Charlotte Boyett-Compo - Blood Wind

This story copyright 2001 by Charlotte Boyett-Compo. Published by Hard Shell Word Factory.
8946 Loberg Rd.
Amherst Junction, WI 54407
http://www.hardshell.com
Electronic book created by Seattle Book Company.
eBook ISBN: 0-7599-3588-2
Cover art copyright 2002 Dirk A. Wolf
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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KAMERONE Cree ignored the gasps of surprise. He felt the uneasy gazes watching his every move; smelled the terror as people stepped aside, plastering themselves against the corridor wall rather than risk touching him. Whenever any of his kind appeared on Frontier Station Khamsin-14, the arrival was reported at once and people reacted by locking their doors. Women were kept securely behind the closed portals and men found reason to sequester themselves inside their quarters. His kind was feared and he liked it that way. No one dared intrude on his privacy and no one dared to deny him what he wanted. Along with the other six Elite warriors like himself, he enjoyed autonomy unprecedented in Rysalian history. What he desired, he received. What he said was declared law. What he did was never questioned.
Until now.
On this morning, of all mornings, no one would want to admit they had seen him standing outside the closed doors of the Court of Military Inquiry. No one would dare discuss either him or the reason one of his kind would have been called to the Court.
"I will let them know you are here, Captain Cree," the guard on his right commented.
He glanced disdainfully at the guard, his clenched jaw the only outward sign the Reaper Captain was agitated.
Actually, Cree was infuriated. His hands itched to reach out and tear the heads from the two Security Officers who had been sent, just after dawn, to escort him to the Court. A powerful bloodlust built inside him and it was all he could do to stand still as he waited for permission to enter the judicial chambers. It was imperative that not one flicker of his eyelid; one tremor of his hand; one involuntary tensing of his muscles; one quiver of his voice betray him to those bastards behind the door. He knew if he showed the slightest weakness, they would crucify him.
"They are ready for you, Sir," the guard informed him.
Cree let out an annoyed breath as the thick doors to the judicial chamber opened. He was not guilty of the charges that had been leveled against him, but he knew that would make no difference to the Tribunal. The Court of Military Inquiry had been out for his blood for more than a year and today, he was sure they would get it.
Striding to the Bench, Cree executed a sharp salute, his boot heels clicking together. "Captain Kamerone Cree reporting as ordered!" he barked, his attention steady at a point somewhere just above, and to the left, of the Chief Justice's head.
The five elderly Rysalian Lords who sat on the Bench of the Court of Military Inquiry stared at him, their sharp gazes traveling down his tall form. They examined the press of his shirt, the straightness of his tie, the cleanliness of his pants; the high sheen of his black boots, then passed judgment on the gleam of his insignia and the shine of his belt buckle. They paid close attention to the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, searching for fear, watching for nervousness. They made note of the unwavering steadiness of his gaze, the impassivity of his face, the rigidity of his posture frozen in salute.
"At ease, Captain," the Chief Justice finally ordered.
Cree's right hand came down sharply. He placed his hands behind him and clasped his wrists at the small of his back. Shifting his legs apart, he lowered his gaze to the Chief Justice, blinked to rid his eyes of dryness, swallowed casually, then respectfully directed his full attention to the man seated before him on the Bench.
"You know why you are here," the Chief Justice stated formally.
"Aye, Your Grace, I do," Cree answered.
"How do you plead?"
Cree knew it did not matter what plea he entered. He had already been tried, convicted, and sentenced long before he had been summoned to the Court. The fact that he was there was proof of his guilt in the eyes of the Empire. The Minister of Acquisitions would have made sure of it. Trying to keep the bitterness and anger from creeping into his voice, he replied, "Not guilty, Your Grace."
The Chief Justice's mouth twisted. "No more than we expected from one of your kind," he snorted contemptuously. The old man shuffled some papers in front of him and without glancing either to his right or his left, asked for comments from the rest of the Bench.
"At the request of the Minister of Acquisitions, we have no choice but to recommend disciplinary action," Justice Largus Cul stated.
"I agree," Chief Justice Ilya Ruan concurred.
"May I be permitted to speak?" Cree asked.
"No, you may not!" the Chief Justice snapped.
Cree had to bite his tongue to keep from lashing out at the old man. A muscle bunched in his jaw, narrowing his eyes with the tightness. His countenance took on a belligerence that did not escape one Justice's notice.
"Wipe that disrespectful look from your face, Captain!" warned Justice Cul.
Not daring to look at the man who had spoken for fear Cul would see his fury Cree blanked his expression. He returned his gaze to a spot above the row of men and waited for whatever punishment was going to be meted out to him.
"Recommendations?" the Chief Justice asked the others.
"Whatever we decide in regard to his punishment must be sufficiently harsh enough to discourage further rebellion," offered Justice Ruan.
Cree's hands clenched into fists behind his back. He wished he knew who was responsible for him being here. If it were the last thing he ever did, he would find that person, rip off her head, and drain the blood from her worthless body!
"I agree," Justice Cul concurred. "A year on Helios Twelve would not be amiss. The Captain needs to be taught humility."
"It will take more than a year at hard labor on a penal colony to teach this fool humility, Cul," muttered Justice Traye Onar.
"That is true," agreed the Chief Justice.
"Well, then," Justice Ryda Lona drawled as he threaded his fingers together and sat forward to glare at Cree. "I vote for Active Reinforcement."
The dark brown gaze of Captain Kamerone Cree widened, then shifted incredulously to the wizened old man. He spoke before he thought of the consequences of doing so. "For what?" Cree demanded. "I have done nothing wrong! I..."
"Silence!" the Chief Justice barked. "Did you receive permission to speak, Cree?"
Cree shook his head. "No, Your Grace, but..."
"Then be quiet!" came the sharp rebuke.
"But Your Grace, I..."
"Silence!" The single word was a dire threat left hanging.
Cree came to precise military attention: shoulders squared, arms rigid at his side, gaze straight ahead. His lips were clamped shut, but his eyes blazed with fury. A muscle began to tick noticeably in his lean jaw and his breathing became audible to even the most hard of hearing among the elderly men.
Justice Vuin Barif pointed an arthritic finger at Cree. "Do you see what I mean, Milords? It is for that very look of disrespect on his face right now that I am seconding the recommendation for Active Reinforcement!"
"I agree," Justice Onar nodded. "This is not the first time his insubordination has been brought to the attention of the Tribunal." The elderly man smiled hatefully. "I think it is time the Captain was taught he is a servant of the Empire and not the other way around."
Cree swung his narrowed eyes to Onar and saw triumph blazing on the wrinkled face. Of all the Lords in the room, Cree knew Onar was his worst enemy.
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