A Brother's Shadow: Murder, Friendship and Deception, page 14
‘Go home,’ Julius said, evidently reluctant to deal with the incoming predicament. Marco did not respond but instead fell onto Julius, grabbing his uniform in the process.
‘What are you doing?’ Julius demanded, pulling Marco back upright.
‘Sorry, Dad. You’re right, I need to go home,’ Marco said before walking away. Julius stared at his son with a mystified expression.
Marco clenched his fist. Inside lay his father’s ambassadorial badge.
When Marco arrived at the restricted floor in the Purple Hotel the security asked him to do an eye scan, but he declined, saying it always played up for him. Instead, he held out his father’s badge and after a few seconds of deliberation, the guards shrugged at each other and let him through. Marco stormed down the corridor and finally arrived at 471. Without pausing, he firmly hit the door.
‘Kirach!’
A few seconds passed and then there was a quiet pop-like bang.
‘I can hear you, Kirach! Open your door, you deceitful monster.’
There was audible movement. Without warning, a green light flashed on the door, indicating it had been unlocked. Marco pressed the button to open the door and walked in. He did not find what he was expecting.
16.
Kirach’s room was empty. Dust crawled up Marco’s nose as he wandered around in the near darkness. Loose crates scattered about provided the only features in the room. Marco wiped the dust off one in an attempt to see what it said, but it was too dark to read. As he stepped away from the crate, an alarm sounded.
A large window spanned the back wall, providing a view over a series of other multi-storey buildings and dimly lit streets which, during day hours, would be brimming with light. Accompanying the alarm’s piercing whirring sound, lamps on the streets occasionally flashed red and the glass enabled the glow to enter, briefly painting the room’s interior. Marco strode towards the window to see the whole station was on alert. The ring shape of the station meant that the central column was visible through the glass directly above. As well as this, it was possible to see the red light flashing around buildings stretching across the station. It was quite disorientating as the buildings all pointed towards the central column. Marco used the new waves of light to search the rest of the room for signs of Kirach.
After a significant period of searching, Marco had uncovered nothing of value. A gentle humming began from an uncovered ventilation shaft on one of the walls and a surge of air caused more dust to choke Marco into a series of coughs. As he turned away, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Hoping he was mistaken, he walked closer. Attached to the window, on the far side of a crate to where he had previously stood, was a rifle. He approached it and crouched down to inspect it. Moonlight was beginning to creep into the room, revealing previously concealed detail. Marco put his eye against the sight and was horrified.
The gun was zeroed in on a room several streets away where a body lay still, blue liquid seeping out of it. People were standing against the breached window, attempting to raise protective barriers. Before the barrier was completely installed, Marco looked back at the body – he was sure it was Kirach. Suddenly, the whole station fell into darkness and the alarm ceased. Marco took his head away from the scope and gulped. The only remaining noise was the gentle flutter of the ventilation shaft.
Without warning, there was a thud from behind him, followed by deafening cries. Without thinking, he rose to his feet. There was a sucking noise as the gun was pulled from its seal.
‘ETF! Put down your weapon!’
Marco froze on the spot and did not dare turn around. After taking a deep breath he slowly lowered the rifle to the floor and raised his arms. A few seconds passed before a voice, muffled by what Marco assumed to be a mask, gave an order. ‘You are under arrest for the assassination of Ambassador Kirach. Keeping your arms against your head, turn around.’
Marco did as he was told.
Archer was standing no more than two metres from him with a mask clutched in his hand. Even in the limited light, the dismay on Archer’s face was as clear as day. He had frozen and was going white as ice. He looked lost for words as his men crowded around, waiting for the next order.
Marco took the opportunity to speak. ‘It’s not what it looks like,’ he said, sending the stench of his alcoholic breath wafting towards Archer. As the face off lengthened, Marco could see Archer’s eyes had glazed over and his lower lip was quivering.
Shaking his head as he went, Archer walked off. ‘Take him away,’ he said so quietly his men did a double take before moving in.
Marco tried to shout his innocence after Archer, but he was soon muted by the Elite Task Force squad driving him to the floor. Before he had regained his breath, Marco had restraints on and was being dragged away.
17.
Julius stormed towards the admiral’s office. He passed a receptionist who called after him, asking if he had booked an appointment. Without stalling for a second, he continued straight between two security guards who were clearly unprepared for such a display of audacity. Realising their error, they soon chased after him, but it was too late as he had already crashed into the admiral’s office. The admiral had been interacting with a holographic model of a building and peered up to see a bright-faced Julius.
‘This is an outrage!’ Julius bellowed.
‘And what may you be referring to?’ the admiral asked in a voice as calm as a summer breeze. His short, straight, white hair matched his tone and his intriguing eyes finished an icy but inviting look.
Security had seized Julius, but this did not stop his deluge. ‘Arresting my son for a crime he clearly did not commit.’
Admiral Gray waved his hand. ‘Leave him.’ When the security had left the room, he rose from his chair. The office was very minimalistic, a mixture of dull, pasty colours. Basic shapes hung from the walls and the expansive desk he was behind was solely glass. The admiral slowly strode along the back of his desk.
