The Justiceers - Part One: Chapter Three
the next chapter of my forthcoming novel
Justiceers
by Daphne Garrido
Part One: Darkest Nights
1.3
Octavia Bradwen was First Captain of Oliath General Authority. She seemed tired, fed-up with her colleagues, and overwhelmed by this situation.
Positions like hers were largely ceremonial in The Periphery, a less than enormous undertaking to police a populace who felt taken care of by its society, they’d most often spend the their time in community service.
The Beast had barely fit in that speedship getting here. Miriam was pissed off about it. She’d given ‘those fucks’ all the information they’d needed. Gifted with the written word, Miriam and her inner-voice had no patience for people who couldn’t take the time to read, especially when it made her Arthur feel like a burden.
That was not acceptable to her.
She’d missed the impromptu briefing while calling to get a proper ship delivered, a Monstrodomus M9 in fact. Miriam wanted to make up for that uncomfortable load-in and ride out. She could tell the whole thing had made Arthur feel poorly.
He wasn’t the kind of person whose emotions could be controlled, she’d never try to do that. She just wanted to help the best she could. Nothing was worse to her than being a part of creating negative feelings within him. Even when it wasn’t her fault it would feel like she’d let him down, and with Arthur being such a part of Miriam’s heart, it was like she was letting herself down too.
She’d felt better after splurging.
This newest crime scene was a deep-core Ilithium mining site just beyond the eastern edge of city limits. They’d set-up a tent, tables, and mobile food-production unit Miriam thought looked fancy beside the dig-site’s office buildings. They obviously had no idea what they were doing. A couple stooges were standing around while Octavia was unloading a novel of a message into her phone.
Miriam had been waiting for minutes, wanting to check-in and see what she’d missed, feeling anxious watching Arthur fall farther into the distance, nearing a cave-like entry to what she assumed was a mining shaft.
Octavia was murmuring something under her breath and Miriam had been trying for some time to figure out this secret mantra, before finally growing tired of standing around the with the rabble. She’d preemptively smiled while approaching Octavia, just in case she looked up from her hand-terminal, but the woman had been too absorbed in whatever she was typing.
Miriam felt bad for her, after spending such time with Arthur, she couldn’t imagine working around incompetence. As Miriam passed, she’d finally made out the near-silent affirmation.
“What a fucking disaster.”
Arthur told off the escorts who’d led him to the murder scene when they’d argued with his order to stay back, folks who worked the mines that were sent to show him the way. He’d definitely scared them.
One of them might’ve soiled himself a little. Arthur couldn’t begin to care, he’d not allow his gut the distraction.
The work of Justiceers was a most precious thing. People were supposed to be taught this throughout The Periphery, they were supposed to care. Their ways were to be known. At least, those not shrouded by the ever pervasive mysteries of The Conclave.
The lack of respect required to be clouding Arthur’s mental process going into this investigation — Oliver, had been his name, and explaining his complicated love affair with a Gaffian belly-dancer no-less — it was insulting to the legacy of greatness which was The Justiceers, and the station Arthur held within it.
Education was something Arthur had poured his very soul into.
His heart’s call was to become as wise as the universe itself, to understand the struggles of those many souls beyond The Periphery, who suffered at hands of lesser civilizations, and its people would seem so eager to forget.
Arthur’s heart ached at the very thought of injustice, a fiercest warrior of the unseen and downtrodden. Often would people be eager to abuse privilege, to not pay it back. That was a mistake Arthur never made.
He was unique in this and it made him feel alone. Even the others who pretended to care, didn’t like him. That’s why he was the best at what he did. Its why his honor had been earned. Its why he couldn’t stand when his process wasn’t paid the proper respect.
It was sacred and of service to the whole.
To impede his flow, slowing him down or distracting him, drained far more than his remaining levels of patience. It detracted from his ability to change The Periphery for the better.
He’d not tolerate it.
Miriam found Arthur far from the body which was most gruesomely splayed in the shaft’s cargo elevator. He’d been sitting in a darkened corner, in the quiet. Arthur would often do this after observing a crime scene, providing his gut the chance to speak.
She was waiting for him, knowing him aware of her presence.
He’d often require patience of Miriam that she didn’t really have, her mind always spinning, voice of source so ready to pour through at a moments notice. If she would fail to sit and write, or didn’t have the chance to speak with Arthur, things would just build up inside her.
She’d find the whole up and down of it strangely divine however, that when things had piled up inside, there’d been a reason, pouring forth with abundance at just the needed time.
The source she channeled was intelligent in this way. Its consciousness steered her. It was a ‘tricky bitch’ by its own estimation. Arthur had come to find her pacing near the body, clearly having some conversation with source in her head, quietly giggling.
“What’s the word?” He’d asked her plainly.
Miriam didn’t think — this had become a trigger phrase for her — it cut straight to her subconscious and she’d begun to speak.
“This body was moved. Not killed here — or in the shaft.”
Arthur exhaled loudly. Miriam made a little groan herself.
“What?” Arthur prodded.
His gut couldn’t leave a mystery unturned. Especially with Miriam, always making these little sounds it couldn’t interpret. She’d reached up as high as she could, stretching and planting her feet, before tilting her upper body to the side for a big pop.
“I’m just sore,” she’d lied.
Arthur’s gut could tell, every time. Still, whatever it was bothering Miriam, he trusted her intuition when she’d keep it to herself. Especially since she so rarely would.
“I felt that too — about the body,” he’d told her then.
“Anything else from the choir?”
Miriam finished her stretch and found a cross-legged seat on the cold stone beneath her. She’d breathed deeply and worked her spine. Arthur knew the routine. Eventually she’d stretched up tall with her neck — going still.
These moments of waiting killed Arthur.
“We have to go into the city,” she’d finally said.
“For what?” he’d snapped back.
Miriam smiled as cutely as she could, finally opening her eyes with a wink his way, then shrugged.
The M9 was incredible; smoothest ride.
Miriam set it to circle the perimeter of Oliath, each loop taking an hour. Which was perfect, she wanted all the time she could get. Arthur and her had a relationship which would leave many confused. They’d like it that way.
Their reputation was one to uphold; bond of Justiceers born from grace, oath’s they’d taken wrought of soul, good they’d do together of such an honor.
No need to advertise that they fucked better than everyone else too.
Miriam so enjoyed when he’d tell her to do things to herself. Arthur liked it too. He was enjoying the view, and a cocktail from the bar, as she working herself up. Their bond offered more than only justice-related benefits.
An intuitive connection had developed between them, perhaps a part of all so gifted from The Nebberath and the soul of its legendary captain. Regardless, it allowed them to feel each other under certain circumstances, in all kinds of different ways.
If Daemenos was here with them now, they were surely getting a show.
Miriam’s source did all kinds of interesting things, and Arthur was a bonafide expert at bringing it out of her. He’d finished his drink — areoles of his most beautiful breast growing quite taut.
Now it was time to finish her.
