The Judge

  Copyright 2008 by Jamie Sedgwick

  Cover art copyright 2012 by Timber Hill Press

  All Rights Reserved

  Any similarity between people or events, real or fictional, is purely coincidental

  The Judge

  The Honorable William T. Jackson was a man of principles. At one hundred and fifty-seven years of age, he’d lived enough to know that little else had meaning. A man could expect to see friends come and go, family members grow old and pass away, and if he lived long enough, he might even see civilizations crumble. He knew that in the end, facing his final years, his only real measure was whether he’d lived by his principles. It wasn’t a measure of fame or success. It was a personal thing, perhaps of pride that he could carry with him to the grave. After one hundred and fifty-seven years, the judge was not ready to give that up.

  Though he’d spent nearly five hours in solitary deliberation, he knew exactly what he was going to do. In fact, he’d known it for six months, since the day the trial began. Even before that, to be honest. Judge Jackson had always known exactly what he’d do if he ever got the notorious B. Childe Holmes in his court. Now, it was just a matter of seeing the plan through to its inevitable outcome. It was a matter of sticking to his principles.

  The judge sat at his desk, staring out the window into the cold vacuum of space. The sun was coming up over Titan XII, and even though he’d seen it a thousand times, it never failed to be breathtaking. Three quarters of the planet was covered in deep, blue ocean, and the water sparkled like a jeweled veil as the light danced across the waves. He smiled, thinking of his lakeside home on the moon Eliza 7. Eliza was the only place in the universe where he could be entirely, blessedly alone. That was where he was going as soon as the trial ended.

  The judge pulled his eyes away from the spectacular sunrise as his secretary’s voice buzzed through the intercom. “It’s time, sir,” she said.

  “Thank you Cher.” She sounded nervous. When the situation held enough gravity to affect his twenty-one year-old secretary, things were bad. And it was no secret, either. The judge knew he could turn on the holoscreen and watch news flashes about the hearings on any of five hundred channels. The entire universe was awaiting the outcome of the trial. And well they should, as it would affect even the most remote colonies. No, it would especially affect them.

  The judge lifted the receiver and said, “Call Charlie Wells.” He waited patiently, listening to the ringing of a phone ten thousand light years away. Though it was possible, it wasn’t practical to use videophones this deep in space. It had something to do with signal compression.

  “Hello, Bill,” said Charlie’s familiar voice. “I was hoping I’d hear from you.”

  “It’s good to hear your voice, Charlie,” said the judge. “Are things well?”

  “As well as can be expected. I hope you have good news?”

  The judge restrained himself. He knew better than to believe his private phone call was truly private. The mob, the Feds, and probably a dozen journalists and “interested parties” were all listening in. Anything he said had to be completely generic, and completely unrelated to the case. He hoped Charlie had the sense to realize this. “I just wanted to be sure you had finished that project for me.”

  Charlie hesitated. “Well, yes I did, but…”

  “That’s all I need to know,” the judge said. “I’ll be heading out to Eliza in a couple hours.”

  “I see. Should I meet you there?”

  “No, give me a couple days. I’m going to need some time to recuperate.” He hung up. Charlie had sounded worried, but that wasn’t unexpected. Charlie knew more than he should.

  The judge had done his best to keep his plans secret, but there were some things that he simply couldn’t handle alone. Charlie, with his old army contacts and vast knowledge of weaponry, made the perfect co-conspirator. Unfortunately, it was almost impossible to keep anything secret from him. When the judge started stockpiling weapons, Charlie knew something was up. As tight-lipped as he had been, it still didn’t take Charlie long to get things figured out. Fortunately, the judge was confident that Charlie would keep the secret to himself. If he was certain of anything, it was that Charlie could be trusted.