‘You see, Ambassador, from what I’ve heard it is quite the reverse to what you believe.’
‘My son would never do such a thing,’ Julius protested.
‘Do you believe your son would even steal?’ Admiral Gray replied.
‘No, I do not, sir, let alone murder.’
‘Well, you will not be happy to hear that your son used a badge he stole from you, his own father, to access the restricted floor in the Purple Hotel, from where he delivered the lethal shot.’
Julius looked at the admiral in confusion. He then looked down to see his main ambassadorial badge was gone. Possessed, Julius frantically searched through his uniform from top to bottom. His eyes widened as if he had seen the very being that had possessed him. His lips shivered before eventually muttering, ‘I can’t find it.’
‘Well, that is something I can help you with.’ The admiral walked towards Julius who was shaking in the middle of the room. ‘Obviously, him being your son and using your badge does make you a suspect, but I’m sure that will be sorted out after a few short discussions.’
Julius did not reply. Instead, he placed his palms on a display case to the side of the room and dropped his head.
18.
Marco paced up and down his box of a cell. He had been there for days and yet was not able to work out a strategy for his court case the next morning. Still short of ideas, he rested his back on the cold, smooth wall before sliding down into a heap. His baggy orange trousers puffed as he hit the floor. He hated them but at least they did not make him come out in a rash like the tight shirt, which he no longer wore unless forced. He gazed back across his room. The walls, ceiling and floor all had a concrete look to them. Only one light source was present, and it was a small square on the back wall that would alternate in intensity from a dull glow to blinding brightness. In one corner, a stainless-steel metal bowl extended out of the wall – his toilet. Another similar bowl was in front of it but slightly higher – his sink. In the other corner was a blue mattress, coated in a plastic material. There were no sheets, just his almost luminous shirt resting off one end. The ventilation into the room was decidedly unpredictable. Each night would consist of either getting stuck to the plastic surface due to sweat or cowering from movement because of the harsh cold of the uncovered areas. Marco could already tell this was going to be a cold night.
There was a clunk and his cell door slid open. A studious-looking man with a scraggly, whiting beard stood in the opening.
‘Hello, Mr Thompson. I am a lawyer, something I believe you may need for your trial tomorrow.’
The man gazed down at Marco, his wrinkled face showing libraries of life experience. Marco felt a glimmer of hope as he inspected the man.
‘Why did you not come earlier?’ he asked.
The man stroked his beard. ‘I assume no other lawyer has come to speak to you?’
‘No,’ Marco said, unsure of what the man was getting at.
‘Well, that answers your question. Nobody wants to touch you with a ten-metre pole right now, let alone join your side. Even those who’d consider tarnishing their reputation to help you don’t want to have a client absolutely vanquished in such a public case, especially with the Imperator present.’
Marco choked on his own saliva. ‘The Imperator will be there?’
The Imperator was one of The Three. Despite being the least powerful of them, to be in his presence was an honour only bestowed to a handful of citizens. Like many, Marco had dreamed of crossing his path, but not like this.
‘First time he’s left Earth in a generation.’
‘But surely you won’t be prepared?’
‘Well, sir, I may not have come till now but that has not stopped me pawing through the available details of the case, including your statement. After looking at the evidence, I believe we can hopefully procure some sympathy. The Imperator will carry out proceedings in an unorthodox fashion. We must consider the fact he will take the place of a jury, which could be very beneficial as we must only convince one man.’ The lawyer licked his cracked lips. ‘So, who have you got to be your witnesses?’
‘Uh, what? I didn’t—’
‘Oh my, they really haven’t communicated anything with you, have they? I thought they might slightly disadvantage you, but this is well beyond anything I’ve come across before. Clearly, the old rules are no longer being followed and that is not to favour you. If we really push your circumstances, we still should be able to reduce the severity of your sentence. After a guilty plea of course.’
Marco tried to reply but reality had hit, and he could only gulp at air.
The lawyer continued. ‘Something I cannot emphasise enough. You are going to have to come across very apologetic for your actions.’
He stared down at Marco, awaiting a response which finally arrived in a blurted-out fashion. ‘I refuse to plead guilty to something I didn’t do.’
‘Young man, no matter what you did or did not do, you will not get through this unpunished.’
‘Why not? I’m innocent,’ Marco pleaded.
The man’s face shifted. The wrinkles, which had been loose and understanding, bulged up into fierce crevices; his eyes narrowed under his bushy eyebrows. ‘You are off your head! The evidence is all against you, no one is present to support you, and a war has started because of you! Yet, you want to go to court and say you’re innocent.’
The glimmer of hope which had lit inside Marco had been blown out, leaving him with a cold, empty feeling. ‘Even you don’t believe me?’
The lawyer had calmed down slightly and gently shook his head. ‘Nobody does, young man. Nobody does.’
‘It does not change the fact I refuse to plead guilty.’
