Kate Saundby - Nublis 01 - The Wages of Justice.pdf - Kate Saundby - widez2

Wages of Justice

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without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s

imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is

entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 1-894841-01-8

First Edition eBook Publishing May 8, 2002

THE WAGES OF JUSTICE

By Kate Saundby

Subtitle:The Archons of Nublis

Volume 1 of the Nublis Series

Book1 of the Wages Trilogy

Dedication: To Herman and Barbara, and my paternal grandfather.

Many thanks to Piers Anthony, Ellen Larson, Jamie Engle and Steve Lazarowitz, Tom

Ventimiglia, my son Nick for his beautiful artwork and my son Dever for his knowledge, Leslie

Cholowsky, all the guys on Crmoneytalks, (you know who you are), and last but not least, all my

loyal readers.

Prologue

"All rise for His Grace, the Archon!"

In total blackness and not sure which way to face, Cassius signed, "Where are you?"

Finally came the Major Domo's reassuring touch. As the Major Domo guided Cassius' gloved hands

toward the silver hammer and the golden knife that were the symbols of his office, the voice sounded

again. "Be seated! The Archon's court is now in session!"

The movements and breathing of those already present and the snick of the lock on the witness room

door were the only sounds he heard. A whisper, instantly hushed, was followed by a faint click from a

guard's weapon. He'd evidently turned to frown in the direction of the offender.

Blindfolded as always when he presided over the court, Cassius saw the prosecutor and advocate for the

accused in his mind's eye. They'd be waiting nervously at their respective tables, and behind them, two

rows of spectators, knowing better than to cough or even fidget. At the rear of the lofty oak-paneled

courtroom, a pair of motionless blue-armored sentinels maintained order and guarded the immense

brass-plated doors.

The scent of fear polluting the already breathless air just below his throne could only be the defendant's.

Understandable, reflected Cassius. His demeanor had to be terrifying at the best of times. This was not

the best of times.

When he saw the faceless apparition loom above him on the Archon's throne, the knees of the accused

turned to water. The printed guidelines given him by his advocate rustled in his sweaty hands and nothing

in his twenty-seven years had prepared him for this.

With his entire face and head concealed by a close-fitting silken mask and clad in plain gray robes of

some soft wool material, the Archon must have been close to eight feet tall. When he moved his hands to

sign to his scarlet-robed Major Domo, the massive emerald on his gloved left forefinger seemed to emit

an eerie light of its own.

On that fateful night, while they were all still drinking in the tavern, Damon Veniston's companions had

described Nublis' mysterious Archon as a living lie detector. He'd just laughed and dismissed their

gibbering as empty bar talk. Then he'd noticed the girl in the corner and, attracted by her quiet good

looks, had instantly homed in on her. They'd left the tavern together and the rest was history.

Now, alone in the arena and dependent on this anonymous judge's fabled instinct for the truth, his friends'

warnings didn't seem quite so funny.

What if they were right?

Damon pulled himself together. Behind the forbidding mask and all that folderol breathed an ordinary

man. As for his supposed super-hearing, that was a laugh. A superstitious Nublian might fall for such

theatrics but he was hardly that. Damon hadn't been raised by the most successful jurist in the

InterPlanetary Synod for nothing, and he could recognize a number when he saw one.

When that old fussbudget of an advocate told him he'd have to do all his own talking in court, the young

man just grinned. He'd weaseled his way out of tighter spots than this, although right now, he couldn't

think of a single one. His gift of gab and natural charm had never failed him yet, and in the unlikely event

he was convicted, what were these people going to do to him anyway? His father was the

InterPlanetary's Synod's Chief Justice and if push came to shove, Dad would just have to buy him out of

it again. With his money and connections, Augustus Veniston could find anyone's price and the

nonentities in charge of this piddling little backwater planet would be no exception. Take that

weasel-faced prosecutor for instance, in his threadbare robe and down-at-heel shoes. The man looked

as if he'd never had a decent haircut or two extra cents to rub together and this so-called advocate they'd

given him was a joke. By his own admission, the man didn't even know what a plea bargain was, and

when Damon asked how much he was going to charge, the old goat looked blank.

So he'd squeezed the bitch's throat a little too hard. Big deal! She'd only been a streetwalker and

around this city, such whores were a dime a dozen. All he had to do now was convince this Archon, or

judge or whatever he was, that it had been a regrettable accident. Of course, he'd have to say it with a

convincing break in his voice. Hell, he might even manage a tear. Ah, now he had it! The woman's

heart had been weak. Had he known, he would never have gotten so rough with her, but she hadn't told

him. She'd done just the opposite and actually egged him on. He was an innocent babe in the woods and

all the kinky suggestions had come from her.

