Ashley Fox - Ninja Orphan

  Chapter 21 – The Trial of Ashley Fox

  Ashley's cell was made of rusted metal walls and a cold steel floor. A raised wooden platform was covered with a hard mat for a bed. There was no sink or toilet, just an exposed drain in the far corner.

  Some time the next morning, three guards dragged her from her cell. They restrained her in a specially designed wheel chair. Once she was gagged and hooded, they wheeled her from the block.

  Ash couldn't tell if the elevator traveled up or down. When the doors opened, Ash felt the chilly air of an outdoor level. She didn't hear any voices as the guards wheeled her away from the elevator bank. When they stopped and removed the hood, Ash recognized what appeared to be a hastily constructed court on an unfinished level of the district.

  The room, composed of temporary walls on a cement floor, was created in the shape of a horseshoe. Beyond one partition she saw a plastic draped exterior wall. The open window ledge and distant horizon were only partially obscured by opaque sheets of ripped and tattered plastic.

  The floor was scuffed and marked. The cement ceiling was lined with terillium beams. Pillars stood at four points in the room and two more occupied the open space beyond the end of the horseshoe. Folding tables and chairs stood in a row atop a wooden platform. Another row sat facing opposite, albeit a foot lower in elevation.

  Ash was wheeled up to the rightmost table. Her seat faced the plastic sheeted opening to the sky fifty meters across the unfinished level.

  She wondered if they meant to simply throw her overboard and be done with it? Why then all the elaborate, or rather, crude efforts at the construction of a courtroom? Perhaps the informality severed to reinforce her level of importance, or lack there of.

  She remembered to breathe.

  Guards milled about, not paying much attention to her. She studied the building materials stacked outside the courtroom, drywall, plastic-wrapped carpet, boxed cubical panels and spools of terminal-wire.

  The young officer tasked with drafting Ashley's arrest-warrant sat to her left. Another man entered, introduced himself as her public defender and took the seat next Ash. The gagged and restrained teen made no effort to acknowledge him.

  Across from them a young woman, the stenographer, entered and occupied a small chair set away from the imposing platform. She removed a large pair of headphones from her bag and set them around her neck. She then removed a cylindrical device and set it on the floor next to her. She hit a button, powering up the recording suite, it automatically extended its tripod legs, raising itself twenty inches from the floor. A central post extended three additional feet up from the cylinder.

  The stenographer connected her headphones and set them over her ears. She removed her goggles from the bag, connected their cable and placed them over her eyes. She hit a button on the control panel and the indicator on the camera assembly began to blink its red recording light.

  A massive guard noted the light and stepped from behind the left tip of the horseshoe. "All rise," he commanded.

  Everyone stood, except Ashley, who was strapped into her seat. Not that she would have, even if she'd been free to do so.

  From the left, an elderly woman dressed in a black judge's cloak, entered and proceeded to the center chair of the raised platform.

  "The court of District Thirteen is now in session," the bailiff proclaimed. "The honorable Governor Agatha Dorchester Maime presiding.”

  The governor-judge lifted her gavel and rapped it once.

  "Be seated," the bailiff ordered.

  Everyone not already sitting sat.

  "So, what do we have today?" she asked, as though this case were just another day on the job.

  "The People versus Ashley Fox," the bailiff replied.

  "What's the charge?" the judge asked.

  The prosecutor stood, "If it please the court..."

  Governor Maime nodded.

  "Your honor, the State charges orphan number 2310091503, Miss Ashley Erin Fox, with one count of murder in the first degree and one count of assault with intent to kill”

  The attorney approached the judge's table. "Specifically, The state charges Miss Fox with murder on behalf of orphan number 2292121701, Robert Leland Kidd, whom she killed in an illegal pit fight, cutting his throat.”

  The prosecutor handed a stapled file to the Judge. "The State also charges Miss Fox with assault with intent to kill, on behalf of orphan number 2290061002, Moses Modred Muhammad.”

  The prosecutor handed Governor Maime another file. "The state will prove that Miss Fox is a danger to herself and others. We are recommending she be tried as an adult and the state is seeking the death penalty in this case.”

  "Miss Fox, due to the gravity of these charges, the state has no choice but to try you as an adult." She picked up her gavel, rapped it on the desk and gestured to the bailiff, who exited the room, again to the left.

  "As you're an orphan, with no resources, the state will provide you with counsel at no expense. Mr. Gransil," she addressed the public defender next to Ash. "Do you accept the responsibility to defend your client to the best of your ability?”

  "Yes, your honor," he replied.

  "Prosecutor, please state your case," Governor Maime said.

  "Governor, your Honor," he began, "the State argues that Miss Fox and Mister Kidd had words earlier in the day, an incident taking place on the south west rooftop of the Bolt, known as the Zoo.”

