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The legal proceedings had already begun. A short, fat man who gave the impression of a sphere with limbs sat in the judge's chair. "So, this is Mr. Valdez's son?" wiping his sweating forehead with a handkerchief, he pointed to the defendant.
"Yes, Your Honor, the forensic genetic examination has confirmed their kinship," the lawyer handed the documents to the judge. "The reason for being summoned to court as an accused party remains not entirely clear to my client."
A slender, black-haired woman from the prosecution side, dressed in tight-fitting clothes, shrieked: "Let your client eat my shit!" She looked to be about twenty-five years old, and with her voluptuous curves and attire, she looked more like a street whore than the wife of a highly respected businessman. With a sense of fear and rage, she looked toward the defendant—"A couple of weeks ago you didn't even know your father's last name, and you appeared as soon as it smelled of money!" she waved her arms and nearly leaped from behind the table—"you son of a bitch!"
The judge did not wish to make unnecessary movements or overexert himself, but recalling his duties, he forced himself to strike with the gavel. "Plaintiff, enough!" he said in a tired voice.
After many years, the judicial system had practically remained unchanged, at least where power was organized on the European model. Along with all the pros and cons, corruption also persisted; crooked judges were very reluctant to hear ordinary private cases where they could not make extra money. This is why Judge Abel wished to close this boring case as quickly as possible, of which he had already seen his fill.
"The will states that all property, including the deceased's bank account, must be transferred to his only son; therefore, Mrs. Valdez, even as a widow, you have no right to the property of your late husband." forgetting propriety, the judge yawned and announced the court's decision.
The enraged plaintiff had to be subdued by security using stun weapons, and the judge imposed a fine of 1000 credits on her. Before receiving the charge, she promised that she would kill the crooked judge, the greedy defendant, and even the defendant's lawyer. Although why him—it wasn't entirely clear. The lawyer and his client left the courthouse and stopped on the stairs.
"Hostor, thank you for everything you have done for me, not just for this trial, I am very..."
A tall man of strong build interrupted him—"no thanks are necessary. I worked for your father for a long time, serving as a universal worker. A good legal education helped me protect his interests in court, and thanks to soldiering skills, I was his personal bodyguard the rest of the time. I would be glad if I could continue working for you."
A few weeks ago, the well-known entrepreneur Aaron Valdez died of sudden cardiac arrest at the age of 43. The cause remains unknown, as the deceased had iron health and had never experienced any ailments. Knowing about the existence of his son, and even being aware of his location, he had never made contact with him. A trusted agent had special instructions in the event of the employer's death.
Hostor visited Valdez own junior, brought him up to speed on affairs, and spent the last few weeks helping him get settled with his father's business.
A couple of months later.
Trinity Club. Noon.
This was one of the largest clubs in the city, divided into three sections. The first, the largest, opened toward evening and had the status of a nightclub, usually visited by various non-conformists. There was a bar and a dance floor here. Drugs and other illegal goods could be obtained from the bartender. The second section was also divided in two: one was a casino, the second a "service center." The services provided were of various natures, ranging from ordinary massages to prostitution. The third was an ordinary 24-hour bar. As usual, the room smelled of cigarette smoke, which would make any unprepared person feel unwell. Such was Arandor. He had to force himself to pass through these clouds of foul smoke.
The red-haired girl sitting at one of the tables he was heading toward was Neyra Drake. She loved to drink a little and relax in this bar, and with great pleasure rewarded pestering drunks with blows from her fists.
"Neyra..." the guy said, coughing—"hi... Maybe we should go outside?"
A couple of minutes later they were outside the building. Arandor took a deep breath of "fresh" air. The girl smiled.
"Do you still can't stand that smell?" she was slightly shorter than him, so their eyes were practically at the same level.
"Do you still visit this stupid bar and drink those health-destroying drinks?" he turned away—"One would think my body's reaction or my attitude toward it could have changed." he pointed toward a sports car hovering above the ground. "We need to drive around a bit."
