My Friend is an Alien - Edlund Niklas (читать книги онлайн без .TXT) 📗
"Nor is he on trial here, nor did he willingly abandon his family." emphasized Varek. "However, we should get down to specifics. Prince Arion of Korras. You are not charged in any of this. How you came to be among these people is neither our business nor our concern."
"You couldn't've figured that one out before you blasted my clothes away?!" snapped Arion.
"We must follow procedures." said Varek. "We are aware of your — situation. However, we of course have no extradition treaty with the Soluan Empire, nor is returning you to Korras an option, since that would be a violation of their treaty with the Soluan Empire. You are free to go. In fact, we insist. Remove him to the space station."
"Oh, yeah, right!" yelled Arion. His temper got the better of him and he probably should've flown, but before he could react, two large guards grabbed him. "Like tossing me naked onto that dungpile is an improvement! Hey, you white-haired antennae-eared freak! I'm…
Whatever else Arion had to say, which if anyone had bothered to listen would have included a number of colorful comments about the Magistrate's age, possible ancestral peculiarities, and the fact that he was probably hatched from a particularly rotten egg (a devastating insult but generally only applicable to Arion's people), were lost as the massive doors of the courtroom closed.
"Morik." said the Magistrate. Morik tried to look defiant and glared at Varek. "You present a difficult situation. You are not charged with any crime, but we have no contact with any known Dorrian colonies."
"I stay with my friends." said Morik.
"You realize that by doing so, you will share their punishment." said Varek.
"I stay with my friends." stated Morik.
"Very well. Judgement proceedings will be in five hours. Take them to their holding cell." The light went out above the podium, and the boys were led from the room.
Arion found himself unceremoniously dumped just outside the docking hatch of the Judicial Vessel. "And your mother breeds in a hatchery!" screamed the indignant youngster as the doors closed behind him.
Arion snarled and stood. He was already getting stared at by several passers-by. Arion was not in the least bit comfortable naked, nor did he like getting tossed around. There wasn't a lot he could do about that right now, but he needed to find some clothes before he could even think about doing much of anything else.
He kept to the shadows as much as possible, which wasn't too hard in a place like Garboris. Finally he came across an isolated replicator unit. Hopefully it was capable of making some basic dry goods. He scrolled through the menu until he reached a listing for clothing. There wasn't much available. Of course not, Arion realized, because it would cut too much into any clothing businesses that happened to set up shop here. There was, however, a basic one-piece jumpsuit that frankly looked to be of Botaran design, except it was dark blue instead of silver, with white boots. It was listed as "one size fits all". Arion pressed the button to order one, and was presented with a message. "YOUR GENETISCAN REVEALS NO EXISTING ACCOUNT."
Arion swore. He had no way to pay for the suit. If the device couldn't take a decent DNA reading from him, it wouldn't process. And he doubted anyone around here was likely to extend him charity. Then he noticed something. On his shoulder, a single white hair from one of the guards that had tossed him out. Would it work?
Arion re-did the order, and found a scrap of paper on the floor. When it was time to place the order, he placed the hair on the paper and the paper on his finger. Sure enough, the machine took a DNA reading from the hair. "APPROVED. THANK YOU, SENTRY HOLK."
The folded fabric suit appeared in the processing bin. "With a little luck," thought Arion as he extracted the suit, "this thing was real expensive." Arion unfolded it and donned it. It was, indeed, a perfect fit. "One of these days, I gotta find out what fabric those people use."
Now clothed, Arion was still faced with a problem. What to do about his — his — okay, he had to think about that. Were Jahv and the others his friends? He didn't really get along with them all that well. He'd simply taken up with them because they'd rescued him from the Soluans — on this very station in fact — and he honestly had no other options. But except for one party, that ridiculous Halloween affair — he hadn't really spent that much time with Jahv and the others, or with the humans. But now he was back on Garboris, freed from both the Soluans and from Earth. The question, he realized, was not so much what to do about Jahv and the others — but whether to do anything at all.
"Unbelievable." muttered Keith. He and the others had been tossed into a holding cell with a forcefield at the front. Except for a toilet and a pathetically basic food replicator that only offered something that looked like powdered rice and smelled like dirty socks, the room was featureless. "Why is it every time we head into space with you two, we end up naked sooner or later?"
"Count your blessings." said Jahv.
"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Keith.
"Judicial processing used to include shaving heads." replied Jahv.
"I can't believe they put us all together." said Niklas.
"You see that as an advantage?" asked Jahv.
"Well, it gives us time to think and plan together." commented Niklas.
"Yes. We have been stripped — literally — of every conceivable resource. There is nothing within this cell we can use as either a weapon or a means of escape. And even if we could get out, there's plenty of armed guards." said Jahv. "Now, what do you propose we do?"
"You're giving up?" asked Davy.
"I'm facing facts." said Jahv. "Keyro and I never should have run away. If we'd stayed put, this never would have happened. And all of you wouldn't have been dragged into it."
"Don't talk like that," said Niklas. "You're wonderful friends."
"Friends don't get their friends imprisoned." said Jahv.
"Without you," said Morik, "I never would have been rescued from that jungle planet."
"No, but you weren't that badly off there." said Jahv.
"Tell that to the dinosaur in the lake." muttered Keith.
Martin, who had pretty much curled up into a ball in the corner of the room near Davy and had said nothing, except for sobbing, finally said, "What's going to happen to us?"
Jahv sighed. "Well, we're all underage, so we'll probably be remanded over to the Procyon Institute. It's a — school of sorts."
"Like our school, Glenwood School," suggested Niklas. "Uniforms and discipline all the time."
"Eh — far worse than that, I suspect, although I've never seen your school." said Jahv. "Think of it as — what would the right terms be — somewhere between a military school and a juvenile prison. It's not very large, since crime on our world, at least among young people, is virtually unheard of. But what there is of it is dealt with, as all crime is, decisively. Hence the Procyon Institute."
"Please tell me we wouldn't be forced to be naked ALL the time." said Keith.
"In fact, wearing uniforms is considered part of the discipline." remarked Jahv. "The one curious factor is that as far as I know, you four and Morik would be the first offworlders there. I'm not sure what that will mean."
"Look, we've got to find some way home!" insisted Davy. "Sooner or later my parents — and all of yours — are going to realize we're not just out camping in the woods!"
"Right now, I'm afraid, that's the least of our worries." said Jahv. "The only other thing is that something just isn't right about all this. Magistrates don't advance their careers by tracking down unusual cases. They advance their careers by maintaining law and order."