  "Will the defendant please rise," Governor Maime asked.

  The gagged and restrained Ash remained seated.

  "Let the record show," Governor Maime spoke to the stenographer, "that Miss Fox is held in contempt of court for willfully disregarding the order to stand before the court.”

  The stenographer nodded.

  "Miss Ashley Fox," Governor Maime addressed the defendant, "you are hereby charged with the murder of one Robert Leland Kidd. How do you plead?”

  The gagged Ashley made no attempt to speak.

  Auntie waited a moment and turned to the stenographer again.

  "Let the record show the defendant entered a plea of no contest.”

  Lieutenant Grey entered the Mayor's Office shortly before ten am.

  The secretary asked him to identify himself and state the nature of his visit.

  The lieutenant replied that he urgently needed to speak to his honor regarding District 13.

  He was asked to take a seat.

  Kima and the Leonas ambushed a patrol. Two guards were murdered on the spot, their bodies were later discovered castrated, their genitalia stuffed into each other's mouths. The third soldier was kidnapped and dragged back to the Leona's block, where he spent the next few days being conditioned to death.

  Despite Kazimov's publicly demanded truce, three Dragons faced off against three Blades in another cafeteria. Someone blinked and the unarmed gangsters were fighting. However, they fought with a suspicious lack of physical violence, more yelling than punching.

  The altercation devolved into a food fight and soon the entire cafeteria was involved.

  A group of guards arrived to quell the violence and discovered themselves outnumbered and surrounded. They wisely surrendered their weapons and armor.

  Several more patrols waded into the chaos, only to be likewise ambushed and stripped of their weapons and gear.

  Before long, a dozen soldiers had been overpowered and disarmed, but unlike the Leona's engagement, the Dragons and Blades released the guards unharmed. By the end of the lunch hour, six handguns had taken by the juvenile residents of District Thirteen.

  Much to Warden Keller's dismay, the Blades and Dragons were caught congratulating each other over the security feed. He summoned his three executive officers to the main command room.

  They sat at the conference table.

  "Reports?" Keller asked.

  "In the last twenty-four hours we've had two men killed, twenty critically injured and five MIA," Major Armitage replied. "To the best of our knowledge, the lucky bastards have at
least seven firearms and over a dozen batons.”

  "What the fuck is going on out there gentlemen? Someone please explain to me how the world's most elite fighting force is getting their asses handed to them by a bunch of school children?”

  "Ambush, sir," Major Dumont stated. "Starts as a gang fight, our boys get involved, they join forces and take them by surprise.”

  "Surprise! How do you take a squad of marines by surprise!”

  "Our orders are not to fire unless fired upon. These kids are mostly unarmed, we can't just light them up. Plus our guys are mostly green, sir. And they're not marines, they're not even National Guard.”

  "I don't want excuses, I want results," Keller snapped.

  Watrous leaned forward. "Sir, our men have sent twenty zeros to the morgue in the last twenty hours, that's almost one an hour, plus countless rabbits in ICU.”

  "We can all do the math, Major. I'm not interested in how many of these rabid monkeys break their teeth on a citizen's boot. I do grow concerned when they start working together. It shows evidence of higher intellectual function.

  "Next thing you know they'll be talking. What if they learn to write? Then, all of a sudden one of them builds a bomb and it's ka-boom! No more colonel, no more majors, no more soldiers.”

  The majors remained silent.

  "Ambushed, huh? Coordinated? Planned?" the colonel asked.

  "Clearly, sir," Major Watrous answered. "If we had some reinforcements, we could..."

  "First, let's rule a few things out. One, we are not calling in reinforcements. Two, we are not calling in reinforcements. Now, any other suggestions?”

  "Assault rifles, sir. Let's remind them who runs the district," Watrous asserted. "A couple heads up on spikes couldn't hurt either. We know who the ringleaders are.”

  Dumont leaned forward. "Really. Who?”

  Watrous hesitated.

  "We do not know," Dumont said. "You might know who it isn't, but you don't know who it is. In the past eighteen hours, we've seen four unified gangs attack our patrols. Gangs, which, until yesterday, were hell-bent on killing each other.”

  "We know it's not the girl,” Keller interrupted. ”We know it's not Moses and we know it's not the kid, Dante. History has shown that our primary target must be the ringleaders, and we know do who runs each of the major gangs, correct?

  “Yes, Sir. We just don’t know who brokered the deal.

  “If we ratchet up the pressure, we’ll only add more rabbits to their ranks.” Dumont thought for a moment, and then smiled. "Here’s what we do. Close all the cafeterias and reduce the patrols by half, the men are exhausted. Outfit the hard posts in swat gear and less-lethal ammo.