  The judge rose from his chair, donning his robe with deliberate slowness. The world had been waiting for this sentencing for a long time; a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt. The judge needed a few more minutes to convince himself that he really was doing the right thing. He poured a shot of hundred-year-old whiskey and threw it back, savoring the smooth oaky flavor. His verdict might not be cause for celebration –not yet, anyway- but a little whiskey in his veins wouldn’t hurt when it came to delivering a sentence of this magnitude.

  *

  “Ladies and gentleman, all rise for the Honorable William Jackson.”

  The judge entered the courtroom, nodding to the Deputy Bailiff, and took his seat amidst a mass of flashing lights and buzzing holocameras. The tiny courtroom was designed to seat no more than a hundred people, but he saw at least three times that. Half of them were human, and most of the rest were humanoid, having vaguely human features. The oddest was some sort of crustacean creature with two sets of eyes and four clawed hands. It appeared to be a very efficient reporter, as it held not only a notepad and pen, but also a digital recording device with a microphone boom. The judge wasn’t familiar with the species, but he couldn’t keep track of them any more.

  He scanned the courtroom, waiting for the witnesses and media to take their seats, and then his eyes fell on the defendant. B. Childe Holmes, known to his cronies as “B,” was the most notorious gangster in the universe. His mobs ran wild in even the most remote colonies, terrorizing the populace and wreaking havoc as they battled alien cultures for superiority in the drug and weapons-running rackets. Not that B’s gang drew the line there. They had their dirty little fingers in just about everything. Hardly a case came across the judge’s desk that didn’t have the B gang’s fingerprints on it somewhere. Not only that, but they weaseled themselves into legitimate business as well. Not legitimately, of course. On some moons, they ran the protection racket, on others it was outright extortion. For over a decade, B and his gang had been running rampant across the universe. It was time for that to change.

  “I’ve reviewed the evidence, I’ve heard your case, and I have come to a verdict.” The judge’s eyes didn’t stray, though B did his best to stare him down. “Before I deliver my verdict I have a few words. First, to the media: Please refrain from outbursts and camera flashes. Once I have delivered the verdict and instructions, I ask that you please withdraw from the courtroom and make your calls and interviews in the appropriate time and place.

  “Witnesses, you will withdraw to the debriefing chamber and await further instructions.” The judge put on his reading glass and shuffled his papers, and the room fell absolutely still. He could almost imagine the silent media streams shooting out through space, carrying nothing but a still picture. He cleared his throat, took a sip of water, and began to speak:

  “Bartholomew Childe Holmes, you stand accused of tax evasion, grand theft, larceny, fraud, forgery… fifty-nine counts of murder, and... Do I need to go on, Mr. Holmes?”

  B smiled, and gave the Judge a knowing wink. The judge frowned. “Mr. Holmes, you pleaded innocent in the face of overwhelming evidence, including audio, video, and holo recordings, as well as DNA evidence. Is there anything you have to say in respect to all of this evidence?”

  B’s confidence wavered for a moment, but that arrogant smile came right back. “I trust you, Bill,” he said.

  The witnesses exchanged uncomfortable glances at the use of the judge’s name, and a few made notes. They were preparing a case against the judge. They knew that he was going to f
ind a loophole, some way to let B go. Anything less would be suicide. B had been through the system a dozen times, and it always ended the same way. Tainted witnesses, terrified jurors, and judges bribed or murdered. B’s “friends” had been in contact with the judge just like everyone else. Their brazenness was incredible. So everyone expected the Judge to save his own neck by letting B off. Then the witnesses, vultures that they were, would bring corruption charges against the judge and have him unseated. He allowed himself a grim smile before proceeding.

  “Mr. Holmes, your reputation has preceded human exploration. I suspect that species we haven’t even discovered yet have already heard stories of your exploits. You, sir, are a terrorist. You are the worst kind of human deviant. Your business is pain and suffering, and every penny you’ve ever touched is tainted with blood.”