The girl looked at the "ride." "You know, such technology is irrelevant anywhere except on Earth, where incredibly tall buildings represent a second city for the wealthy class of the population." They climbed inside. This marvel of technology is a civilian variation of a military transport vehicle. A special design allowed this car, if necessary, to levitate at great heights, however, it consumed an immense amount of fuel.
"As if you've been there."
"Well, I've seen photos, videos and..." Arandor started his new toy and dashed forward along the road.
After twenty minutes they arrived at a civilian spaceport. There were hundreds of ships here—cargo and transport, all of different sizes, colors, models.
Arandor headed toward a fortified vessel, more military than civilian; Neyra followed him. He stopped by it, then turned to Neyra, speaking with joy and pride.
"Remember I once said that many music groups record self-titled albums and songs? I decided to follow their example and name this marvel after myself!"
The girl laughed. "You bought a ship? Why do you need it?"
"I want to fulfill my long-held dream. I... I will travel the galaxy, gather the best team of good guys. Also, I hope that in my travels I can help good people and at the same time punish the bad ones. Perhaps I'll make the world even a tiny bit better!"
"Arandor, you are an even bigger dreamer than I am." the smile still hadn't left the girl's face. "And since when is this your 'long-held' dream?"
"Since... I just didn't tell you."
This ship had everything to accommodate over a hundred people—mechanics, medics, other personnel and the rest of the crew. Engineering, medical, living quarters—all were present here. Numerous weapon systems were also installed on it, and since it was a ship from a new series, it had a good, strong hull.
Going up to the bridge, they met the same lawyer who had defended Arandor in court.
"Meet him," said Arandor—"this is Hostor, uh, my assistant." They greeted each other. "If you go a bit further you'll run into the pilot, his name is Vegtam, and this guy... let's better look at the galactic map. What do you say, Hostor?"
"Our planet, Arien, also once called New Europe, is a trade center and the most densely populated planet in the Alpha Centauri system. Since it was the closest system to the Sun, the colonies here are the largest and technologically most developed. However, the population level here is much lower than in Procion. This is explained by..."
"Okay, let's save the history for later. I think..." an assistant stepped onto the bridge.
"Captain!" the girl brought her hand to her head, performing a military salute—"an urgent message for you!"
"Yes, thank you... uh..."
"Assistant Alex Taylor, sir!"
"Right..." he hesitated. "You're free, basically." entering his data into one of the computers, he went through the recognition procedure and read the single message:
"From: Sheriff [secure channel]
Subject: Beheaded Piglet.
Mr. Arandor! If my data is correct, you have acquired a new ship, and I am sure you are eager to leave the spaceport and head for some asteroid field, but I have information that will surely interest you, and I would like to deliver it in person. Therefore, your ship will be blocked for some time, more precisely until we meet. I will be waiting for you within an hour near the Trinity club."
Arandor had no choice; he had to head back to that club again. He stopped by the courthouse, where a large crowd of people and photo-reporters had gathered. Someone's dismembered body lay near the entrance; seeing this gruesome sight, he decided to move on as quickly as possible.
When he reached the club, he found a policeman on the back side of the building. A black-haired man, bending one leg, leaned it against the wall, with his arms crossed over his chest. He met Arandor's gaze.
"What do you want from me, Silverfail?" Arandor decided to get straight to the point.
"Remember Judge Abel, who heard your father's widow's lawsuit against you? Well, someone killed him and dismembered the body"—Arandor immediately thought of that bitch, but Silver, understanding his thoughts, shook his head—"she is currently with us for questioning; she has an iron alibi. Moreover, all facts suggest it couldn't have been her."
"Then who? And why did you decide to tell me about this in person?"
"Because something is happening in the city; something has been preparing for the last few months. You chose a very opportune time to get out of here... I just wanted to warn you." The policeman ended the conversation with this phrase and left, leaving the young captain alone. He, in turn, hurried back to the spaceport.
Небо
