“Vulgar language.”
Okay, she’d cussed a lot.
“Actuating an escape.”
That was harder to explain. She had been confused and panicked; she’d tried to climb out of the bathroom window in the police station. She’d gotten stuck. They had to yank her out. Her pants fell down and she’d kept yelling at them, rather rudely.
God, I’ve fucked up.
She didn’t want to get kicked off the exchange program. At least she’d saved the others the burden of a court case by accepting it was her mistake. The whole evening was a massive screw-up. Instead of showing her new girlfriends how to party, she’d made a fool of herself. Thank goodness nothing had been reported back home.
“Do you accept your culpability? Yes or no?” the judge asked.
His voice shook her out of her regretful thoughts. Time to pull up her big girl pants and admit her fault. On the plus side, the conditions of the exchange program had ruled out any sentence involving an off-world penal colony. However, the Vendu had refused to budge on other forms of punishment, like corporal punishment. Surely, he wouldn’t go that far?
She wove her fingers together and squeezed them into a knot.
“Yes, sir,” she said through dry lips.
Another lengthy pause. More shoe inspecting. Her heart was pummeling so hard it almost hurt in her chest. It was like she was breathing through a tiny hole and not getting enough air.
“Zara Webb, you admit fault and will be punished according to our laws. Your human frailties are no excuse. In coming here, to our great continent and imperial colony on Earth, you agreed to
abide by our laws. You were briefed and reminded of our high values of behavior.”
She nodded softly. She had signed an agreement before she’d left for this country that had once been called Australia. Now it was part of the Vendu Empire, an outpost where they could keep an eye on their new allies: Earthlings.
“Therefore your punishment must set an example. You will be transported to the discipline unit. You will lay bare your body, be bound to a post, and be whipped for the duration of fifty strokes to be conducted over no fewer than five sessions. Fifty strokes of a single whip across your buttocks.”
Zara listened in stunned silence. This was what she dreaded: a whipping! Her lips trembled and a familiar prickle of tears filled her eyes.
“To set an example to other Vendu so that they may not be tempted into following your drunken habits, your punishments will be publicized. Globally. This is the law. This is our way.”
Zara gasped and her chin jerked up. The nameless judge was staring straight at her, his dark eyes fixed and unwavering. His short locks of hair were swept back to reveal high cheeks and a broad forehead. He was a striking man and his firm gaze pinned her to the spot.
The tears threatened to well up and over the brims of her eyes. Globally meant broadcasting from all Vendu satellites and not only to their own people but to hers. Her fellow humans. Her friends. Family. Her jaw hung in horror when she realized the venerable committee who’d selected her for the exchange program would also witness her punishment.
“No, please. Not in public—” She moved forward and one of the court guards stepped between her and the judge’s high plinth.
“The sentence is fitting,” the judge declared.
Tears flooded her eyes and formed rivulets down her cheeks. “No, sir, you don’t understand. It isn’t the whipping—” a lie; the whipping terrified her as she had no idea what pain she could tolerate, “it’s the public venue.”
“It is our way,” he reiterated firmly and his eyebrows furrowed into a frown.
She didn’t know what to do. With only instinct to fall back on, she dropped to her knees. “Please, please. I would go to prison, anything, just don’t let my family see this, hear about this. It’s humiliating. I’m so ashamed.”
He drummed his fingers on the bench and sighed, his lips then briefly pursed. “Is that not the purpose of punishing you?”
“Yes, but…” How to explain that the shame would last on, past the whipping and hang about her for ages afterward. The Vendu preferred this kind of punishment because they could move on and put it behind them once completed. If anything, coming out of the horrendous discipline was a display of courage, demonstrating how they could take punishment and gain strength from it. But, Zara wasn’t Vendu.
She sank back on her heels and feeling overwhelmed, she sobbed.
“Help her up,” the judge ordered. “Take her away. She will need to enter the pre-punishment preparations. They will calm her.”
Calm her? Being made ready for her whipping would be calming?
She looked over her shoulder as she was led away. He was watching her intently. The frown had left his face and another expression had replaced it. He almost appeared bemused by her breakdown, or perhaps even concerned.