Syon Fand smirked as she sat in the chair, waiting for her visitor. He was coming to her himself. Very interesting. A glutton for punishment. Did he really think he could intimidate her? She had nothing left to lose.

The door opened, and the man walked through. He had spent the last few weeks mourning. But he did not look sad today; he looked….

Syon blinked. She couldn’t quite read him. Angry? Resolute? She wasn’t sure. Well, he wasn’t an idiot. He wasn’t her, but he wasn’t a fool. He could hold a mask.

So could she.

“Not rising, I see? I suppose you are a traitor; no need to observe protocol.”

“Emperor ColVanos. How’s the family?”

Tiernan sat down across from her, and looked at the burly men on either side of him. “Guards,” he said, “leave us. And turn off the recording devices.”

“Emperor, you….”

“Do not question my orders,” Tiernan said.

“As you wish,” the guard said, stepping outside of the cell, and locking it.

“Come to murder me then? Or torture me? Will that make you feel better, Emperor?” Syon sneered.

“And what if I have?”

“You’ll unshackle me,” Fand said. “You’ll let me fight. You’re honorable. It’s your weakness.”

“You and your allies killed my son, Syon,” Tiernan said. “Killed my boy. Do you think I feel any obligation to treat you honorably?”

“Yes,” Fand said. “Yes, you do. You hold to morals, hold to principles. You let your son-in-law stay hidden for twenty years – of course I know about him – when at any moment, a stroke of your pen would have freed him, and every other human. It would have been legal. Quick. You know it. I know it. You let him suffer, rather than take action. You don’t care about Pierce, or Rhionne, or Daz…not enough to do something. So why will Antero’s death change things? Or was he secretly your favorite? Don’t worry,” Syon said, “I won’t tell.”

“Who are you allies?” Tiernan asked, calmly.

“You think I’m going to tell you? Frak you,” Syon replied.

“In your dreams,” Tiernan replied, reaching into a case. He pulled out a box, and set it on the table. “Tell me again, Syon…who are your allies?”

“Oh no! It’s a scary box!” Syon said. “What’s in the scary box, Tiernan? Scary poisons? Scary knives? Scary secret torture devices that you don’t want people to know about?”

“Would you like to see what’s in the box?” Tiernan asked.

“Please,” Syon said. “I’m dying to.”

Tiernan shrugged, and opened it, in the direction of Syon. She leaned forward, just a little, to see.

The creature had leaped to her breast and stung her before she even registered it. It then launched itself toward Tiernan, who already had a phase blaster out; he incinerated it before it had reached halfway between them.

“A metamorphosing maggot. It was going to be a warrior, I think, though things were going poorly for it. Things are going poorly for the Insectoids in general. We aren’t quite sure how to describe what they’re doing right now. Their ambassador self-terminated shortly after we went to see him; he kept repeating something which translates, roughly, as “They will not obey, they must obey, you must obey, we cannot obey.” Over and over. Which was odd. And then we realized that all the other Insectoids were saying the same thing. For two days, they did. And then they did something we’ve never seen before. They fought. Not us…no, no. They fought each other. Vicious. There weren’t many left. But the few that were…we have finally started to get intelligence out of them. It seems – from what we can decipher, anyhow – that there has been some disagreement in the hive over the decision to attack the Empire. Are you paying attention, Syon?”

Syon was listening as best she could, as the burning sensation worked its way through her veins. This was just vicious; the poison would paralyze her, but leave her mentally aware. She could even vocalize…somewhat. It was the same poison the Insectoids used on humans they meant to eat, but the transforming maggot-warrior had delivered a far more potent hit than a maggot could.

Proportionately, she had almost as much poison flowing through her as a human prepared for dinner. She’d always wondered what the poor bastards were thinking when she ate with the Insectoids. Now she knew.

They’d been miserable. In pain, and agony, wishing for the release of death.

How wonderful.

“At any rate,” Tiernan said to the struggling, gurgling woman in shackled to the chair, “we are preparing for a counterattack. Earth has joined us – they have fighters, Syon! Combat fighters that make ours look primitive. They’ve agreed to staff a wing on every ship of ours, down to the Tuaut class. We’ll effectively double our firepower. And the Insects…well, to be crude, they’ve delivered their load already. We don’t know how much of Hive Space will be in Imperial control within the next few years, but I am very much looking forward to finding out. Am I boring you?”

“Frkk…oo….”

“Oh, good. I’m glad. So anyhow, I just wanted to drop by, and see if you were willing to talk. One last time, Syon: who are your allies?”

Syon knew that the poison would work its way out of her system. He hadn’t given her a lethal dose. He thought this would work? Perhaps he was a fool after all.

Tiernan chuckled as her her lips, fighting against Syon’s spasming face, showed a twitch of a smile. “Well. I see. All right.”

