Warden of the Orbital Court – Part 2: Judgement

The judgement came at the third watch. She had him brought before her desk, a sheet of glass set with a single lamp, and read the charges from a tablet in a voice as flat as a cargo manifest. She had listed absurd crimes in perfect seriousness. She asked him how he pleaded, and listened to his answers without expression, and when she handed down the sentence it was a full night of the Warden's discipline within the terms: obedience, silence unless addressed, and correction as she saw fit.

"Do you accept, Smuggler?"

"I accept, Warden."

"Kneel for the sentence."

The rest was authority, delivered slowly. She directed him with small, definite commands. She made him stand, kneel, wait, answer, hold still. She put a finger under his chin and tilted his face up to the lamp. Her corrections were quiet and exact, her severity all control and no cruelty, and the cold blue light and her unwavering voice made a world in which he had nothing to decide at all. Every half hour: "Continue?" "Yes, Warden." The station hummed. Time stopped meaning anything.

At four, she touched the bracelet and the lights came up warm and gold.

"Landing sequence," she said, softly. "The Warden is off duty."

She was Vesper again. She wrapped him in the heavy hotel blanket, opened the suite's viewing shutter on the false stars and held him against her on the sofa until his breathing slowed.

"How are you?"

"Weightless," said Kai. "In the best way."

"Good. Drink this." A cup of hot sweet tea. "You were perfect."

"Can I be remanded again?"

"The station is booked for the whole of next month," said Vesper, and kissed his forehead. "I have already requested the cell block."

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