  "If we pull back now, we give the bastards a false sense of security and when the real trouble starts, we will extinguish it immediately,"

  "Actually, we do know where this resistance started," Armitage said. "It's that same knot of kids that was hanging around Fox. Her brother was there when they took down Fleming, Hodges, and Grey. There’s also some wanna-be lawyer running around down there. We’re looking for kids who weren’t gang members until yesterday.

  "We never did recover Grey's body. The little fucks actually sent the other two back by elevator, but the docs couldn't save them.”

  “Do you think Grey is working with them?” Keller asked.

  “Doubtful, but he always was an annoying little prick. We haven’t seen the last of him.”

  Colonel Keller leaned back in his chair. "Once rebels commence hit and run tactics, we're required to declare martial law. That always puts the Mayor's dick in the soup.”

  "We're getting a new batch of gunners on Monday." Dumont said. "We don’t have to call anyone. For the next six weeks we will have double our usual numbers. We just need to get to Monday, by any means necessary.

  Watrous laughed, “We should drug them into next week, literally.”

  "Too expensive," the Colonel answered.

  "Not if we smash them up a bit first," Armitage reasoned.

  Colonel Keller nodded and touched his nose. "Gentlemen, we will hold this district together, by any means necessary.”

  "This all about that Fox girl?" Watrous said. "Let's execute the bitch. That'll shut 'em up.”

  Keller laughed. "That's the outside-the-box thinking I like to hear.”

  Major Dumont rolled his eyes. "If we martyr her, this whole place will burn. We need to keep them fighting amongst themselves, not against us.”

  The colonel stared at his majors, then smiled and leaned forward.

  "Okay. Dumont, You're right about halving the patrols and the less lethal. Issue the rifles and load them with pinks. Lock up the live shells. I don't want them throwing hot lead back at us once they manage to get a hold of a heavy. Just keep plenty of special response teams on standby.

  "Now, here's the important part. Offer amnesty on any returned weapons and gear. If they turn over all the gear, we'll release Miss Fox.

  “That's fair enough. The deadline is noon on Thursday.

  "But just to show them that we are serious, round up at least a hundred rug-rats and spend the next twelve hours reminding them that they're worthless, make them feel ugly.

  “Don't waste your time with the muscle-heads, we can hurt them worse by damaging their little brothers. I want this message to reach the ringleaders, loud and clear.”

  Colonel Keller stood. "Gentlemen,"

  The majors stood, saluted, and exited the briefing room, smiling.

  Lieutenant Grey remained in the anteroom of the Mayor's office, waiting.

  As the secretary left for the day, she assured him that Mayor Westbury would be along shortly. She said good night and left the building.

  Groups of guards prowled the district, armored in full-swat issue. Randomly they subdued errant orphans. Their orders were to beat twenty for every one they placed under arrest.

  Before nightfall the district had begun conditioning procedures on a hundred and twelve orphans and the nursing staff was held back for double shifts.

  Just before eight pm the Mayor stepped out of his office, dressed in his coat and hat. Flanked by bodyguards, and trailed by his personal secretary, Leonard Waltman, his honor approached the young lieutenant, dozing on the anteroom couch.

  The Mayor roughly jabbed him with his cane. "Lieutenant. Wake up.”

  Grey awoke with a start. "Your honor, sir." Grey rose to his feet, he towered of the rotund municipal authority.

  The mayor was unperturbed by Grey’s physically threatening stature, he pushed ahead. "Indeed. What are you doing sleeping out here? Come, walk with me, and tell me your woes."

  Westbury was a hugely fat man and his frame did not appear to have been constructed to support such massive bulk. The cane was definitely for balance and support rather than style.

  “Mister Mayor, I’m here in the interest of confidentiality.”

  Westbury stopped as they reached the elevator and looked up at Grey, taking a good close look at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean; You have a situation developing in one of your districts, and I thought you should be informed personally.”

  “Well, then inform me and stop speaking in riddles.”

  “District Thirteen.”

  “What about it?”

  “What else do I need to say?”

  “I told you not to waste my time.”

  The elevator car arrived.

  Westbury stepped on, followed by his secretary, Waltman. He stared at Grey.

  Well, what are you waiting for?” Westbury gestured for Grey to step aboard the car.

  Grey nodded, began to stammer a reply but thought better of it and simply stepped aboard the elevator car.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Westbury asked, looking directly at David again.

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Well it can’t be nothing,” Westbury grumbled, looking down. His glace fell to David’s waist and lingered there.

  David wanted to ste
p away, but the elevator car left little actual room for escape. The mayor looked back up to David’s nametag and all-black codec.

  The elevator dinged and the door opened onto the parking garage. Westbury waddled off first, followed by Grey and Waltman leisurely making his own time.

  Westbury raised a fat finger in the air. “Presuming I do know a little something about the troubles of block thirteen, what would you have me do, Lieutenant?”

  “If you’re thinking about doing something publicly, that would be difficult. You’d have to establish a pattern of abuse over time.”