Tiernan walked to the door, and knocked. The guards came in; if they were surprised to see Syon in this state, they made no mention of it.

“The Traitor will tell us nothing. We should move her to the other wing.”

“The other wing, sir?” one of the guards asked.

“Yes. A traitor…well, she must remain in prison. But she belongs with her allies here. It’s the proper thing to do. There is a war on, after all. The mantids we have imprisoned…have they eaten anything?”

“Just a very little. They asked for humans,” another guard said, “but obviously….”

“Well. It seems to me,” he said, turning and looking Syon right in the eye, “that we should turn Ms. Fand over to them. She and they have had a mutually beneficial relationship thus far. It’s really where she belongs.”

It took Syon a moment to figure out why Tiernan would put her in with the Mantids. It was ridiculous. They were here allies, disgusting though they were. She had given them information. Access. People. They would reward her, if anything. Once the poison wore off….

“N…n…nn….”

The poison…there were many reasons they used it. Part of it was that it aided in digestion. The smell of the poison interacting with flesh, even weakly, was for an insect what the smell of a warm apple pie or steaks on a grill was to a human. It was ambrosia.

She would smell delicious.

“N…nnn….y…no…wldn…..”

“What’s that, Ms. Fand?” Tiernan said.

He was going to feed her to them.

Oh, not officially. He was putting her with other prisoners of war, officially. And if her fellow co-belligerents chose to assault her…eat her alive…he could not be responsible for that.

“All right, unshackle her, and get her on the gurney,” Tiernan said. The guards complied, and Syon tried to fight, but her muscles were either pulled taut or completely slack; she had no control. Only her eyes were alive, and they were wild with fear.

Syon did not fear. It was not in her nature. She expected death. But not like this. Not like this. There would be no dignity. She would be ripped, limb-from-limb by them. If Tiernan was telling the truth, they were barely sentient right now, addled and confused. It would be all instinct. They would eat her like a scilith devouring its prey. It would be slow, and painful, and she would feel every saw of a leg, every cut of a mandible, feel her organs as they were ripped away.

“I…tlk….”

“What’s that, dear? Are you saying something?”

“I…t…tell…tell…you…ev…r…thng.”

Tiernan looked at her coolly. He was tempted, very tempted.

“You know, I do believe she is planning to be cooperative?” he said. “And it would be a shame if we wasted this opportunity. I tell you what…give her some muscle relaxants, let her sleep for twenty hours…twenty hours okay, Syon?…and then have Praetor-Imperii Nix speak with her. You have made a wise decision, Syon.”

She stared at him. Fool. Once the poison wore off….

“Oh, in case you’re thinking that once this wears off my leverage is gone….we have a dozen transitioning maggots in stasis. Each one right at that state. I’m sure you’ll cooperate, though. If not…well, we can always move you in with your friends, right?”

She stared at him, trying to find the will to tell him to frak himself, trying to will herself to endure the punishment and pain that would precede her death. She had willed herself through so very much, so many times, so much pain and degradation. Just a little bit more, and she could beat him…..

She closed her eyes, and shook her head, as much as she could. A few tears leaked out of her eyes, and onto her face, her broken mask.

Would he have done it? She didn’t know. But she couldn’t bear to take the chance.

Tiernan smiled. “All right. See you later, Ms. Fand. Thank you, guards.”

He walked out of the room, and nearly directly into his wife.

“Very impressive, my husband,” Rajenlif said.

“The maggot did most of the work,” he shrugged.

“No, no, that was you. But I’m not surprised. You have always been impressive.”

“As have you, my Empress,” he said, embracing her.

“It’s why our children have been so impressive,” she said. “How could they fail?”

They broke, and Tiernan said, “It won’t bring Antero back.”

“No, no,” Rajenlif said, with a sigh. “It won’t.”

They walked out of the dungeon together, holding hands. It wasn’t until they got into the palace proper, though, that Rajenlif asked the question she’d been dying to ask since her husband had entered the cell.

“So, my husband,” she said, “if Syon had not agreed to talk…would you have gone through with it, and fed her to the Insectoids?”

Tiernan looked resolutely ahead. “She helped to kill Antero,” he said. “You’re frakking right I would’ve.”

“Good,” Rajenlif said. After a moment, she said, “You think you still might?”

“Probably not. But I always could. And knowing that…well, it doesn’t bring our son back. But it is a nice feeling nevertheless.”

 

* * *

The trial of Shatad Praxa had been what humans refer to as a “curb-stomp battle.”

Her attorneys were hacks, ideological extremists who had tried to argue that she’d been acting…well, they had a number of ludicrous legal theories, none of which had any basis in Imperial law. The judicator had let them do so, because she was a professional, and who watched each utterance with undisguised contempt, because she had a conscience.

