Trannies in Space

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"Nearly did us all in, didn't she?"" Yarona asked as she sifted through the debris.

"Worth it," Dekker said back shortly.

"For you, maybe," The commander replied, but wasn't heard. Arela was running towards her husband.

For a long moment he was too afraid to move. To do so would be to tear this woman from his arms, where she belonged. The moment felt fragile, as if it had any moment it would be gone. When the panic faded Dekker felt only the comfort of her, her familiar smell, the press of her flesh against his. And it was all that mattered.

"I didn't think..." She said softly.

"Me either, but that's over now."

"I'm sorry, but it's not over. Not yet." Yarona said, followed by a low, digitized, triple hum of a weapon powering up.

"Wha-"

"Let go of one another. Now, don't move." The commander had the carbine. "Take a step back. And face the entrance. Good."

"You don't have to do this." Arela said, teeth chattering.

"Spare me. You're both criminals, and your husband is a lousy fuck, bitch. Now move. Hands up."

The freezing air blasted the three of them as they slowly marched over the now deserted slave market. Here and there was a bloodstain, rapidly freezing. The trample to the outdoors had been sudden but without casualties. Both husband and wife shivered with a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.

Dekker felt a twinge between his shoulder blades as he was lead out. What awaited him and his wife? Imprisonment, or death? Yarona was a backwoods Capital officer. She would get no medal for turning them in. Much easier and quicker to simply kill them and be done with it, go back to ruling her own little fiefdom.

"That's far enough. Might as well make things legal. We'll have to imagine I am raising the scourge." All Capital commanding officers could pass summary judgement on their own ships or if they were the leading Capital official on a minor planet or a mission of small importance. Yarona was being as facetious and exacting as possible.