  B’s smile was long gone at this point. He was grinding his teeth, and there was fire in his eyes. Murmurs rose around the courtroom. But the judge wasn’t done:

  “I have personally witnessed your acts of terror, not only in the extensive library of media records of numerous crimes acted out by you and on your behalf, but also in the attempts of your cronies to taint my judgment…”

  “Your honor, I object!” B’s lawyer was frothing.

  “Sit down and shut up, Edward, or I’ll charge you as an accessory.” The lawyer shrank, his nervous glances straying between B and the judge. He was obviously trying to figure out who was going to come out on top. There was little doubt at this point what the judge would do. The only question was why.

  “Bartholomew Childe Holmes,” the judge continued. “You are the lowest form of human life I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. Your presence corrupts a court that has seen more than its share of murderers, thieves, and whores. The stench that emanates from your being will follow the rest of us home, and no number of showers will cleanse us of the corruption we share, just from being in the same room with you.”

  B leapt out of his chair, but his lawyer and advisors held him back before the bailiff was forced to take charge. His hands formed into fists. “I’m going to kill you, Judge,” he said flatly. “I’m gonna watch you die.”

  “No, Mr. Holmes, I am going to watch you die, as will the rest of the universe, and we will all rejoice. I hereby find you guilty of all counts, and sentence you to the maximum punishment for each and every crime. I’m not sure how many years that is, I didn’t bother to add it all up. It doesn’t matter, because at ten a.m. next Sunday morning, you will die for your crimes. I sentence you to death by hanging, followed by firing squad and electrocution. And God will NOT have mercy on your soul.”

  The gavel was barely audible. The courtroom was in an uproar. People shouted, cameras rolled, phones rang. No one had ever heard a verdict like this. Ever. Any semblance of order was gone, and the judge didn’t bother trying to rein it in. His work was done.

  “You just committed suicide,” B said, as the bailiffs took him out of the courtroom. A few of the witnesses gave the judge an empathetic look.

  *

  Twenty four hours later the judge was at his cabin on Eliza 7. He was sitting on the deck, drinking iced tea and watching the breeze create ripples across the lake. He fought the urge to go grab his fishing pole. His days of fishing were over. He had time to drink his tea, to feel the sweet kiss of the unpolluted wind on his face, and to gaze across a landscape of good memories one last time.

  “Another shot?” Charlie said, pouring himself some whiskey.

  “No,” said the judge. “One was enough. You got your stuff packed?”

  Charlie turned his shot into a glass of tea. “I already told ya. I’m not leaving.” He took a long sip and then pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his cargo pants.

  The judge watched Charlie light up and blow out a cloud of smoke. “Charlie, I’ve been trying to keep you from getting involved in all this.”

  “It didn’t work. You see the news this morning? B’s gang broke him out, along with a dozen others on death row.”

  “I know. They killed his lawyer yesterday. He didn’t even get out of the parking lot. I guess that’s one of the hazards of doing business with a guy like B.” A beep came from the judge’s handheld computer lying on the table. He lifted it, opened a message, and then set it back on the table.

  “They’re faster than I thought. This is your last chance, Charlie. They’ll be here in half an hour.”

  “They’d see me leaving anyway,” Charlie said. “My chances are better here.”

  The judge reluctantly rose from his chair. “We’d best get moving then.”

  They entered the cabin, locked the front door, and headed for the basement. It was a small room with rectangular windows at ground level. A rusty metal box the size of a large refrigerator with a window on the door rested in the corner, and a table covered in antique firearms sat in the center of the room. The ancient weapons were known as “guns” in their time; weapons that used explosive powder and lead projectiles called bullets. There were two boxes full of old-fashioned grenades and a rocket launcher under the table next to a stack of rockets.

  A metal pipe came up out of the floor next to the table, and there was a digital gauge attached to the top. The judge looked the room over, and then started shuffling through the weapons.

  “You got some extras,” he observed.

  Charlie shrugged. “Better to have too much than not enough.” He loaded a magazine into a rifle. “Why did you want all this stuff anyway? Blasters are cheap and they work just as good.”

