A Space Opera
By
Matt A., Dom F., And Jakim Friant
Copyright (c) 2000 by Matthew G. Adams and Jakim Friant. All rights reserved.
No part of this document may be produced in full or in part without written permission.
"I respectfully request the presence of his honor the Chief Guard," The brisk voice of the aged Ambassador sounded out through the iron-paved halls of the Main Complex, where the corrupt Guardsmen presided over the dreadful place known as the "Prison Planet."
The Robot Guard responded, "To whom will the Chief be speaking?" The shrill, metallic voice shrieked out of the intercom.
The ambassador stood to his full height. "Ambassador Martin J. Wyllam."
After what seemed like an eternity, the metallic voice spoke once more.
"The Chief will see you now."
That led to intense deliberations, which lasted for three days.
At that time, Wyllam instructed a Guardsman to take him to the cell where the prisoner was to be detained for an indefinite amount of time.
"Cell 14, please," he told the suspicious guard. As the ambassador approached the cell he suddenly sensed the terrible injustice that had prevailed during the mockery of a trial.
"The prisoner is not allowed visitors!" shrieked the guard.
Wyllam raised a hand to silence him. "The Chief Guard himself has sanctioned his release."
"Release! He's a murderer!"
"Only by self-defense. The Chief Guard has handed him over to me."
"What for?"
"His services are in great demand."
By this time, the rugged-looking prisoner had risen from his cot to stand at the cell door. His untidy black hair hung over his eyes. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully at seeing the Ambassador. The Ambassador had spoken at his trial, which had been televised through out the universe by his prosecutors.
"What do you want, Wyllam?" This from a man who had been wrongly imprisoned for three years -- for the charge of murder.
"I am here to release you."
"Don't toy with my emotions, Wyllam."
"I am not. I am here to take you back to earth."
"And do you really think I'm going to go with you?!"
The white headed ambassador snorted, "Blake, you were wrongly imprisoned at this dreadful little place. Come, I have acquired a military pardon for you."
"A what?" came the reply.
"The Fleet needs you, Blake. We may be facing an invasion."
Blake snorted, "And the Fleet needs my help?!" He laughed wildly, a surge of the insanity he had come to know while a prisoner at the dreadful little planet. Still, to be free...
"What do I have to do?" Blake asked.
"We need your knowledge of the Cyclone era to help us enhance our weapons. They will need your skill as an ace pilot on a scouting mission into the invaded sectors."
"Oh, is that all? Will I get my ship back? I can't do anything without her."
"The Spacewarp has undergone a massive refit and will be space-ready for you when we return to earth."
Blake was astonished as the Guardsman, once his sworn enemy, unlocked the cell, releasing him from his own private hell.
This was the end of an era. This was the beginning of justice!