Praxa had been carved up on cross-examination, and the video of Neutha’s death – which the prosecution continued all the way through to his dying words to his family – that brought public opinion crashing down upon her. It didn’t matter, not anymore, but after the Battle of Tau Ceti, support for human emancipation had spiked to 61 percent of Imperials. After the video of Neutha’s assassination was played, that support leapt to 68 percent –and was trailing only 43-46 in the Federation.

If Praxa had been trying to win, trying to avoid her death, it would have bothered her. Instead, she was downright cheerful. She had her belief that she had done right, and her intention to die as a martyr to a cause that she believed would one day be vindicated. She had the knowledge that the next few years would at least allow her to be a symbol of the destruction of Federation values.

She would be the main topic of conversation in the news. Nobody had been executed in three-quarters of a century, and she would be a story until the day she died – and on the day she died. She already had the first set of appeals lined up, her attorneys were more than willing to keep pushing up the ladder. She would take this all the way to the Emperor himself, and when he upheld the verdict – as he obviously would – it would mean that even he had personally chosen to kill the dissident, rather than listen. For now, the trial appeared a major loss, and it would cost her life, she knew. But she was playing the long game now. If played right, her death would be a rallying cry for the underground Blocker movement for generations to come.

At any rate, that was what lay ahead. She had been convicted on all counts. Only sentencing awaited her. She sat in court, in the fluorescent yellow jumpsuit of the convicted, waiting for her martyrdom to be assured. They just had to hear from the victims of her crime, hear their anguish. They just had to hear that, and then the judicator would mark her for death.

“State your full name for the record,” the Crown Attorney said to the woman on the stand.

“My name is Gaeta Neutha,” she said, calmly. Praxa shook her head in disgust. She hated Yamanu. She despised Gae; a traitor to her species, a cross-species frakker. She should be the one on trial, she should be the one who was loathed.

She was not. She was revered.

“Do you hold any titles?” the Crown Attorney asked.

“Order of the Emperor,” she said.

“Thank you, Your Honor. Are you related to one of the victims of this crime?”

“Yes,” Gae said. “Yamanu Neutha was my husband.”

“Your Honor, I know you have a few words to say about His Excellency and Grace, Dr. Neutha. Please proceed.”

Gae looked at Praxa coolly. “My husband was a great man, and a great father, and a great husband. Dr. Praxa’s murder of him has left a hole in my family, and a hole in my soul, that can never be repaired. She murdered thirty people, and has shown no remorse. She is a terrible person.

“And I could spend my time telling you all the reasons that she deserves to die for her crimes, as others have done already. But I am not here to do that. I would not see Shatad Praxa killed. M’lady, I am here to ask, on behalf of my family, that Dr. Praxa be spared the death penalty.”

There was a murmur at that, one that caused Gae to smile, just a tiny bit. “My husband believed, and I believe, that violence begets more violence, and hate begets more hate. There is a reason that he did not fight back when we were attacked in Krogh Fazala. There is a reason that he did not fight back when Dr. Praxa killed him. It is not because he was weak. It is because he was so very strong. He would not use violence to save himself. And he would not want Dr. Praxa killed for her crimes against him and other humans. Make no mistake, she deserves punishment – her actions were barbaric, and she should never be free again. But Yamanu would not have approved of taking her life in revenge for her taking his. He would have talked about the corrupting cycle of revenge, and the impossibility of building peace on a foundation of violence. And he would have asked you to spare the life of this woman.”

Gae wiped her eyes. “I loved my husband, more deeply than I can say. I know what he would have asked. And because he cannot, I will do so in his honor. Spare Shatad Praxa’s life. End the cycle of violence before it can begin.”

The prosecuting attorney nodded. “Your Honor, this woman’s crimes are grave indeed, and if anyone in Imperial history has deserved death for her crimes, it is her, would you not agree?”

“Oh, I do,” Gae said. “I do. But my husband’s greatest lesson was to be merciful and kind, even to our enemies. Especially to our enemies. Dr. Praxa, you have caused more harm than you can possibly imagine. You are a horrible person. But my husband was better than you. He would do what you did not – he would show you the mercy you denied him.”

Praxa stared at the woman in white hot fury, and seethed long after Gae had left the stand. She only came out of her funk when a young woman was carried to the witness stand to give her statement.

“My name is Bheloro Abitemboro,” she said.

Of course they gave her a surname, Praxa thought. “Debtor.” They must really want her to worship Neutha.

Praxa would never understand that Bheloro had picked her surname herself, and that she had done so not just to honor Yamanu’s sacrifice, but her brother’s, and more important, the sacrifices of those who’d worked to make her free. She was still not sure what her life would be. But she was increasingly determined to make it matter, and she had picked a last name that would never let her forget why.

