Silence, Blinkypoet [phonics story books .txt] 📗

He knelt in the center of the cell, bound hand and foot. It had taken him awhile to inch his way to the middle of the room facing the door. And it had taken him almost as long to heave himself into a kneeling position. Bruises ached and the pain from his ribs pulsed with each breath. Compared to his memories, it was nothing.
The war with Earth was done. Yet only a handful of those who wore the black and white had returned like windblown thistledown to this planet that was their birthplace. Most were tired. Old soldiers who had seen the worst life could bring in cold space and were sick of fighting. Only a few of these, a very few, came back for promises of the past. He was one of these, or had been. Janessa. He grimaced, jaw aching where one of the others from the compound had kicked him. It was nothing compared to the pain of memory.
They hauled him out at dawn, blindfolding him and pushing him down the corridor none too gently. He was passed on to another set of feet and shoving hands. Leading him into the center of a medium sized room, they tied him securely to a chair. The ropes cut into his already bound wrists and a smile quirked his lips. Circulation was not a concern. He would be dead before gangrene set in, for sure. The four who had brought him in shuffled around in front of him to be joined by three others. They stood before him and he sighed mentally, knowing he would know them all, by name and reputation, if not personally.
"May I touch you to remove the blindfold?" The dry voice reminded him of his grandmother, two years dead. It was Merril. The mayor of this desert enclave.
"Yes. You may." His voice was hoarse and crackled.
Cool fingers untied the band of black cloth and she smiled sadly at him, folding the cloth and placing it over his left wrist. Another elderly man he knew only as Percy turned on the voice and vid recorder. Merril stepped back and bowed from the waist. He nodded carefully.
"This small Court is now in session. The accused, former Neo Christian Brin Jerrico, is our first and only surviving witness. As both witness and accused, do you have any requests?"
"Water." His voice cracked again.
"The prisoner doesn't-"
"The prisoner is not yet the convicted, Percy." Merril's voice turned icy and she nodded to another of the men. "Tad." The man to his far left turned and disappeared from his field of vision. When he returned, he carried a water carafe and a tray of glasses. Pouring carefully, he set each glass at the jury’s feet. The last glass he held for a moment, confused, until Merril took it from him and held it for Jerrico to drink. He drank half, savoring the cool water and nodded his thanks when he was done.
"Are you prepared to begin your testimony?" She asked.
"Yes."
"Very well. Please begin with the events of yesterday, from morning to when we found you." Her voice was emotionless, reminding him of the voice of the Commander on his last day on Base. She had warned him and still he had not believed…
He'd brushed off the looks and muttered comments until he'd reconnected Janessa. She had been less than kind but he still had not believed until she'd threatened to call the authorities. Then he had gathered his things. What was left of them, anyway, and gotten a temporary room. He was at a loss and wandered slowly. Finally his feet found a familiar path and he was at the door to her section. The white and gray walls seemed alien to him here, although they were no different from the ones around his temp room.
He frowned. The outer door was open. Listening for a few moments, he heard nothing. He eased the door open and crept inside, padding upstairs. The doorlock on her room was set. The autogreet was off. With a sigh, he slipped a small door card from his belt. This was not the one he normally used. He would not have even brought it if he’d been permitted to carry his ordinary weapons. But here, as the Commander said, ordinary weapons were suspect even in the hands of the police and so subtler weapons must be used. He had hoped that he wouldn't have to use this, especially here, but Janessa never locked her inner door and always locked the outer. Anything else smelled of trouble. With a pang, he remembered he'd teased her about it repeatedly…

"And you did not think to call for help?" The querulous voice of Percy brought him back from memory.
Pained, he closed his eyes. "Sir. I am an NC. Even though I do not now wear the black and white does not mean I can in any way stop being what I am. It does not mean I can forget or un-learn any of the lessons I have learned." He paused to look around at the impromptu jury. "Just as you cannot forget what you have been through. And for that, I do not blame you."
Merril smiled bitterly at that and he winced mentally. She had lost three grandchildren and one son in the war. Two grandsons at the Last Ditch, one granddaughter had been captured as a spy and refused asylum. Her second son had died in First Takeover as a shuttle pilot, downed in the firefight above the pockmarked lunar surface.
"Continue," was all she said…

He ran the double-sided card through the door slot, once slow, the second time faster. The door hissed open and he edged his way inside. Being unarmed bothered him somewhat, but the Commander had been adamant about this. He had not been granted a weapons permit of any kind. That rule, he could not break…