Damon stopped for a moment, rehearsing his new defense and trying it on for size. It might just work.

The way he'd tell it, that little prostitute been so hot for his money she'd have done just about anything.

Actually, it hadn't been that way at all. But who was to know? The girl was safely dead, and he could

slant his story any way he wanted.

Her eyes wide with fear, she'd actually ordered him to leave. "I've changed my mind," she'd said.

Turned on by her resistance, he'd just laughed. "Well, I haven't!" Then he'd proceeded to show her who

was boss. While she fought like a wildcat, it was only when she bit him that he really saw red. The nerve

of her! She'd drawn blood too! He was perfectly justified in doing what he did next, but he'd no more

intended to kill her than he had any of the others. All he wanted was to teach her a lesson. She resisted

and he'd squeezed a little too hard.

Fortunately, they'd been alone. The four walls in her tacky little house weren't going to talk and now it

was just his word about the rough sex. That was the way it had always gone before and who was going

to contradict him now? Certainly not a dead whore.

The more Damon considered his argument the better he liked it and now he was sure he could make the

sale. But in the unlikely event this masked judge didn't buy his story, there'd still be plenty of time to

straighten things out. Wouldn't there?

True, they'd brought him to trial much faster than he'd expected. In a matter of days, to be precise.

Anywhere else, there'd have been the usual months of preparation, endless press coverage, and an

inevitable public airing of the victim's dirty linen. With his baby face and disingenuous manner, he'd have

garnered plenty of public sympathy for being led astray by a loose woman. Especially when he lowered

his curly blond head and promised tearfully, with all the sincerity he could muster, to mend his wandering

ways. But when he'd suggested that, the stupid advocate hadn't seemed to understand.

Damon's boyish features and gentle manner had served him well in the past and his angelic appearance

had swayed more than one verdict in his favor. But on Nublis, it seemed they took the concept of blind

justice literally. The advocate told him the Archon had no idea who he was and wouldn't even be able to

see his face. Damon had been hoping to make an impression with his innocent demeanor and good

looks, and that had been a blow.

Now he'd come up with a decent defense, he felt more confident. He looked toward his advocate for

reassurance but the man's expression was grim. As the arresting officer came forward to testify, Damon

cleared his throat. He checked the instructions on the sheet and prepared for his first question.

On the throne above Damon, the Archon leaned forward slightly. As the afternoon wore on and he

listened to the accused's pleasant tenor voice reel off one lie after another about the woman he'd killed, a

blackness descended on Cassius' spirit. Whoever he was, the man was not a native Nublian, though he

spoke the language well. To distract himself from his depression, Cassius tried to place the accent.

Andromedan perhaps? No. That planet's language was much too harsh. With those soft syllables and

inflections, he had to have come from much further out.

Then he had it. Aretz, of course. In pre-colonization days, the beautiful blue planet had been known as

Terra or Earth. Even now in the Fifth Millennium, the natives still called the place by its old name. A

fabled citadel of learning and the cradle of modern civilization, Aretz lay a full week's journey from Nublis

in the Alpha Centauri system. In addition to the finest medical and law schools in the universe, Aretz's

ancient capital, Parisia, was home to the InterPlanetary Synod's Assembly as well as its High Courts.

The Trade League, an all-powerful private intergalactic association of wealthy merchants and shippers,

also had its headquarters there

When they'd been in their twenties, Cassius and his brother Julian had spent some of their happiest days

as law students in Parisia. Like the ImperialPrinces they were, rich, arrogant and heedless, they'd lived

life to the fullest, expecting those golden days to last forever. One day, they'd ended, in the blink of an

eye.

As the newly designated Archon, Cassius' first official duty had been to preside over his own funeral.

When Julian attempted to give his brother's eulogy and then broke down, he'd had no way of knowing

that the very one he mourned so bitterly stood less than six feet away from him. With his face hidden

behind the Archon's silken mask and forbidden to speak, Cassius had matched every tear with one of his

own, and to this day, his brother had no idea he still lived.

Unless this accused Aretzan managed to come up with a miracle, he'd become a ghost soon enough, and

pitying the prisoner's hapless advocate, Cassius imagined the smile on the prosecutor's face.

When the trial ended four hours later, Damon simply stood there numb. The Archon ordered his

shackles removed and he was conducted to a stone-walled room far larger than the cell he'd been in

before. The amenities included a polished wooden table, a pair of matching chairs, an interactive

viewscreen, a rug on the floor and a full bathroom. And the window was a real window, albeit barred.

