Free Star Soldier by Vaughn Heppner Page B

square.
    The small judge read from his screen. “Pilot rated first class. Induced into the Jupiter Confederacy Military Force for orbital fighter duty, Two-Five-Twenty-three Thirty-nine, went AWOL the same year. Pilot of the Manitoba , Winnipeg Habitat. Charge: smuggling dream-dust onto Tanaka Station. Status: Vagrant.”
    “No credits?” asked a huge-collared woman.
    “None,” said the judge.
    Another of the huge-collared people, a man, raised his hand.
    “Yes?” asked the judge.
    “I’d like her to disrobe.”
    The judge nodded to Osadar.
    She frowned in disbelief, certain that she hadn’t heard correctly.
    “Disrobe,” the judge told her.
    “What do you mean?” Osadar asked.
    “Mean?” asked the judge. “I mean take off your clothes. All of them.”
    “B-But why?”
    “So the gentleman over there can assess your worth.”
    Osadar stared at the man. Between his purple suit and orange hair, his face looked pasty. His small eyes burned hotly as he licked his lips at her.
    “No,” Osadar said, disgusted.
    The judge raised his bushy eyebrows.
    “Contempt of court?” he asked. “That’s a stiff fine. I’m afraid your former employer sold us all the information we need. If you can’t pay, and I don’t see how a creditless person can, that means immediate spacing.”
    Outrage filled Osadar. “For not taking off my clothes?”
    “Of course not,” said the judge, “for your contempt of court.”
    Blank incomprehension filled Osadar.
    “Come now,” said the judge in a reasonable tone. “Why the surprise? You have no funds for accommodation. As a deserter, no one will hire you as a pilot. Who would dare with your history? You might simply mutiny and sell the ship cargo elsewhere? Your only hope is indenture status with one of the services.”
    “I’m to become a slave?”
    “No, of course not,” said the judge. “Indenture status. We in the Neptune System allow anyone to advance if he or she is willing to work. I imagine the gentleman from Sex Objects Incorporated merely wants to see if you have the, er…” the judge coughed into his fist. “If you qualify as a possible… employee.”
    “You mean as a prostitute?”
    “A crude reference,” said the judge, “but close enough to the mark.”
    Osadar Di glanced in horror at the huge-collared man with the hot eyes. She began shaking her head.
    “Very well,” said the judge. “Contempt of court. Because of your vagrant status that means immediate spacing.”
    “Wait,” said one of the long-robed men from his throne.
    “Yes, Dominie Banbury?” the judge asked in a reverent tone.
    “You said the rulers of the Jupiter Confederation had inducted her for orbital fighter duty?”
    The judge checked his screen. “Yes, Dominie.”
    “Yet she piloted a Class II space vessel?”
    “That is correct, Dominie.”
    The long-robed man pursed his lips. He was a large man with a high forehead and shrewd eyes. “Young lady,” he said, “why did you desert?”
    Osadar shrugged. “I didn’t want to die.”
    She scanned the seated throng, noticing that some of them looked at her with contempt and haughtiness. “All my friends died in the Second Battle of Deep Mars Orbit. Social Unity killed them, but at least I’m still alive.”
    “Just so,” said Dominie Banbury. “Tell me. Would you like the chance of piloting an experimental space craft for the Ice Hauling Cartel?”
    That sounded better than being spaced. “I would.”
    “What is the bid?” Dominie Banbury asked the judge.
    “Five hundred credits, Dominie.”
    “So much?” he asked.
    The judge swallowed hard and spread his hands.
    Dominie Banbury whispered with a huge-collared woman at a nearby table. A moment later, he looked up. “Yes, done.”
    The judge typed that onto his keyboard. In a moment, he said, “Next case.”
    “You’re lucky,” said the security man, who grabbed Osadar by the elbow. “And so am I,” he said with a laugh. “I get my finders-fee after