  “No, they don’t. Blasters can’t penetrate a house or a shuttle.”

  “These can do that?” said Charlie.

  “That’s why they banned ‘em,” said the judge. “Blasters aren’t even lethal unless they’ve been modified. That rifle you’re holding could shoot somebody all the way through this cabin.”

  Charlie gave the weapon an appreciative look. “So tell me, why you doin’ this Judge? You spent a long time buying this moon, building this life. Why you gonna throw it all away like this?”

  “First, I don’t consider this throwing my life away. If this works out, we’re gonna save thousands of lives. Second, this moon doesn’t mean that much since I buried Eliza. You live long enough with somebody, they become part of you. When you lose that, you’re never the same.”

  “So you decided to martyr yourself while trying to take out the worst gang in all human history. You’re crazy, Judge. You’re gonna get us killed.”

  “Maybe. That’s not exactly part of the plan, but there’s a chance it’ll happen. That’s why I told you to leave.”

  “But you knew I wouldn’t,” said Charlie.

  The judge looked him up and down, frowning. “We’ll see.”

  The ships started touching down a few minutes later. “B” himself was nowhere to be seen, but at least two dozen of his gangsters came walking down the hill towards the cabin. “He’s not with them,” Charlie said.

  “He’ll be here,” said the judge. “He’ll want to see this personally.” The judge cocked his rifle and took a shot into the advancing group. It came up short, throwing up a cloud of dust in front of their feet. The gangsters parted, diving for the nearest cover or lying flat on the ground. “There, that’ll slow ‘em down.”

  Charlie walked to the far wall, and took a look out behind the cabin. “They’re starting to surround us.”

  “Give ‘em a shot,” said the judge. “Let ‘em know we’re watching them.” Charlie did, and then he laughed as the gangsters went scurrying into the trees.

  Twenty minutes later, three more ships landed, and after that came the big one. It was the size of a freighter, custom painted with silver and gold trim. The mural on the side was a jungle theme, with a nude woman resting on her knee next to a lion. “That would be him,” said the judge.

  It took the gang a few minutes to get organized, and then they rushed the cabin. Charlie and the judge fired into the crowd just as fast as they could pull their tri
ggers. The bodies started piling up. A few minutes later there was a crash of glass overhead, and Charlie danced back into the center of the room.

  “There’s two of ‘em,” he whispered. “They got inside.”

  The judge drew a revolver and peered through the floorboards. He gestured for Charlie to move into the corner, and then started firing up through the floor. Charlie’s hands went to his ears as the revolver flashed, and the concussion of gunfire reverberated through the basement. The sound was still ringing in the judge’s ears when the bodies hit the floor. Blood started running down through the floorboards.

  “Check the back again,” the judge said.

  Charlie glanced out the window. “Looks clear.” He moved to the front of the room, and looked up the hill where the gangster had congregated. “I think they might be getting ready to nuke us. It might be time for your surprise.”

  “A few more minutes,” said the judge. “I want to be sure they’re all here.”

  B finally came out of his ship and joined the group of men at the top of the hill. He started screaming at them, but the judge couldn’t hear his words. Angrily, B grabbed a rocket launcher and aimed it at the house.

  “Take cover!” the judge shouted, diving for the metal chamber in the corner.

  Charlie jumped in behind him and closed the door just as the rocket slammed into the house. The basement shook as the house crumbled overhead, but the timber beams in the ceiling held the weight. For the moment, they were safe.

  As they stumbled out of the box, smoke started filling the basement. The judge snatched up a gas mask off the floor and put it over his head. Charlie followed his lead. They crept to the window, and saw B advancing in front of the group of men. The judge grabbed a rifle and took aim. Slowly, carefully he drew a bead and then pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, striking B in the left shoulder.

  “Damn!” the judge’s voice was muffled beneath his mask. “I should have practiced shooting these things.”