As soon as they were alone, Damon took the advocate by the shoulders. "He can't just condemn me like

that! What do you mean, there's no appeal? There has to be!"

The old man gently disengaged himself. "As I've been trying to explain, this is Nublis. Here the

punishment is matched to the crime and what you heard is what shall happen. Now, is there anything I

can get for you?"

"My father—“

"Left Aretz a week ago. He should be here first thing in the morning."

Damon shivered with relief. Whoof! Talk about a wake-up call! His drinking buddies had been right.

These people didn't screw around.

When the Archon handed down that ridiculous sentence, he'd almost lost it, but not quite. Knowing his

father, the wheels must already be in motion. As the Synod's Chief Justice, Augustus Veniston's calls

were always returned. If his ship was anywhere within calling range, he was probably straightening out

the Nublian Emperor and his masked judge right now. One of his hired flunkies should be turning up

anytime to hold Damon's hand, and by noon tomorrow, they should be on their way home.

Anticipating the verbal flaying he was about to get, the young man winced. This time, he resolved he

would neither defend himself nor argue. Having honestly learned his lesson, he'd swallow whatever the

old man chose to dish out. He'd even marry that whey-faced debutante his Ma was so taken with if

that's what it took to make up for all the times he'd hassled them. After that, he would meekly put his

nose to the family grindstone and never ever go near those fleshpots again.

Well, almost never, but next time, he'd be a damn sight more careful.

It sure as hell wouldn't be on Nublis again. No matter what kind of a deal Dad worked out, the Nublians

would be throwing him off this planet for good, which was perfectly all right with Damon. If he never

saw this miserable backwater again it would be too soon.

Seeing the poor old advocate was taking the Archon's verdict so hard, he decided to be gracious. As he

set his battered briefcase on the table, the man's thin hands were shaking and his red-rimmed eyes

looked sadder than a hound dog's. One thing about him and the prosecutor puzzled Damon.

Everywhere else in the Synod, the lawyers were rich. Here on Nublis, they seemed to be poor and he

wondered why.

Flashing his perfect teeth, he favored the pitiful creature with his most winning smile. "I know you did

your best, sir, and I appreciate your concern. Tell me, do they have anything decent to eat in this joint?"

The graybeard's relief was almost pitiful. "You're certainly taking this better than I'd expected. The

commissary's food is excellent, and they're open around the clock. Order anything you like. If they don't

have it on hand, they'll get it for you. After all, it is going to be your last meal."

Even though he was certain that last remark would prove to be untrue, Damon couldn't quite shake his

unease. Out of sheer mischief, he decided to test the man's patience. After reflecting for a minute, he

proceeded to reel off a lengthy list of the most outrageous, expensive and exotic delicacies he could think

of. Including honey marinated roast duck, sweet scallops from Seira's southern oceans, purple Kestor

root in ginger sauce, the tiny pickled fish of Lodebar and a large bowl of authentic Illyrian sheepherder

stew.

As he'd hoped, the advocate blanched slightly. "Well, er, some of that's a little unusual. Let me see what

I can do."

Damon hid his smile with difficulty. "Take your time. The night's still young and I sure as hell ain't goin'

anywhere."

Somewhat to his surprise, he got everything he asked for. Including the out-of-season golden

strawberries and Aeolian squids' eyes. In jig time too. A couple of hours later, he sat ruminating over a

rare Siriun liqueur extracted from Diantha blossoms when the cell door opened.

Somewhere in his mid-thirties and taller than average, the visitor's appearance surprised him. With his

silver-threaded dark curls, aquiline features and aristocratic bearing, this man was a definite cut above

Augustus Veniston's usual hirelings. Was he a local nobleman down on his luck, perhaps?

His dark eyes brimming with intelligence and humor, the newcomer extended his hand. Damon ignored

the gesture. "It took you long enough to get here. The advocate left hours ago and I certainly expected

you before this."

Nothing loath, the visitor set his gold-trimmed briefcase on the table. Like everything else about him,

Damon noted it was of the first quality. "May I sit?" As the young man nodded, the visitor cast an eye

over the half-filled dishes. "Was dinner not to your liking?"

"Er, I wasn't as hungry as I thought."

"Mmm. Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"Just your company. I'm sick of talking to the walls but listening to that doom-and-gloom advocate was

worse than being alone."

The Nublian smiled. "Master Ludlow's not noted for his sense of humor."

Kate Saundby - Nublis 01 - The Wages of Justice.pdf

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