“You can’t do this! Let me go!”
Selena struggled between them but it was no good—they were too strong for her. She looked hopefully towards the departure gate, but all the Kindred who might have helped her were gone now. The only one left was the stewardess with the matching uniform and nipple rings and she only stared blandly at Selena, as though it didn’t bother her a bit to see someone being hauled away.
“Come on, bimbap,” Yorbus growled, and then he and Gonadal marched her down the concourse and away from the shattered remains of her violin, tossed carelessly into the trash.
56
Yorbus and Gonadal dragged Selena through the spaceport and shoved her into the back of a big black hover car with red and black smoke roiling beneath it. They ignored her pleas and cries and threats. Indeed—everyone in the Ma’shorkan spaceport did. Selena kept hoping she would see another Kindred warrior who might help her as they went, but the two guards took her through back hallways and they didn’t encounter any Kindred—or indeed, many people at all.
Those they did see, simply looked away as the two goons dragged her along. They didn’t seem to hear her as she pleaded with them to help her—it was as though she didn’t exist—as though she was invisible and inaudible to them.
They probably see women getting dragged away all the time, Selena thought to herself, feeling sick. After all, women have no rights here—why should anybody get excited about seeing one more Dependent Female being yanked around?
The thought made her feel sick and shaky and scared. What was going to happen to her? What was she going to do?
She was soon to find out the answer to her first question, at least. It didn’t take long for the black car to reach its destination. It came to a stop by the curb in front of a large building and Yorbus and Gonadal jumped out and dragged Selena out of the back.
“Come on, bimbap—time for justice!” Yorbus said and both of them burst into trollish laughter.
The High Court was an imposing structure, built entirely of sparkling white marble. It towered over the rest of the buildings on the block, seeming to glimmer, even in the grayish light from the overcast sky.
Selena was dragged up its many steps, tripping and stumbling as she tried to keep up with her captors.
“Come on—come on,” they growled, yanking her along. “We don’t have all day—the Empress expects to see justice done!”
“This…isn’t…justice,” Selena gasped. “You framed me! You planted that diamond in my violin and then you broke it open! You broke my instrument!”
It still didn’t seem possible. She’d saved for months to buy her violin and she’d had it for years—it was her baby. And now it was gone—broken and smashed beyond repair in the trash back at the spaceport. She still felt stunned and betrayed by the violent act—but there was worse to come.
Yorbus and Gonadal dragged her up the steps, into the High Court, and straight into a large courtroom.
Sitting on a very tall marble stool—at least ten feet off the ground—at the very front of the courtroom, was a Ma’shorkan man who Selena assumed must be the judge. He wore a short purple robe that fell to his thighs and his feet were hooked into silver and leather stirrups on either side of the high stool—maybe to keep him from falling off of it. His long orange hair was covered by an enormous, broad-brimmed purple hat that looked like a lady’s sun hat to Selena. But maybe it was part of his judge’s outfit, because he wore it with dignity, as though the floppy brim was a sign of status.
Down below him, sitting on rows of marble benches, were the harried looking defendants, each flanked by two guards in black and white uniforms—maybe some kind of police, Selena thought. A few of the defendants were Ma’shorkan, but many of them were other types of aliens—people not native to Ma’shorka Centra.
“Next!” The judge called, as they walked into the back of the courtroom. He raised a small silver instrument that looked a bit like a toy bugle to his lips and blew a blast. “Next case, next case,” he called.
Two guards on the end of the marble bench rose, dragging a defendant between them. He was a shabby-looking man with tattered clothes, orange skin, and short black horns poking out of his forehead.
“What is the charge?” the judge asked the guards.
“Your Justness, this Glorbian scum was caught loitering outside a Ma’shorkan owned bakery, breathing in the scent of the frying loudernuts,” the first guard explained. “When he was asked if he intended to buy anything, to compensate the owner for the theft of his heavenly loudernut smells, he replied that scents ought to be free! Then he refused to pay for the smells he had stolen!”