‘If that is true then I’m afraid I cannot represent you,’ the man said before exiting the cell. A guard who had been standing outside waited as the door slid closed and Marco was again alone.
After a night of short patches of sleep, Marco was woken up by a kick in the ribs. Two guards were inside his cell and before he was aware of what was happening, they had hauled him to his feet. Next, they got him to shave and threw him Navy Whites which they made him change into in front of them. When he was done, they forced him against a wall and secured restraints to his wrists. Marco winced as they dug into his skin, but he did not dare to complain. He was then forced out into the corridor where ten more armed guards were waiting.
The following walk to court was a surreal experience for Marco. For almost the entirety of the journey, the route was deserted. The only sign of life was the occasional noise that could be heard from buildings they passed. After a few minutes walking, a gentle murmur began to build. It became louder and louder until the escort turned the final corner and was looking directly at the court.
The court was a grand building. Its classical style was not in keeping with most of the orbital station. It lay at the end of an expansive walkway which was lined by perfectly curated trees. Hundreds of people were packed either side. The noise became a frenzy. Lights were flashing from photographers and their drones which hovered above. Security provided a crude wall on each side, preventing those trying to get closer to Marco from advancing towards him. The atmosphere was toxic. There were calls from people saying he should be put to death. Most of the cries were undistinguishable, but one caught Marco’s attention as a woman screamed that he would never be forgotten as the ultimate betrayer of the Vytech colonies. Marco could see the fury on people’s faces and thought about how he would sacrifice everything to get them to understand what really happened. He thought he heard a faint supportive voice that resembled Klara’s, fighting against the ruckus, but he could not see anyone familiar. It was all becoming too much, so Marco dropped his head and watched his feet take one step after another to his impending fate.
Inside the court, rows of benches lined an expansive chamber. The benches also extended upwards many tiers, enabling a capacity that made the crowd outside seem pathetic. Thick walls also meant the calls from outside could no longer be heard. The people on the top tiers were too far away to distinguish features. Marco could hear muttering increase as he made his way forward and the acoustics of the room made this murmuring sound ethereal. At the front was the only section facing Marco and the crowd. It was made up of two parts. First, a line of Masters who were perched at raised desks. Elevated behind them was the focal point of the room, a large Vytech insignia made of three black towers supported by almost invisible beams. To the right was the shortest of the towers and the Imperator was positioned on top.
While walking, Marco noticed his father gazing at the floor as if his will to continue had been violently torn away. After passing the front of the benches, Marco was shoved into his chair which was central and solitary. To look up at the Imperator, he had to strain his neck. Finally close enough, he observed the Imperator. His bleachy, frail body was entwined with robotic parts. Black pipes extended from his belly and entered his chest which seemed a solid piece of machinery. His flaking face contained a selection of skewed teeth, and wispy hair drifted down, partially hiding a pale eye. The other eye was an intense amber and was surrounded by a section of a dark material.
The Imperator raised his hand and the chamber went silent. With this signal, the central Master rose to his feet and initiated proceedings. Being a murder case, it was customary for a selection of Masters to represent the victim. After a brief and wholly unnecessary introduction explaining the case, the first of many questions Marco was dreading was asked.
‘Marco Thompson, on the count of treason, how do you plead?’
Marco gulped as he felt an uncountable number of eyes fix upon him. It was not only those in the room watching. Cameras were streaming the proceedings across the colonies. He considered all the people he had met through his life and what they would be thinking.
Marco took a deep breath and replied. ‘Not guilty.’ He tried to portray an air of confidence although he had none.
Gasps were followed by the return of murmurs which filled the room. A bead of sweat rolled its way down Marco’s forehead before falling onto his lap.
Marco felt helpless as the case proceeded. The Masters, acting as prosecutors, one after another made Marco’s defence laughable.
‘Am I right to believe you were found with the rifle, which was the murder weapon, in your hands?’ one of the male Masters asked.
‘Yes, but I swear I found it no more than a minute before I was arrested,’ Marco replied.
‘Your DNA was on every part of the rifle, including the scope, so you found it and simply used it to have a browse around the different areas of the station?’
‘I was drunk; I wasn’t thinking. I was just seeing what had happened.’
‘I imagine you were also too drunk to remember who else you found in the room?’
‘There was nobody else in the room.’
‘Yes, your statement says that as well, but I have been led to doubt the reliability of you, and your statement. You fired the shot from room 471 in the Purple Hotel. Can we also confirm you saw nobody in the corridor which the room is on?’
‘No, I did not see anyone,’ Marco replied, his collar drenched with sweat.
Without a pause, the Master continued. ‘For those that do not know, room 471 and its only entry point, is visible from the sole way onto the corridor. The assassination occurred in the minutes after you went through the guard post and into the corridor. Yet, you are saying not only did nobody enter that corridor, but nobody was in the room. I’ll give you a little help and tell you that this means you were the only person who could have got to the gun at the time of the assassination.’
Marco felt like an injured animal staring down the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. ‘Is-is that a question?’
‘I am asking you if you want to change your mind as to whether there was another person?’
