…

But why her. She was a good person, a very good person. You could see it shining off of her…

Only for it to go so badly…

He had seen it before, of course. He had seen it too often. Seeing it once was too often…

...and he had seen it a Hell of a lot more times than once.

He looked at the antique wall clock on his wall, salvaged from the ruins of his old courthouse, a relic of the time before everything stopped making sense.

It was time. There was no sense in delaying it.

Best to just get this over with. Listen to the charges, validate the them, listen to the defense…

...then deny bail. The grounds, "unacceptable risk of further violence and proven history of fleeing prosecution"…

Over and done.

Then, over the next few weeks or months, he would be treated to the tragic story of how someone so "good" wound up becoming a mass murderer. He didn't know all of the details yet, but there was one thing of which he was completely certain.

He didn't want to hear this. It was going to suck.

He made his way into his courtroom and paused as the door opened.

It was packed!

The room was filled with people, xenos, and more than a few of the press.

"All rise!" the bailiff called out in a loud, clear voice. "The court of..."

Judge Dredd wondered what was going on as he, dragging that long heavy cable, walked to his podium.

Oh, the video, he thought. It went viral, didn't it?

He scowled.

Great, he thought to himself. Goddamn thing is already turning into a circus.

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