Again, Percy interrupted: "Why bother with that rule when you had already broken the prohibition on breaking and entering?" He demanded sourly.
"Orders."
"You no longer wear the black and white." he sneered. "You no longer have the need to follow orders."
Merril shook her head at him. "Permit me." She turned to Percy and smiled. The older man winced. "NC's do not disobey their commander. Whether they wear the black and white or not, they do not disobey her. Not for any reason unless they can justify it to her. Personally. And I have it on good authority that she has no problem with meting out her own justice as she sees fit, even and perhaps especially among her own."
"How do you know?" Nat demanded.
“Do you doubt even my word?” Her voice was dangerously soft.
He gulped, knowing he’d gone too far. “No, ma’am.”
“Then continue your questioning of the witness.”
"Why did your 'commander' forbid you people weapons?" Nat asked.
"I am not permitted to explain."
"Conjecture, Jerrico." Merril said evenly, sounding even more like the Commander. He suppressed an involuntary shudder.
"We're still considered a nomadic terrorist nation in most places. If we are caught with an unauthorized weapon there's no court of Earth, Moon or Mars that could give us a 'not guilty' verdict. And certainly no court of any world would permit us to walk free after such a conviction."
Merril nodded and the rest looked like they'd bitten into something rotten. "Continue with your testimony, please."

He froze at the sight of the first blood-splatter and his stomach sank. It sank even lower as the splatter resolved itself into a Name scrawled in badly shaped Sanskrit. One of the Demon's lesser Names. Swallowing hard, for he knew instinctively whose blood made this unholy ink, he whispered the Mother's Lesser Name. Shuddering as power hummed in his ears, he murmured in harmony with it. The power thrummed in response as an attack he barely sensed refracted away from him. His enemy knew he was here now.
The edges of the glistening red circles grew until they almost filled his vision. He closed his eyes and began to sing, not knowing what his words were or caring. His song was met and countered with an ear-wrenching chant. He knew the other’s power was fueled by the death of an innocent and this angered him, but he dared not let his anger control him. Mentally, he sighed. He did not want to do this, but he had no choice. A child of the Dark could not be permitted to practice their vile rites here on Manhome. He took a deep breath and wove the Warrior's Greater Name into his song.
For a second, he thought that it would not work- that the Goddess had deserted him, even here.
Then: That you call upon Me can only mean that you wish the taking or giving of a Life. The voice that wove itself into his thoughts was cold as the depths of space and held nothing of pity nor hope.
The taking of one, he thought, knowing that he could not ask for Janessa back. It simply didn’t work that way.
The voice that was so quiet and yet so loud in his head paused. This child of the Dark that is so small beside you? Is this the Life you seek snuffed out?
Yes. And he knew, without a doubt, what the Warrior’s next words would be.
What have you to give Me in return for the taking of this Life?
My life, as I have given my service, he thought quietly.
Done and done. The voice was gone. The room was unnaturally silent. The second body sprawled across the wavering lines drawn in the blood of one he had loved. Then he heard the patter of many feet coming down the hall and knew what he must do…

“Your Power actually spoke to you?” Nat whispered, gray eyes wide.
He swallowed and nodded his head. “Yes.”
“How do we know you’re not lying?” Percy demanded.
“You don’t.” He gritted, determined not to show his anger.
Merril nodded. "Understood priest." She held up a hand as Percy glowered and opened his mouth to protest. "He did not just wear the black and white. He is the black and white. He's not cannon fodder. Not someone who plays with words but doesn’t live by them. Not that any of them survive doing that for long- their Commander takes care of that. He's a priest. The oaths and bindings they take make them incapable of killing for any reason other than self-defense, defense of an innocent or their sworn Power. And there is always a price for the taking of a life.”
Percy grimaced. "We only have your word for this. And his."
He frowned at the old woman who reminded him so much of his grandmother and, at the same time, his Commander. Who was she to know all this? She sounded exactly like one of the older priests, Malkin, the one who’d taught and mentored him.
"Unless you're one of them." Percy smiled now and one hand rested at the hilt of the knife that hung from his belt.
Merril smiled dryly. "You know what I lost in the Last Ditch. And First Takeover. You of all people, Pervercial Tercian Nialsmith, know what I've lost."
He waited in the silence as her words sank in. Then: "I am innocent of the murder of Janessa, your granddaughter. But I am guilty, many times over, of the murder of your people. I fought for what I believed in, just as they