  “Am I to understand you’re suggesting a black op against an orphanage?”

  “Of course not.”

  Westbury gaze again fell to David’s gunbelt, and suddenly he understood.

  They had arrived at the valet waiting area, while Waltman walked the entire distance to the vehicle, unlocked it and pulled it around.

  Westbury opened the door for himself and climbed inside. Again David was left waiting. This time he didn’t make the Mayor ask him, and after a moment, climbed into the luxury cruiser.

  Once the vehicle lifted off and got into the relative safety of the municipal flow, the mayor turned to Grey.

  “I am well aware of the conditions aboard the district,” he said. “I have long been seeking a solution, but the problems are pervasive and systemic. This could be a very big black eye for Angel City, and I’d like to avoid that. However, eradication of a weed, or a cancer, sometimes requires surgical procedures.”

  Grey felt a bit of fear as he tried to balance the mayor’s words against his rapacious grin.

  When they arrived at Westbury's home and stepped out of the vehicle, his honor informed the soldier that he, now, wanted to ask a favor of him.

  The mayor looked David in the eyes and said, "We’re the same, you and I.”

  "How's that, sir?" Lt. Grey replied.

  "We both hold significant positions of authority. Wouldn't you agree?”

  Grey smelled a linguistic trap. "I don't consider myself significant, or any sort of authority, You, Sir, are in a position of power, not me.”

  "Don't patronize me, son," the mayor turned surly.

  The lieutenant bowed his head, "I mean no disrespect, your honor." David was well aware that this man could charge him with treason and have him executed with a nod.

  "If I understand correctly, you are Senator Grey's boy, Old Dakota's grandson?”

  "Yes, sir," David answered.

  "You know Dakota once lived on District 13. He was an orphan, did you know that?”

  Grey nodded.

  "Your father has sired himself quite a number of sons, hasn't he?”

  "Five, that I know of, sir," Grey answered.

  "Judging by that solid black codec there, you are David. David Grey? Is that right?”

  David nodded again.

  "Well then, about that favor... " The Mayor gestured to the young officer's holstered sidearm, on his hip. "Could I?”

  The lieutenant drew the sidearm and checked the chamber before turning it over.

  "I understand that this is the one you used?”

  David nodded again. His cordial expression fell to reveal the true lack of emotion he felt, the true lack of empathy or concern he held for this obese creature, this fan, standing before him.

  During his citizenship induction ceremony, David made history. One thousand, seven was not a number easily brushed aside. His nickname amongst his comrades, Kilo, attested to that.

  Instead of being vilified, as he'd hoped, instead of the practice being outlawed, David became something of a cult hero, overnight.

  He’d been immediately drafted into the Special Forces, and after completing the required schools, he was issued the highly prized all-black codec, the designation of a wet-worker, elite amongst all the republic's lethal military units.

  Lt. Grey was always disappointed to discover one of his superiors was a fan. It reinforced his impression of how corrupt the society was. This attitude probably had something to do with his stale rank as first lieutenant.

  Westbury practically drooled over the weapon. The mayor took aim at a street sign and illegally discharged three rounds, hitting it with two of them. He smiled and handed the gun back.

  Grey knew Mayor Westbury hadn't listened to a single thing he'd said about D13. All he'd wanted was to fire the weapon that executed a thousand men in a single day.

  Westbury instructed Waltman to have the street sign framed and hung in his study.

  Back on the district, the screams of pain coming from the conditioning blocks could be heard for half a mile. The guards tortured the randomly arrested children without mercy. In one cell they used fire, in another water, electricity, drugs, splinters, pliers and every other imaginable torture device close at hand. The soldiers didn't try to get any information and their prisoners don't have any answers. The evening's activities are about the infliction and endurance of pain.

  The nurses come in during the lulls in the action and administer derivatives of the magnificent healing compound Ashley’s father created, a generation ago.

  In two weeks, all that will remain of their suffering will be the nightmares and their distinct memories of the experience.

  In their recreation rooms, the members of the Iron Fist sat on couches arranged around a mounted vid screen. Guards didn't come this far down into the complex. Especially considering the latest acts of mutiny and the numbers of critically wounded citizens.

  Hambone leaned over to Kaz. "Word is they rounded up a hundred kids. I got another hunny, ‘tween you and me, that says they bust down our door before lights out." Hambone alone laughed at the macabre joke.

  "Come on, no takers?" Ham said loudly.

  The other orphans did not find Hambone’s joke to be amusing. No one laughed or spoke.

  A bell rang. It was eleven, the lights clicked off.

  "Guess not," Hambone laughed.

  "I should have taken your money, you dick," Kaz said.

  In her lightless cell, tied into a straight jacket, Ashley sat in quiet meditation, much as her father had a couple years earlier.