“M’lady….”

“For the last time, counselor,” the Judicator said to the attorney who had objected, “this Court will hear from humans, the same as it would hear from any other Class One sentient. Proceed, counselor.”

Like any Class One sentient. Like the Ler, or Avartle, or frakking Dunnermac, Praxa thought. No wonder this Empire is failing.

“I don’t know why Dr. Praxa picked me, and not my brother, or another human,” Bheloro was saying. “Part of me is glad she did, because I am alive…but if I could have her kill me, and leave Dr. Neutha alive, or even trade me for Bhonoro…I am sad that I live because others died.”

“Tell me about your brother,” the prosecutor said.

“He was brave,” Bheloro said. “And smart. He knew about Dr. Neutha. He used to tell me about him, that there were humans who thought we were people – really people, like the Titans. That there was a human who went all around to different places telling the Titans to let us live the way we wanted to.”

Bheloro was quiet for a good moment, before she could regain enough composure to continue. “Dr. Neutha…he got to meet Dr. Neutha. And Bhonoro knew before he died that he was a person, like anyone. Because Dr. Neutha didn’t yell, or try to get out of the box. And he didn’t try to trade himself for me, even though he could have…it would have been okay,” she said. “I would have understood, but he didn’t. He just told the rest of my friends that they meant something. I wish…I wish I’d been able to thank him,” she said. “I hope he knows.”

“We know,” the prosecutor said, gently. “Ms. Abitemboro, what do you want to see as the punishment for Dr. Praxa?”

Bheloro looked at the woman who’d nearly killed her, who’d once loomed over them with infinite and impenetrable power. She held the same kind of power that Praxa once had. She could tell them to kill her. She could end her life.

“Lock her up,” Bheloro said. “Lock her up, and never let her out. But…don’t kill her. She’s a person. We shouldn’t kill people unless we have to.”

“You little piece of shaka, I saved your life!” Praxa shouted. “I took you in! Fed you and your brother! Went into debt!”

“And then you killed my brother, and Dr. Neutha, and all the rest,” Bheloro said.

Praxa shook her head. Ungrateful little monster. She should have saved one of the others instead.

Bheloro had been the last witness, at Gae’s request – she’d wanted a human to have the final statement. Now, there was only Dr. Praxa’s Statement of Contrition for the court to consider.

She was not going to be contrite.

“Humans are not, and never can be, our equals. They are not people. They are pets. I euthanized pets. I would do it again. And if believing that means I must die, then I die for my beliefs. Render your verdict.”

The judicator finally lost her composure, for the first time in the trial

She laughed in Praxa’s face.

“So that’s it? No apology, no remorse – just a request for execution? You think you’re smart, Dr. Praxa. You aren’t. And you’re going to lose because of it,” she said.

“I will admit that I was not sure, until your statement, what I would do. The Hon. Ms. Neutha made a very good case, as did Ms. Abitemboro. Still, your crimes are sickening to any person with a conscience, and morally you deserve to die. I would have no problem signing your order for execution, but for one thing – I think you want me to. I think you want to be a martyr to the glorious New Archavian Empire, like Jota Cesil. And that makes my decision easy.”

The judicator hit a key on her pad. “You don’t get a martyrdom, Praxa. You get to waste away for the rest of your life in the Imperial dungeon. I’m sure you’ll have fun while you’re there, you’ll get to meet Ziah Solis! Traitors stand together, right? Maybe, over the course of your incarceration, you will realize the mistake you made. Maybe you won’t. I don’t honestly care. What matters is that you are locked away from others, and so you are hereby sentenced to thirty consecutive life sentences with no possibility of parole. Peacekeepers, get this piece of dung out of my courtroom.”

Praxa was grabbed roughly, too numb to fight it.

She wouldn’t be a martyr. Just a prisoner, locked in with the traitors in the Emperor’s personal jail. Within minutes, she was alone in the holding cell beneath the court; the peacekeepers walked away, and she was alone.

She sat down on the bed of the cell, and stared at the walls. She had expected it would be a story that would never go away until the day she died…except it had. In just a few short minutes, her story had ended. She would be warehoused. This was her life, forevermore.

She wondered if Gae Neutha knew, if Bheloro knew. If they had asked to spare her life because they knew it would deprive her of the opportunity to grandstand. If they knew that all that Praxa could do was die for her cause – and that their mercy left Praxa with nothing at all.

She wondered for some time. She would wonder for a long time. She would never know, but she would wonder for the rest of her long, miserable life. Because there was a great deal of time left. And nothing else to fill it with.

—

Author’s note: It’s D.X. here, this was my stuff, but it’s kind of all our stuff now, you know?